Azazel opened his mouth, ready to demand answers—ready to shout at both Aurelius and his grandfather for tossing riddles at him like bones to a starving dog.
But Johann only smiled faintly. With a lazy flick of his wrist, the world cracked apart.
The next moment, Azazel felt his whole body wrenched and spat out. The Codex's brilliance vanished. He slammed back into reality with the roughness of being shoved from a moving carriage.
As he fell to his knees, the door banged shut behind him with a heavy thud.
Azazel cursed under his breath, muttering every insult he could string together.
"Old bastard… hypocritical Grandmaster…"
"Easy there," Juan's voice cut in, calm but laced with concern. Azazel blinked, realizing his friend was crouched beside him, eyes scanning his sweat-soaked face.
"And where are your pistols," Juan said, half teasing, half worried.
Only then did Azazel notice that there were neither a sign of his battle nor of his pistols.
"Those motherf– …" Azazel shot Juan a glare, catching his breath. "Don't worry."
Juan scratched his head in confusion.
"You look like you just ran three battles at once," Juan said, half teasing, half worried. "Did you decide to wrestle the devil without me?"
Azazel shot him a glare, still catching his breath.
"Something like that."
Juan smirked, pulling him to his feet.
"Come on, wipe that scowl off. Or do you want to sit here sulking until they arrive?"
Azazel blinked.
"They?"
Juan only tilted his head toward the road ahead.
A loud, lively voice rang out. "Étienne!"
The Warden of Paris, who had just stepped down from their carriage, just seconds before Juan and Azazel, inclined his head politely. "Sister."
The woman who greeted him was dressed in the modest garb of a nun, but her presence carried the ease of someone who had walked among warriors and lords without flinching. Her smile was calm, her tone almost playful.
"We have prepared a separate building for the higher ranks of the Order," she said warmly.
Étienne's gaze flicked sideways, toward Azazel and Juan. "And would there be some spare space for these two?"
She rubbed her wrinkled face thinking.
Then, the nun's lips curved into something more mischievous.
"A cellar."