More than a week had passed since the bandit mission in Insbruck. Daemon had expertly navigated the Imperial debriefing, presenting Jonas's sanitized report and accepting his reward: unrestricted access to the Imperial academy main Forge and a limited pass to the Restricted Archives. He was now focused entirely on the next phase of his plan. He understood that while his individual brilliance and technological edge were formidable, true societal revolution—or even long-term survival against the massive infrastructure of the Empire—required leverage and loyal subordinates. Daemon could not afford to be everywhere at once, nor could he sacrifice critical research time for minor tasks.
It was time to form his secret organization: The Order of the Archangel.
His first target was Helga. Daemon had spent the week observing his teammates. Jonas was too rooted in the military hierarchy, and Mikael was too easily terrified by the unconventional. Helga, however, possessed a fundamental magical talent—Telekinesis—that, while currently weak and erratic, held immense potential. Her power was a raw manifestation of mental will, a direct link between mind and Aether. Daemon recognized that she was merely limited by the academic system's simplistic training methods.
Daemon's immediate goal, however, required sacrifice. His stash of Mythril-Tungsten ingots, the precious remnants of the reforged greatsword, had been steadily depleted through various experiments and the casting of his single working Chokuto blade. He now had just enough alloy left to craft one more short, significant weapon. He used this final precious material to forge a Rapier for Helga.
The resulting blade was a masterpiece of lethal artistry. It was slender and impossibly light, perfectly suited to a Telekinesis user who prioritized speed and precision over brute force. The Mythril-Tungsten alloy resulted in a needle-sharp, obsidian-grey blade that possessed a subtle, ethereal shimmer characteristic of Mythril. The hilt was guarded by a delicate yet resilient cage, designed to protect the hand without obstructing wrist movement. It was both beautiful—a lethal ribbon of dark metal—and supremely practical, engineered to be an extension of Helga's own mental will.
Daemon then inscribed a complex, custom Lightning Rune along the length of the rapier. He designed the rune to be passive and highly focused: when the tip or edge of the blade impacted a hard object or another metal weapon, it would instantly channel and discharge a small, concentrated arc of contained lightning at the point of impact. This would disrupt enemy concentration, potentially fry magical foci, and add a disorienting kinetic shock to her attacks.
Daemon located Helga later that evening near the commoners' library. She looked exhausted, still shaken by the recent mission, and was wrestling with a dense textbook on Aetheric stability.
"Helga," Daemon greeted her softly, approaching her with a rare, gentle tone that immediately put her on guard.
"Daemon," she replied warily, clutching the book tighter. Since the mission, they hadn't been alone, and she clearly anticipated a new, unpleasant directive.
Daemon ignored her nervousness and produced a long, padded wooden case, placing it on the table between them. "This is for you. A gift, and a proposition."
Helga stared at the case, mystified and suspicious. "A gift? Why?"
"Your Telekinesis is inefficient," Daemon stated plainly, his eyes sharpening as he began his calculated approach. "You are wasting valuable Aether by pushing objects entirely through mental effort. Your mind should guide the strike, not provide the force. This blade is designed to be guided by your will, and its composition will amplify your finesse, not burden your strength."
He opened the case. The rapier lay nestled against black velvet, the dark blade catching the light. Helga gasped, mesmerized by its cold, lethal beauty.
"It's made of the Mythril-Tungsten alloy," Daemon explained. "The lightest, strongest metal known. It is perfectly balanced to move at the speed of thought. It is the tool that can elevate your power to the level it deserves."
Helga reached for it, but hesitated. "I... I can't take this. It's too valuable. And after what happened—"
"This is not payment for silence, Helga. This is an investment," Daemon interrupted, his voice dropping in tone. "I know that you, Jonas, and Mikael are deeply unsettled by what we did. You struggle with the limits set by this Academy's moral code and the brutality of the mission. But I saw something else: survival. You all desire a power that transcends the petty restrictions of noble blood and antiquated magical theory."
He then delivered his core proposition, his voice holding the quiet, absolute authority of a priest delivering a sacred creed. "I am forming an organization, Helga. A secret one. I call it The Order of the Archangel."
He leaned in, his gaze intense. "The Archangel is an organization dedicated to helping individuals achieve greatness by breaking through the limits that have been set for them by this stagnant world. We exist to encourage innovation, revolution, knowledge, and order. The Order will try as much as possible to protect its members, giving them the tools and training they need to achieve godhood. But in a situation where we cannot, we will offer swift, definitive retribution against those who harm them. We are a promise of power and protection in a world that only sees you as commoner assets."
He gestured to the rapier. "The blade is the first tool. I can teach you how to train your Telekinesis to shatter the limits set by the Academy. Your potential is godlike, Helga. Join me, and we will rewrite the rules of this world together. The only requirement is absolute secrecy."
Helga stared at the rapier, then back at Daemon. The combination of the beautiful weapon, the promise of power, and the terrifying protection against the arbitrary cruelty of the Empire was too compelling to resist. After a long, tense silence, she reached into the case and slowly lifted the rapier. The balance was perfect.
"I agree," she whispered, her voice firming with newfound resolve. "I'll join your Order, Daemon."
Daemon offered a true smile this time, a smile of genuine satisfaction at securing his first asset. He reached into his pocket and produced a small, silver item.
"Welcome, Helga." He gently took her hand and slipped a slender black ring onto her finger. It was etched with a tiny, intricate silvery six-wing design. The design was so minuscule and subtle that no one would ever notice it unless they paid incredibly close attention, but its material shimmered faintly with Aether. "This ring holds a unique, subtle magical signature. It serves as a private means for me to identify and locate members of the Order. You are now protected."
As Daemon concluded the final, hushed details of the Order's secrecy with Helga, they were unaware of the observer. Across the busy courtyard, positioned behind the ornate stone balustrade of a second-floor viewing balcony, stood Camila von Brandt, the younger sister of Hauptmann Brandt, known for her striking red hair and volatile Earth Affinity.
She watched the intimate exchange: Daemon's secretive offering of the slender weapon, Helga's intense gasp, and the final, private act of Daemon slipping the ring onto Helga's finger, concluding with Daemon's warm, rare smile. Camila completely misinterpreted the entire exchange to be a romantic engagement or a lovers' tryst. For some reason she couldn't rationalize, the sight of the commoner Daemon—the subject of so much terrifying Imperial gossip—smiling at another girl and giving her such a secretive gift filled her with a sudden, searing surge of envious anger. She gripped the balustrade, her knuckles white, her red hair catching the light as she watched the new recruit of the Archangel Order depart.