The night air was cool against Amir's skin as he stared at the man before him. The Cog Master stood with an almost casual elegance, his cane planted firmly on the cobblestones, his monocle catching the faint glow of the gas lamps.
"Yes?" Amir said, breaking the silence.
The man's lips curved into a faint smile. "Ah. So you are Amir Zen, I presume."
Amir nodded. "And you're the Cog Master?"
"Yes." The smile faded slightly, replaced by a more critical expression. "Hmm. I expected to see an experienced Inquisitor."
Amir raised an eyebrow. "What? You expected some old, grumpy guy who smokes a pipe every five seconds?"
The Cog Master let out a short, genuine laugh. "Exactly." His tone shifted, becoming more serious. "The problem with new—or rookie—Inquisitors is that they don't survive very long. I've worked with your organization before, but whenever I've been paired with rookies..." He paused, his gaze distant. "They always ended up dead. Most of my cases get serious real quick."
He tilted his head, studying Amir with sharp, analytical eyes. "I don't understand, though. Why would Rustof assign someone so green to work with me?" He shook his head. "Anyways, how long has it been since you joined the Inquisition?"
"Almost a month," Amir replied.
The Cog Master's eyes widened slightly. "Almost? Seriously?" His voice sharpened with disbelief. "Do you even know the basic fundamentals of combat? Rustof didn't tell me about that—bloody old fuck." He caught himself, exhaling slowly. "Apologies. Rustof and I are quite good friends. I shouldn't speak of him that way."
Amir nodded, but his mind was already racing. Wait. Hold up. This guy looks the same age as me. How in the fuck can he be Captain Rustof's friend?
The Cog Master closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as if calculating something internally. When he opened them again, his expression was apologetic but firm.
"I'm sorry to say this, Mr. Amir, but we cannot work together." His tone was final. "This investigation is far too dangerous for a rookie. I can't babysit you during fieldwork. I'm sorry."
He turned, his cane tapping softly against the cobblestones as he began to walk back toward his steam-wagon.
"Wait!" Amir's voice cut through the night.
The Cog Master paused but didn't turn around.
Amir took a deep breath, forcing his voice to stay steady. "Yes, I might be a rookie. But listen, brother—I've had my share of near-death experiences. It's not like I'm useless." He hesitated, then added with a wry edge, "But seriously, I really don't want to go to a creepy place. I'd be even more happy if you rejected me."
That made the Cog Master turn around. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—in his grey-green eyes.
"Interesting," he murmured.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a pocket watch, flipping it open with a practiced motion. The face was intricate, gears visible through a transparent backing. He studied it for a moment, then snapped it shut and returned it to his pocket.
A slow smirk spread across his face.
"Well, lad," he said, his tone shifting. "If you don't mind, may I propose a test?"
Amir's eyes narrowed. "What kind of test?"
The Cog Master gestured around them with his cane. "Look around yourself. You have ten seconds. Then I will ask you questions related to this place." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "If you pass this test, congratulations—you'll move to the second test, where you have to hit me once. If you manage to pass both tests, I'll allow you to work with me."
Amir's mind raced. Crap i think i know where this is going and ohhh boy. This is gonna be harder then i am imagining. Then a darker thought crept in. Wait. What if I fail? Well, I don't have to go to that creepy tannery then. I think i should just reject the offer
The Cog Master's smirk widened, as if he could read Amir's hesitation. "Oh, and one more thing. If you manage to pass this test, I'll give you one thousand Iron Republic gold coins. The same amount the Inquisition pays you for an entire month—I'm paying it in a single day for this test."
Amir blinked. Hold on. One thousand gold coins? His internal voice shifted instantly. Well, I really don't want to go to the tannery, but one thousand gold coins is one thousand gold coins.
"Alright," Amir said, his voice firmer now.
The Cog Master's smile was genuine this time. "Good. Now, I want you to take a good look at your surroundings."
Amir's eyes swept across the promenade. He forced himself to focus, to absorb every detail. The gas lamps casting their warm, golden glow. The distant sound of the carnival—music, laughter, the grinding of gears. The lake stretching out behind them, its surface mirror-still, reflecting the swollen moon. A group of people walking past, their voices muted. The cobblestones beneath his feet. The trees lining the path. The—
"Stop."
The Cog Master's voice was sharp, cutting through Amir's concentration.
"Now close your eyes and tell me what you saw."
Amir closed his eyes, his mind scrambling to piece together the fragments he'd absorbed in those ten seconds.
"A group of people walked by," he said.
The Cog Master's voice was calm, almost conversational. "What was the first man wearing?"
"Black coat and a flat cap."
"What was his expression?"
Amir hesitated, pulling the image back into focus. "He seemed troubled. Like he was thinking about something."
"Good. Now, what was the last person in the group doing?"
"Smoking a pipe."
"His appearance?"
"Checkered flat cap. Plain shirt."
"Good." The Cog Master's tone shifted slightly. "Now, where are we standing?"
Near Mirrorfen Lake ?
Yes, but we're standing near something else as well.
Amir frowned, his mind racing. "The... circus?"
Good. Now, Amir, can you describe the distance between us?
Amir's eyes snapped open. "What?"
The Cog Master tilted his head. "Am I supposed to calculate the distance?"
"Yes."
Amir exhaled slowly. "I'm not that good at calculations, brother."
The Cog Master studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "I see." He gestured with his cane. "Open your eyes. Congratulations—you barely passed the first test."
"What?" Amir's voice rose in disbelief. "But I answered almost all of them correctly!"
"Yes, you did," the Cog Master replied calmly. "But you made a mistake. You failed to calculate the distance. Remember, sometimes one simple mistake can get you—or your comrade—killed on the spot." He paused, his expression thoughtful. "Although this is a ten-mark exam, you still have a chance. Since you passed most of it, you get five out of ten. I suppose it should be minus six, not five, but since you admitted you couldn't do it, You could have given you wrong calculations. But I liked the fact that you said you couldn't do it."
Amir frowned. "Why?"
"Because giving no information is better than giving wrong information. Got it?"
Amir nodded slowly, his mind reeling. Wow. This guy thought all of that in mere seconds. He's insane.
The Cog Master looked at Amir, his smirk returning. "Now, for your final test." He planted his cane firmly on the ground and spread his arms slightly, his posture relaxed. "Land a blow on me. Don't worry—I won't attack you back. I'll stand here. But you have to land a hit on me. Got it?"
Amir stared at him. Oh shit. This reminds me of one of those shonen manga. He sighed internally. But one thousand gold coins is one thousand gold coins.
He stepped forward, his boots scraping softly against the cobblestones. The distance between them was maybe ten feet. Close enough to close quickly. Far enough that the Cog Master had time to react.
Amir didn't overthink it. He lunged forward, throwing a simple, straightforward punch aimed at the Cog Master's chest.
The Cog Master didn't even shift his weight. He simply tilted his torso slightly to the left, and Amir's fist passed harmlessly through the space where he'd been a moment before. The movement was so minimal, so effortless, that it looked almost lazy.
Amir stumbled forward, catching himself before he fell. He spun around, breathing hard.
The Cog Master stood in the exact same spot, his cane still planted, his expression unchanged. "Try again."
Amir gritted his teeth. He circled to the right, then feinted left before throwing a quick jab. The Cog Master swayed backward, the punch missing by inches. Amir followed up with a hook aimed at his ribs. The Cog Master pivoted on his heel, the blow passing through empty air.
It was infuriating. The man wasn't even trying. He was just... there, always a fraction of a second ahead, always just out of reach.
Amir tried a low sweep, aiming for the Cog Master's legs. The man lifted his cane, using it as a pivot point, and hopped lightly over the sweep, landing back in the same spot.
"You're thinking too much," the Cog Master said, his tone almost bored. "Stop trying to predict what I'll do. Just move."
Amir's chest heaved. His mind was racing, frustration building. Then, mid-swing, he noticed something.
The Cog Master's right arm.
It moved... differently. Not wrong, exactly, but too precise. Too smooth. When he shifted his weight, when he adjusted his grip on the cane, the movements of his right arm were almost mechanical. There was no wasted motion.
What the hell?
Amir didn't have time to process it. He threw another punch, this time aiming high. The Cog Master ducked, and Amir's fist sailed over his head. But as the man straightened, Amir saw it again—the faint, almost imperceptible seam along the Cog Master's wrist, where the glove met the skin. And beneath the fabric, the slightest hint of something that wasn't flesh.
His arm. It's not real.
The realization hit Amir like a freight train, but he forced himself to focus. Doesn't matter. I just need to land one hit.
He changed tactics. Instead of trying to overpower or outthink the Cog Master, he went for volume. He threw a flurry of punches—left, right, left, right—not aiming for precision, but for overwhelming the man's ability to dodge.
The Cog Master weaved through them like water, his movements fluid and unhurried. But Amir noticed something: the man's feet. They hadn't moved. He was dodging everything from a single, fixed position.
He's showing off. He's not even trying.
Amir stopped, panting, his fists lowered. His mind raced. If he's not moving his feet, then his balance is centered. If I can disrupt that...
He dropped low, suddenly, and lunged forward—not with a punch, but with his shoulder, aiming to tackle the Cog Master's legs.
The Cog Master's eyes widened, just a fraction. He stepped back—finally—his cane shifting to brace himself.
And in that single moment of adjustment, Amir twisted. He didn't go for the tackle. He pivoted, using the momentum to swing his arm up in a wild, desperate arc.
His knuckles grazed the Cog Master's jaw.
It wasn't a solid hit. It was barely a touch. But it was contact.
Amir stumbled back, breathing hard, his eyes locked on the Cog Master.
The man stood there, one hand reaching up to touch the spot where Amir's knuckles had grazed him. For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then the Cog Master began to laugh.
It wasn't a polite chuckle. It was a full, genuine, delighted laugh that echoed across the promenade. He adjusted his monocle, which had slipped slightly during the exchange.
"Brilliant," he said, still laughing. "Absolutely brilliant. You didn't try to overpower me. You didn't rely on tricks. You adapted. You saw I wasn't moving my feet, and you exploited it." He straightened, his laughter fading into a wide grin. You think like a survivor, Mr. Zen. good atleast you will survive
He extended a gloved hand. "Very well. You've earned it. We'll work together."
Amir, still catching his breath, took the hand. The grip was firm, but there was that faint, unnatural smoothness to the right hand