The Iron Swords stood in the entryway.
They looked uncomfortable. Stripped of their battered combat armor, they wore stiff, palace-issue civilian clothes—tunics of grey wool and trousers that fit too loosely. They looked less like elite hunters and more like uncomfortable guests at a funeral they didn't want to attend.
Kael walked with a phantom limp, his hand instinctively reaching for a sword belt that wasn't there. Vera looked small without her massive hammer, her hands clasping and unclasping. Olin adjusted his glasses, his eyes darting to the expensive mana-dampeners on the walls, calculating the cost.
They stared at Regius, at the steam rising from his shoulders, the fresh bruises blooming on his ribs, and the fading afterimage of the Celestial Knight.
"At ease." Regius threw the towel onto his shoulder.
"Boss," Kael said. "The servants said you had orders?"
"Go on, sit."
Regius gestured to the three reinforced benches arranged near the weapons rack. They sat. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward.
"My father has signed transfer orders," Regius said, leaning against the rack, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "General Torian requested you back in the army, active in the north. The Legion needs veterans to hold the borders against the monsters."
Olin paled. "The north? That's... active combat."
"It's steady work," Kael grunted, though his jaw tightened. "Better than starving, I guess..."
"It is honorable. Standard hazard pay. A pension after twenty years. If you survive."
He let the silence hang there. He let them imagine the cold, the biting wind, the endless waves of white fur, and gnashing teeth. He let them remember the feeling of being Rank 2 fodder against a Rank 3 threat.
"That is the first option," Regius said.
He reached behind him and picked up three scrolls of heavy, cream-colored parchment from his spatial storage. He tossed them onto the bench between them.
"Option Two."
Vera reached out. She unrolled the scroll. As she read, her eyes widened.
"This isn't a military commission," she whispered.
"It's a Soul Contract," Olin pushed his glasses up his nose, leaning in to read the glowing rune script. "Drafted by a High-Assessor. This... this binds the signatory's Soul Palace to a specific master."
"To me," Regius said.
"Personal retainers?" Kael looked up, confusion warring with hope. "You want us to stay?"
"Read the terms," Regius said.
"Clause 4," Olin read aloud, his voice trembling slightly. "The retainer shall receive a monthly stipend of 500 credits." Five hundred? That's triple the Legion rate."
"Clause 7. 'Equipment Provision.' You will no longer scavenge for gear. You will be outfitted with palace-grade arms and armor, supplied directly from the House's armory."
"Clause 9. 'Sanctuary.' The Retainer's immediate family shall be granted residence within the Upper District Zone, under the direct protection of the Employer."
Kael froze. The mention of family hit him like a physical blow. "Sarra?"
"And Tavus," Regius nodded. "If you sign this, Sarra isn't just a widow living in a townhouse. If Marius or the Bloc tries to touch her, they answer to me."
Kael's hands shook. It was everything Milo had wanted. Safety. Security. A future where his wife wasn't one bad harvest away from ruin.
"But there is a cost," Regius's voice dropped. It lost the warmth of the friend and took on the harmonic resonance of the Sovereign.
"Clause 1," Olin read. The blood drained from his face.
"'Absolute Silence. The retainer swears to never speak, write, or signal regarding the nature of the employer's abilities, specifically the manifestation of his summon, or the events of the River's End Incursion. This silence applies to all entities, including High Lord Magnus, the Kingmakers, and the Crown.'"
Olin looked up, terror behind his lenses.
"The penalty for breach... is insubordination."
"And the punishment for insubordination is the immediate crushing of the Soul Palace."
Silence slammed into the room.
To crush a Soul Palace was instant death.
"I cannot protect you if you talk," Regius said. "My secret is a guillotine. If the Royals find out what I am, they will burn this house to the ground. They will burn you. They will burn Sarra."
He pushed off the rack and stood tall. The bruises on his chest looked like war paint.
"I am asking for your lives. I am asking for your souls. In exchange, I give you a shield for your families and a sword to kill the things that hunt us."
He looked at Kael.
"I don't need House Guards, Kael. House Guards report to my father. They follow protocols. I need people who can walk into the dark with me and not ask why the shadows are moving."
Kael looked at the scroll. He thought of Milo guarding him from the Flame Lance. He thought of the helplessness, the fear of the rank gap.
If they went to the Legion, they were just meat for the grinder. Rank 2 fodder.
But here?
"High-grade armor," Kael muttered.
"And a chance to hit back," Regius added.
Vera stood up.
She didn't look at the contract anymore. She looked at Regius. She remembered the boy sobbing in the mud, clutching his hair, terrified that his power made him a monster. She remembered the weight of him in her arms.
He wasn't a monster. He was a kid carrying the world.
"You carried it for two years," Vera said. "You let us mock you, all while you were strong enough to kill us with a thought. You did that to keep us safe."
"I did."
"I'm not letting you carry it alone anymore, Boss."
She placed her hand flat against the bottom of the parchment. She pushed her energy into the paper.
The scroll flared with blue light. The fibers of the paper absorbed her energy, weaving her signature into the binding spell. Vera gasped as a ring of cold energy tightened around her Soul Palace—the bind settling in.
Olin watched her. He looked at the Legion transfer order in his mind—mud, low pay, and a statistical probability of death: 20% in the first year.
He looked at the Soul Contract. High risk, extreme reward.
"General Torian would have me digging latrines," Olin sighed, adjusting his glasses. "You're offering me a staff and a retirement plan."
He placed his hand on his scroll. "I'm expensive, Regius. Make sure you can afford me."
He pulsed his mana. The blue light flared again.
Regius turned to Kael.
The big man was staring at his hands. His knuckles were white. He wasn't afraid of the palace-crushing penalty. He was afraid of failing again. He was afraid that he wasn't strong enough to be the shield Regius needed.
"I couldn't save him," Kael whispered.
"Doesn't mean you should wallow in your sorrow," Regius said softly. "I couldn't save him either."
Kael looked up. His chin trembled. He took a deep breath. The soldier's mask cracked, revealing the grieving friend beneath.
He slammed his hand onto the parchment.
Flash.
The contracts are sealed. The three scrolls rolled themselves up and vanished into motes of gold light, vanishing into Regius's Soul Palace.
He felt the connection snap into place. Three new threads in his mind. Not subservient like summons, but tethered. He could feel their pulse. Their location. Their loyalty.
"It is done," Regius said.
He walked to the wall and pulled a lever. A panel slid open, revealing a rack of weapons and armor cases stamped with the House Aethel seal.
"Gear up," Regius commanded.
Kael reached for a shield that looked made of seamless alloy. Vera hefted a hammer that hummed with enchantments.
"What's the play, Boss?" Kael asked, testing the weight of the shield. "Do we hit Marius tonight?"
"No," Regius said. "You aren't ready."
Kael frowned. "We fought Rank 3s."
"And we barely survived. Your gear is better, but your foundations are spotty. Against professionals, you will die."
He pointed to the door.
"Report to the East Wing. The instructors of the Aethel Guard are waiting for you."
"The Aethel Guard?" Olin blinked. "Those are the High Lord's elites. Rank 4 veterans."
"Exactly," Regius said. "They will break you down and build you back up. You will learn formation tactics. You will learn energy cycling. You will learn how to kill a man without thinking about it."
He looked at them, his violet eyes swirling with the promise of the coming storm.
"As your first assignment as my retainers: Train. Get strong. And wait for my order."
"Understood," Kael said, standing straighter than he ever had in the Legion.
They filed out of the chamber, carrying their new steel, heading toward the grueling regimen that awaited them.
Regius watched them go. He turned back to the center of the room. He raised his hand.
"Libra."
The Starlight Knight manifested instantly.
"Again," Regius said.