Lucien’s mind stalled, jammed, and locked itself into complete and utter disarray.

  Sel was on top of him.

  Her fingers dug into his arms, tight, desperate, trembling. Her breath was warm against his skin, uneven and ragged, carrying something primal and urgent, something that didn’t belong in the cold, calcuted mind of a Bck Chapel zealot. He felt the delicate brush of her lips, featherlight yet deliberate, just before—

  Her teeth sank in even deeper.

  Lucien’s fingers tensed at her waist, gripping instinctively as something inside him screamed that he should have already thrown her off, should have already retaliated, should have burned her away with the power now buried in his bones. But his body betrayed him, locked between action and paralysis, the sensation of her mouth against his pulse sending a disjointed mix of heat and disorientation through his nerves.

  His thoughts tangled and crashed like an avanche. ‘What the fuck was happening? What is…she doing? I can feel my body acting limp…like I’m getting tired already. What’s gotten into this woman?! She was just threatening me a while ago…and now…?’

  He was no stranger to pain, no stranger to wounds, but this was different. This wasn’t an attack, wasn’t an assassination, wasn’t a strike meant to kill.

  This was something else.

  Something far worse.

  Because Sel wasn’t just feeding.

  She was losing herself.

  Her grip on him tightened, the tremor in her fingers revealing a battle he couldn’t see. Her body pressed closer, almost subconsciously, as if she were fighting some instinct she had never known before, something deep and inescapable crawling under her skin. Her breaths, broken and irregur, hitched between every pull of his blood, every moment of restraint she still barely clung to.

  Lucien swallowed hard, muscles tensing beneath her touch. His pulse pounded against her lips, hammering in his ears, each beat a reminder that she wasn’t stopping, that she wasn’t hesitating, that this was real, that it was happening, that he wasn’t imagining the way her body reacted, the way she shuddered against him as if something inside her had cracked open.

  And that’s when the real fear started to creep in.

  Not fear for himself.

  But fear of what this meant.

  Because this was Sel.

  The woman who had spent every waking moment training to kill him. The one who had sworn herself to the Bck Chapel, to its doctrine, to its ws of purity and extermination. The one who should have gutted him in his sleep if she had been given the chance. And yet, here she was, drinking from him, not as an act of violence, not as a calcuted move, but as if she had no choice.

  And he felt it, too.

  A pull. A connection. Something neither of them should have ever had.

  His hands twitched at her waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her robe, the heat of her skin beneath it. The realization struck him like a hammer to the chest, like an unseen dagger slipping between his ribs. This wasn’t an act of dominance or power—this was need.

  Lucien’s breath came out sharp, controlled, but his patience was already unraveling.

  ‘I gotta get her off of me!’

  Sel let out a slow, exhaled moan against his throat, her body shuddering as if drinking from him sent something deeper through her veins. Her nails dug into his arms, the tension in her frame wound so tight it felt as though she would snap at any second. She wanted more. She needed more. They both looked into each other's eyes, faces mere inches apart.

  …

  ….

  That was enough.

  Lucien moved.

  His hand shot up, fingers wrapping around her throat, firm but measured, severing the moment instantly.

  Sel barely had a chance to react before Lucien threw her.

  Her back smmed into the wall, the impact shaking the entire room, cracks splitting up the stone behind her as dust rained from the ceiling. She let out a sharp gasp, the force knocking the breath from her lungs as her body staggered to catch up with reality.

  Lucien sat up, hand gripping his own throat, fingers brushing over the fresh mark she had left.

  ‘Tch! Could that end me…?! Was she tricking me this whole time? Wanting to catch me off guard because she had some weird power up her sleeve? How dumb am I? I never was the calcuted killer anyway, just chaos…cataclysm…never was the one who came up with smart strategies…’

  His breathing was uneven, his body still processing the shock of it all, still trying to comprehend what the hell had just happened. His skin burned where her mouth had been, a ghost of a sensation that refused to fade, and he clenched his jaw, forcing it out of his mind.

  His gaze flicked toward her, standing against the wall, her body rigid with something between shock and horror.

  “What was that?” he muttered, his voice raw with exhaustion, confusion, and something he wasn’t ready to name.

  In the dimly lit corner of the room, the summons huddled together, their movements speaking louder than words ever could. The Queen, ever the dramatic one, had both hands clutched to her chest, swaying slightly as if she might faint. The Jack was pointing aggressively between Sel and Lucien, his head bobbing in a silent demand for an expnation. The Joker stood still, arms crossed, his entire stance radiating judgment.

  The King, of course, remained completely unfazed, utterly still, seemingly uninterested.

  Then, all at once, the silent tension shattered as the Queen colpsed against the Joker, the Jack spun in aimless circles, and the Queen threw her hands up in the air, filing wildly.

  Chaos. Pure, silent chaos.

  Sel’s fists clenched, her breathing ragged, her throat dry as the weight of what she had done fully sank in. She couldn’t justify it. Couldn’t expin it. She had never felt something like that before, had never felt something crawl through her veins like hunger, had never lost control so utterly.

  Her jaw locked as she ripped her gaze away from Lucien.

  “I don’t know,” she muttered, the words tight in her throat. “I—couldn’t resist. I fought that shit so hard..you don’t have a clue.”

  Lucien exhaled sharply. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard.”

  Sel ignored him.

  Her fingers darted to her belt, retrieving a ceremonial dagger, the gleaming edge catching the candlelight as she turned the bde inward, pressing the tip against her own sternum.

  Lucien stiffened.

  Then, she whispered the words of an old Bck Chapel oath: “By bde and blood, by lips and sin—if one falters, one must pay in kind.”

  Lucien’s eye twitched. “Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

  Before she could press the dagger deeper, the summons exploded into motion.

  The Queen, Jack, and Joker tackled her at once, their silent shrieks vibrating through the room as they pinned her to the floor, their filing bodies twisting around her, preventing her from moving.

  Sel thrashed. “GET OFF ME.”

  ‘What are some random summons trying to keep me alive?! Are they more sentient than I thought?’

  The summons frolicked and filed, the Jack spinning, the Queen throwing up her hands in frustration, the Joker dramatically shaking his head in disapproval.

  The King just stood and watched.

  Lucien, meanwhile, had turned to the mirror, aggressively rubbing at the bite mark on his neck, his expression darkening with every second.

  “Oh, I’m gonna kill her sooo bad,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing harder. The mark refused to fade. His eye twitched like a psychopath. his scowl deepened. The universe was mocking him.

  Sel shouted in frustration behind him, still tangled in the mass of struggling summons.

  Lucien turned, exhaling sharply. “Alright.”

  In a single motion—

  He moved.

  Sel barely had time to blink before Lucien was in front of her, his golden revolver pressed against her forehead.

  The room fell silent.

  His voice was low, steady, and dangerous.

  “You.”

  The tension hung heavy.

  His finger rested on the trigger.

  Sel’s mind was a storm, fragmented and relentless.

  Her body still trembled—not from fear, not from pain, but from something far worse. Something she couldn’t name.

  ‘What have I done? What is wrong with me?!’

  She could still taste his blood, rich with alchemic power, a force unlike anything she had ever experienced. It had poured into her like liquid fire, like something ancient and raw, something that whispered to the very essence of her being. She had no desire to drink from anyone—not before, not ever. The Bck Chapel had trained her to suppress natural worldly hunger, to reject indulgence, to erase desire. And yet, when she felt the warmth of his pulse beneath her lips, when she felt the thunderous beat of his life force, something inside her snapped. A new hunger formed, far behind the worlds natural hunger, the way everyone craves food.

  Her fingers twitched at her sides as she clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

  ‘If the Bck Chapel had seen me…They would call me an abomination. Just like they called him.’

  The realization left her cold.

  She had spent years honing herself into the perfect weapon, a hunter without hesitation. She had trained to exterminate those who strayed from the ws of nature, those who had become something beyond human. And now—what was she?

  ‘I never felt this around anyone before.’

  But with Lucien?

  She didn’t know.

  ‘It scares me…’

  Sel exhaled sharply, forcing herself to speak, keeping her tone even, controlled, unaffected—unwavering.

  “If the Bck Chapel saw this…” she murmured, her emerald eyes narrowing, “they would see me as an abomination—just like you.”

  Lucien’s eyes flickered, and for the first time, his smirk faded slightly, repced by something sharper, colder. His revolver remained steady against her forehead, but his focus had shifted.

  He tilted his head, voice ced with curiosity.

  “…What did you mean by that?”

  Sel blinked once, her mind catching up to what she had just said, but she didn’t hesitate in her response.

  “Of course you’re an abomination.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if it were undeniable truth. “You were already one before, but now? You’re something far worse.”

  Lucien didn’t flinch. He didn’t scowl. He just… grinned.

  “Good.”

  Sel stiffened.

  The weight of her words should have angered him. Should have made him sh out, should have reminded him of what he had lost, what had been taken from him. But instead, he looked pleased.

  And that unsettled her more than anything.

  Lucien leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something almost mocking.

  “I’ll keep your little secret, Huntress.” His smirk widened, his golden eyes gleaming. “But in return, you’re going to help me track down the Exarch.”

  Sel ughed.

  Not a chuckle, not a smirk—but a full, genuine ugh of disbelief.

  “You really think you can just waltz in and kill him?” She shook her head, amusement ced with pity. “The Exarch doesn’t just sit on a throne waiting for fools like you to show up. He’s always on the move. You know this already, but if you want to get to him—”

  Her expression darkened.

  “You have to go through the Chain of Execution.”

  Lucien raised a brow. “And? Aren’t they in the same pce as before?l

  Sel exhaled slowly, folding her arms. “The Bck Chapel’s Chain of Execution – The 20 High Clerics.”

  Lucien responded, “One by one, the candles will go out.”

  ‘To reach The Exarch of Ash, I have to eliminate the 20 High Clerics—each one a master of assassination, anti-witch warfare, and alchemic heresies. Each High Cleric holds dominion over a different aspect of the Chapel’s influence.’

  “They never eborated on why they found you to be an abomination. It’s not like they haven’t seen chaotic Hunters before,” Sel admitted, her voice quieter now. “They always referred to you as something unnatural. But since your ‘death,’ they’ve all moved sanctuaries. None of them remain in one pce for long.”

  Lucien exhaled through his nose, expression unreadable.

  ‘That’s an issue then..’

  Then, his smirk returned, slow and deliberate.

  “I don’t care.” He tilted his head. “You’re going to help me find them. That’s why my summons didn’t let you off yourself with that dagger earlier. They knew I needed you, and I figured out earlier that I would need you to exact my revenge.”

  Sel scoffed. “Tch! I’m not betraying the Chapel.”

  Lucien’s grin widened.

  “You already are.”

  Sel froze. “What?”

  Lucien’s voice was dangerously smooth, his gaze flickering with amusement.

  “You’re not risking your life to fight me. You could have tried to kill me by now. You hesitated.” His tone dropped to something almost mocking. “That’s not very Bck Chapel of you. Is it?”

  Then, his grin widened even more, and he quoted an old oath of the Bck Chapel, one she had memorized since childhood.

  “Hesitation is the killer’s sin. The bde does not tremble, the trigger does not pause. Doubt is death.”

  Sel’s breath hitched.

  For the first time, she was the one caught off guard.

  Her body reacted before her mind—SHIIING! Her dagger pressed against Lucien’s throat.

  Lucien didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even flinch; His revolver was still pressed against her forehead.The room was silent.

  A pause… A held breath.

  Then—

  Torch appeared on Lucien’s shoulder. The cat blinked zily, lifted a paw, then licked it. Lucien’s eye twitched. Then, without warning—

  Torch sniffed his ear, And bit it.

  Lucien screamed like a girl.

  “AGHH! You rat!”

  The gun fired into the ceiling.

  And suddenly, Lucien was unloading bullet after bullet into the cat, his screams turning into a brutal war cry.

  The room exploded into chaos.

  Torch colpsed dramatically, rolling onto his back, blood pooling beneath him.

  Then, a moment ter—he was fine.

  Lucien froze mid-reload, eyes twitching.

  The cat blinked, sitting upright, its tail flicking casually.

  Lucien’s fingers tightened around his gun.

  “Why did I even bother?” He whispered.

  And that was the exact moment Sel attacked.

  She sshed her own palm, her blood dripping onto her bde, the alchemic symbols along its edge glowing faintly as the weapon absorbed it. Her mind raced as she adjusted her stance, thoughts spiraling as she focused on the energy coursing through her veins.

  ‘Soul-Alchemy is an extension of the self. The body is a conduit. The blood, the essence of the soul. What am I doing? No way I’m trying to prove my faith to the Exarch…after hesitating..?! Do I really fear death..?’

  She lunged.

  But before her bde could reach its mark—

  The summons moved.

  The Queen, the Jack, the King, and the Joker fshed in front of her, weapons drawn, their silent presence an unspoken warning.

  Sel barely had time to react before she felt Lucien behind her.

  She turned slowly, and there he was—standing just inches away, Torch now perched comfortably on his head.

  Lucien’s smirk returned, slower this time, more deliberate.

  “You’re going to help me kill the Exarch,” he said, his voice unwavering. “And every single one of those bastards under him.”

  Sel exhaled sharply, adjusting her grip on her bde. “I still pn to kill you.”

  Lucien ughed. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  Sel stared at him.

  ‘I’m not leading him to them. They’ll find a way to defeat him, doing it before me. I can’t let that happen!’

  Then, for the first time—she hesitated.

  She turned away, sighing. “If I’m going to be tagging along…”

  Her eyes swept over his cluttered, disgusting office.

  “…This pce needs to be cleaned.”

  Lucien groaned, “NO.”

  The office was a war zone of dust, parchment, and abandoned relics of hunts long past.

  Stacks of old contracts, unsorted alchemic components, and broken weaponry y scattered over every avaible surface. Faded bounty posters—some with blood sptters still on them—clung to the walls, curling at the edges. Half-empty bottles of cheap liquor were wedged between stacks of grimoires, and Lucien’s desk, if one could even call it that, was buried beneath maps with indecipherable notes, bullet casings, and a single, untouched apple that had been there for far too long.

  The air smelled of old ink, gunpowder, and exhaustion.

  And now, Sel was in the middle of it, regretting every second.

  She flicked her eyes over the disaster with a look of sheer disdain, crossing her arms as the summons had already begun their silent crusade of cleanliness. The Queen held a dusty bottle of ink, tilting her head at it in apparent disapproval before elegantly pcing it onto a shelf. The Jack was aggressively shoving old papers into a crate, his movements fast and judgmental. The Joker had somehow found a broom and was sweeping with dramatic precision, his entire frame twisting elegantly with each stroke.

  And the King—still as a statue—stood in the corner, utterly indifferent to the ordeal.

  Sel scoffed as she wiped off a thick yer of dust from a desk drawer, frowning at the absolute state of this so-called business.

  “You actually run your little sughter-for-hire operation out of this dump?” she quipped, arching a brow at Lucien. “I knew you had no standards, but this is tragic.”

  Lucien, sitting cross-legged on his desk, arms folded, gave an exasperated groan. “Listen, just don’t put shit in random pces, or I won’t know where it is.”

  Sel smirked, taking a slow, dramatic look around before speaking again. “Do your clients actually come here to offer you a job?”

  Lucien rolled his eyes. “Sometimes.”

  “They actually sit in this mess?”

  Lucien scoffed. “Most of them don’t care about the mess. They care about results. And I DELIVER with ultimate satisfaction.”

  Sel reached for a dagger wedged into the floor, prying it free with a flick of her wrist before raising a skeptical brow.

  “You hoarder,” she muttered, inspecting the bde. “You like keeping things you don’t need?”

  “That is a perfectly good knife.”

  Sel tossed it onto the desk. “It was buried in the floor.”

  “It’s an aesthetic choice.”

  Their conversation was promptly interrupted by Lucien’s rising panic as he suddenly realized things were being moved. He jumped down from his desk, dashing across the room, interrogating each summons.

  “Where’d you put the red ledger? It was right here—” He turned to the Joker, who simply shook his head in silence. Lucien spun on his heel. “What about my gun oil?”

  The Jack waved a hand dismissively.

  Lucien’s voice rose dramatically. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘IT’S SOMEWHERE ELSE’?! WHERE?!”

  The Jack shrugged.

  Sel smirked as she polished off a sword she had found underneath a pile of bounty contracts. “Maybe if you didn’t live like a wild animal, you’d know where your own junk was.”

  Lucien whipped around, pointing at her with accusing frustration. “I knew where everything was! It was organized chaos!”

  Sel rolled her eyes, shoving a stack of books into a shelf. “Now it’s just organized. Be thankful I’m here. I like clean.”

  Lucien let out a long, suffering sigh before dropping dramatically onto his knees in the center of the office. His hands fell limply to his sides as he stared bnkly at the ceiling.

  “…I don’t know where half of my stuff is.”

  The summons silently celebrated.

  The Queen held Torch in the air like a sacred offering, the Jack spun in small circles, and the Joker flicked imaginary dust off his coat in smug triumph.

  Lucien remained on his knees, whispering in absolute defeat, “…I hope you’re all happy.”

  Sel leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching him with a smirk.

  “Very.”

  Lucien exhaled, running a hand down his face, shaking off the frustration. His eyes flicked toward Sel, his expression shifting from exasperation to genuine curiosity.

  “Your Blood Alchemy,” he said, tilting his head. “How does it work?”

  Sel sighed, tossing her cleaning cloth onto the desk before unsheathing her dagger again. The bde was intricately engraved, the runes along its edge pulsing faintly, as if alive.

  “Blood Alchemy is a branch of Soul-Alchemy,” she began, her voice measured, careful, controlled. “It uses the caster’s own life force as a conduit. Blood carries the soul—it’s the rawest, most direct expression of one’s power. But in exchange, the cost is…”

  She trailed off, flipping the bde between her fingers before slicing a thin cut along her palm.

  Lucien’s gaze flicked to the wound.

  The moment the blood touched the steel, the runes fred crimson.

  “The cost is me.” Sel’s voice was quiet. “Every time I use it, I shorten my own power for a few hours. But every kill repces the blood I’ve lost. The blood I give is not just fuel—it’s my essence. The more I bleed, the more I burn away.”

  Lucien remained silent, watching her with something indistinct in his expression.

  ‘The more you bleed, the more you burn away..? Sounds like me.’ Lucien thought, but pushed the thought away fast.

  Sel lowered the bde, gripping her wrist as the wound slowly sealed itself. “The Exarch saw my potential the moment I first used it. He made me his priority—like he did you.”

  Lucien’s lips twitched at that, a bitter amusement surfacing.

  Sel’s brow furrowed slightly. “But… it’s strange. He never let us meet. If we were both his prodigies, why did he keep us apart?”

  Lucien scoffed, shaking his head. “Because he’s a maniputive bastard.”

  Sel frowned. “He let me meet Vaelle.”

  Lucien visibly grimaced. “Oh, that bird-faced bastard?” He rolled his eyes. “I swear, he’s the only lunatic who actually enjoys fighting me.”

  Sel put on a smug grin, “That’s because he can keep up with you.”

  Lucien huffed. “Barely.”

  ____________________________________________

  Sel leaned against the now somewhat organized desk, crossing her arms. “What’s the pn for today?”

  Lucien cracked his neck, stretching. “I have to kill two more Purges before I can cim my soul back from that stupid goddess in my head.” He shot her a warning gnce. “And you’re not coming with me.”

  Sel scoffed. “I’m not staying here.”

  Lucien smirked. “You will. You’ll be my secretary.”

  Sel threw a dagger at his head.

  Lucien caught it between his fingers, his grin widening manically.

  Sel clenched her jaw. “You piece of shit.”

  Lucien spun the dagger zily before tossing it back to her. “What’s your routine for hunting these Purges?” Sel asked.

  Lucien grabbed his coat. “I just go outside and listen. People talk. Rumors spread. Sometimes it’s rich bastards looking for a killer, sometimes it’s crooks in the alleyways, and sometimes it’s just a matter of knowing where to look. Or… they find me. People down there knows me very well, and will lead wanderers looking for some sort of savior to me.”

  Sel watched as Lucien began changing into a new suit, pulling off his torn shirt.

  For a moment, she just stared.

  ‘He..’

  His body was ripped with muscle, yet lined with old scars—But what caught her eye was the burned space where his Bck Chapel tattoo had once been.

  Lucien turned, catching her staring.

  Sel immediately turned away, scoffing. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Lucien reached for the door handle, rolling his shoulders as he prepared to step out into the filthy underbelly of Drakhelm, ready to begin his hunt for the next two Purges. Torch remained in the Queen’s arms, purring as she rubbed his ears, while Sel stood beside him, arms crossed, already irritated by whatever nonsense was about to unfold. The Jack and Joker lingered behind her, their silent expressions expectant, while the King stood off to the side, completely still, his unreadable presence looming over them all.

  The door creaked as Lucien pushed it open—

  And the world seemed to pause.

  Because standing directly in front of them, cd in flowing bck-and-white habits, their faces partially veiled, eyes gleaming with wariness and exhaustion, were three nuns.

  Lucien blinked.

  Sel furrowed her brows.

  The summons stared.

  Torch flicked an ear.

  The three women stood in eerie silence, their hands csped together, their postures tense, uncertain, as if they were ready to flee at any second. They were dressed in garments meant for prayer and sanctuary, yet their boots were caked in mud and city grime, and beneath their veils, their expressions were sharp, haunted.

  The tallest of them, who stood at the center, had deep auburn hair peeking from beneath her veil, her golden eyes sharp and calcuting, her lips pressed into a thin line of hesitance. Her robes were slightly torn near the hem, and unlike the other two, she carried herself with the posture of someone who had long since abandoned the notion of divine protection.

  To her right stood a woman of slight build, her white veil contrasting against her dark, braided hair. Her expression was softer, troubled, her fingers fidgeting against the rosary wrapped tightly around her wrist. Her rge, pale green eyes darted toward the inside of the office, surveying the strange group before her with barely contained nervousness.

  The st nun, standing to the left, had midnight-bck hair cut short, her features sharp with defiance, her posture rigid. Unlike the others, she did not csp her hands in prayer. She folded her arms, her dark blue eyes scanning Lucien with thinly veiled distrust. A faint scar ran from her temple to her cheekbone, a mark that suggested experience with violence.

  They didn’t immediately speak. They simply stood there, gncing between each other before the tallest one finally cleared her throat.

  “…Is this the Witch Hunter Association?”

  Lucien blinked again.

  Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

  Before the nuns could react, they found themselves seated in chairs, positioned neatly before Lucien’s desk. Lucien himself was now lounging behind his desk, his boots propped up on the surface, arms zily draped over the armrests, grinning.

  The nuns’ eyes widened in startled confusion.

  The Jack and Joker sat in the corner, shaking their heads at Lucien’s antics.

  The Queen, still holding Torch, tilted her head, amused.

  The nun with the dark blue eyes furrowed her brows, her thoughts racing.

  ‘How the hell did he move that fast? Its stranger than I thought it would be..’

  Meanwhile, the one with the pale green eyes hesitantly gnced around the now strangely clean office.

  ‘…Huh. It’s actually tidy here. And the blood..smells different here.’

  She had expected a filthy den of blood and dust, yet the space, while worn with age, looked surprisingly well-kept.

  Lucien twirled a coin between his fingers before giving the nuns a zy smirk.

  “So,” he drawled, “how’d you find this pce?”

  The tallest nun exhaled, still adjusting to the sudden shift in surroundings. “We were walking through the underground bck market, looking for help.”

  Lucien arched a brow. “And you settled on me? Alright, let’s hear it. What’s the job? Price range depends on how much of a mess I’ll be cleaning up.”

  At that, the three women stiffened, gncing at each other. The one with pale green eyes gripped the rosary at her wrist even tighter, as if she were trying to ground herself.

  “…We can’t expin it without..letting our emotions conquer us,” she admitted softly. “It’s just the way everything happened, or what’s going to happen to her..it’s hard for us to say it outright…”

  Lucien’s grin dropped instantly.

  He slumped further into his chair, letting out an exaggerated groan, rubbing his temple as his internal monologue immediately started running.

  ‘Love, friendship, devotion—it all makes them fragile. The second they lose someone, they break apart like gss. This is exactly why I don’t get involved…’

  Still, he sighed, resting his chin against his knuckles. “Alright, so you’re a bunch of priests or whatever, right? Which order are you from?”

  The tallest nun straightened slightly.

  “We are Priestesses of the Golden Monastery, devoted to Ilrion, the God of the Guiding Light.”

  Lucien groaned. “Right. Forgot this world has too many gods, too many doctrines, too many rules.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s exhausting. So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong now please?”

  The nun with the scar opened her mouth to speak, but Lucien cut her off by suddenly pointing at Sel.

  His smirk widened as he gave her a dumb, mocking title. “My secretary, Lady Scowlington of Emotion Management, can help you process your feelings.”

  Sel scoffed loudly, whispering with volumes, “Die in hell! Bastard!”

  The summons immediately burst into silent, amused gestures, the Jack doubling over dramatically, the Joker shaking with silent ughter, the Queen pcing a hand over her nonexistent mouth as if scandalized.

  Lucien gave them a smug look before turning back to the nuns. “So? Let’s hear it.”

  The priestesses hesitated.

  Then, without warning—they stood up.

  The summons tensed instantly, ready to react.

  Lucien’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  Then—

  The nuns smmed their hands on his desk.

  “We need to go drinking.”

  Lucien blinked.

  Sel stared.

  The summons froze.

  Torch flicked an ear, unimpressed.

  “…Huh?” Lucien finally muttered.

  The tallest nun nodded, deadly serious. “We won’t be able to expin properly unless we drink first.”

  Sel blinked slowly, as if trying to process whether she had just hallucinated the sentence.

  Lucien leaned forward slightly, squinting at them. “…You’re nuns.”

  The one with the scar crossed her arms. “And?”

  Lucien pointed vaguely. “Aren’t you supposed to be holy and whatnot?”

  The one with pale green eyes smiled softly. “We’re holy with liquor.”

  Lucien leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin in thought. “…No way..”

  Sel exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  The summons, meanwhile, exchanged silent, intrigued gnces.

  “…Fine,” Lucien finally said, stretching. “Let’s get you lot drunk, then. Then you’ll start talking.”

  Sel muttered under her breath. “I can’t believe this is my life now.”

  Lucien grinned, “Damn right it is, Lady Scowlington.”