Season 2 Chapter 1
The Weed Theory
Date: October 14, 1428 Location: An Abandoned Farmland, Outskirts of Seistain.
The sun was high and unforgiving. The field was a mess of overgrown grass, thistles, and dry dirt. It looked less like a meeting point for a secret society and more like a place where hope went to die.
Malesh and Kniya—now 25 years old, though they still dressed like they were on a student budget—were kneeling in the dirt.
Kniya wiped sweat from his forehead, looking at the endless rows of overgrown vegetation.
"Bro," Kniya grunted, yanking a particularly stubborn thistle out of the ground. "Why did Mantouse Adeius call us to this farmland? We own two islands. We have millions in assets. Why are we kneeling in mud?"
Malesh didn't look up. He was systematically pulling weeds with the same clinical efficiency he used to disassemble rifles.
"Think about the economics, Kniya," Malesh stated, tossing a weed onto a pile. "He provided us with the islands. He gave us the capital. He gave us the initial intelligence. All for 'free'—or at least, for a very low return on investment so far."
"So?" Kniya asked.
"So," Malesh continued, wiping his dirty hands on his trousers. "I think so, he wanted us to do the farming. It is a form of feudal repayment. We are the vassals; he is the lord. He wants us to clean his land to show gratitude."
Kniya looked at the weeds, then at Malesh. The logic was twisted, but in their world, everything had a price.
"Yeah, I think so, you are right," Kniya sighed, grabbing another handful of grass. "He probably wants to grow organic corn or something. We should start pulling off the weeds from the farm. If we finish this row before he gets here, maybe he won't charge us interest."
"Agreed," Malesh nodded. "Efficiency is respect. Let's clear the sector."
For five minutes, the only sound was the rip-snap of weeds being torn from the earth by two secret multi-millionaires.
Then, a black, steam-powered carriage rolled up to the edge of the field. The door opened, and Mantouse Adeius stepped out.
He looked exactly the same as he did six years ago—pristine black velvet suit, silver-tipped cane, and an air of absolute authority. He took one look at the field.
His jaw dropped. The terrifying, shadowy mastermind looked... confused.
"What?" Mantouse whispered to himself.
He walked over to the edge of the dirt, staring at the two young men who were covered in mud, holding fistfuls of dandelions.
"What are you doing, guys?" Mantouse asked, his voice losing its mysterious edge for a second.
Malesh looked up, shading his eyes from the sun. "Farming," he reported. "You know, pulling off the weeds. We have cleared approximately three square meters."
Mantouse stared at them. He looked at his expensive carriage. He looked at the weeds in Malesh's hand.
"And as you do that," Mantouse said slowly, "I just asked you to meet me here. And you are pulling the weeds for no reason?"
"We thought that you invited us to do the farming over here because you provided the islands," Malesh explained earnestly. "It is a labor-capital exchange. We provide the manual labor to offset the debt."
Mantouse closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and exhaled slowly.
"Are you a fucking idiot or what?" Mantouse snapped, his eyes snapping open.
"Ahhhh ?" Kniya stood up, dusting off his knees.
"Do you think I would call you for pulling off the weeds from farmland?" Mantouse shouted, gesturing at his suit. "Look at me! Do I look like I care about turnips? What the heck are you guys literally thinking about?"
"We thought you were diversifying," Malesh shrugged, dropping the weed.
"I am not diversifying into gardening!" Mantouse roared. "I came here for a very important thing! This land isn't for farming. It's for hiding."
He pointed his cane at them. "Stop touching the grass. You are embarrassing the organization."
The Blue Blood and the Democrat
"We were just maximizing efficiency," Malesh said, standing up and brushing the dirt off his knees. "But if the farming initiative is cancelled, what is the 'very important thing'?"
Mantouse looked around the empty field, his eyes scanning the horizon for eavesdroppers that didn't exist. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I didn't bring you here for agriculture. I brought you here because I need you to retrieve something. Something that doesn't officially exist."
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, ornate crystal bottle. The liquid inside shimmered with a strange, oily iridescence.
"I want to get a potion," Mantouse said, holding the bottle up to the sunlight. "You know what this potion has? It can give you a lifespan of 1,000 years with a stagnant biological body of a 20-to-30-year-old. It is the potion that can change entire humanity. The old texts call it 'The Limitless'."
The reaction wasn't what Mantouse expected. They didn't laugh. They didn't call it fantasy.
Malesh froze, his eyes locking onto the bottle with sudden, sharp recognition. Kniya took a step back, the color draining from his face instantly.
"The Limitless?" Malesh whispered, his voice tight. "That's... that's a ghost story from the pre-Republic era. It was supposed to be a myth used to justify the Emperor's divine rule. Why do you have a bottle of it?"
"I don't," Mantouse said dramatically, uncorking the bottle and taking a massive swig. "This is Spiced Orange Juice. Vintage."
"Orange juice?" Malesh stared at the fancy crystal bottle, his heart rate slowly coming down. "Then why the hell are you keeping orange juice in a potion vial? You nearly gave me a cardiac event."
"Style, Malesh. Learn it," Mantouse corked the bottle. "But the fact that you reacted tells me you know the legend. Good. Because the potion is real. And do you know who is researching it?"
He leaned in closer, his eyes sliding toward Kniya. "The Royal Family."
The Blue Blood and the Democrat
"The Royals?" Malesh frowned, but he didn't look worried. He looked amused. "The Monarchy was uprooted by the Democrats years ago. They are just museum pieces now. They sit in dusty manors and complain about the tea. They don't have the power or the funding to research a biological impossibility."
"They have the blood," Mantouse said, taking a casual sip from the flask. "And they have the secrets."
"That is hilarious," Kniya chuckled, kicking a pebble. "The Royal Family is dead, bro. The government doesn't even acknowledge them. We are a Democracy. I am a Democrat. We believe in the vote, the Republic, and not marrying our cousins."
"You have very strong opinions, Mr. Anderson," Mantouse smirked, stepping closer. "For a guy who cashes their checks."
"I am a Democrat!" Kniya laughed, leaning back against a tree. "I believe in the vote! But I also believe in taking their money. Whatever those aristocrats are doing in the shadows is their problem. I'm just here for the stipend."
"It has everything to do with you," Mantouse interrupted, but his tone wasn't cutting. It was just factual. "Because I know who you are, Kniya."
The field went silent for a second. Malesh looked at Kniya, raising an eyebrow.
"I know why your grandmother sends you 'pocket money' that rivals a Manager's salary," Mantouse whispered. "I know why you changed your last name to Anderson. You aren't just a rich kid, Kniya. You are Royalty. You are a member of that very family you roast every Tuesday."
Kniya didn't gasp. He didn't panic. He just shrugged.
"Okay, you got me," Kniya admitted, looking unbothered. "I have blue blood. It's annoying. But I chose my side. I chose the Republic. My blood doesn't dictate my politics."
"No," Mantouse agreed. "But it dictates your biology."
He looked at both of them now.
"How do you think I know about the potion?" Mantouse asked. "How do I know it works? Because I have seen the old logs from the Royal Archives—the ones that were supposed to be burned."
"I think so you got to know about the potion from god ! well what are you talking about the logs?" Malesh asked, stepping between them, looking mildly interested.
"The logs of the Human Trials," Mantouse said, pointing at them with his cane. "I know about the 'treatments' you both received as children. Why do you think you survived jumping off buildings? Why do you think you heal faster than normal men? It's not because you drink your milk, boys."
Mantouse smiled, and it wasn't a terrifying sight. It was the look of a man who held the winning hand.
"You are the prototypes."
The 80,000 Credit Mistake
"I want to know the backstory," Mantouse said, pouring himself another glass of the Spiced Rum from the crystal potion bottle. "Especially from you two. I want to know exactly what happened in that laboratory."
Kniya didn't sigh. He didn't look into the distance. He just hopped up onto a large flat rock, crossed his legs, and started picking the dirt out from under his fingernails.
"It was 1415," Kniya said, sounding like he was talking about a boring Tuesday. "We were ten years old ! Old enough to be annoying, young enough to be 'useful' to the lineage."
He yawned, stretching his arms.
"My Grandfather—the old Royal Patriarch—called me to the estate. He said he needed a favor. Framing it as a 'duty to the bloodline' or whatever old people say. But he told me he couldn't just test it on me. He needed a control subject first. Someone expendable but with a compatible genetic profile."
Kniya pointed a thumb at Malesh, grinning.
"So, I called him."
Malesh was leaning against a dead tree, looking completely bored. He didn't cross his arms defensively; he just shrugged.
"I was at home," Malesh explained casually, kicking a clod of dirt. "Sleeping. Doing absolutely nothing. Then Kniya calls me and says, 'Come over to the Royal Estate, my Grandpa wants to see us.' I told him to get lost. It was a Tuesday. I am a lazy person. I don't travel across the city for a social visit."
"He literally hung up on me," Kniya laughed. "So I called him back and said, 'Grandfather is offering a cash stipend for your time.'"
Malesh smirked. "And I asked, 'How much?' He said it was a paid consultation. I was at his front door in twelve minutes. I put on my shoes so fast I almost broke a toe. Efficiency follows capital."
"So we went to this hidden underground lab in KDC. It looked like a dentist's office but with more guards."
"I went in first," Malesh said, rolling his eyes. "They treated me like the crash test dummy. They gave me this mysterious injection, glowing sludge, basically, and told me it was a 'vitamin supplement.' I took the cash and walked out."
"And I waited," Kniya grinned, looking at Mantouse. "Grandfather needed to make sure the control subject didn't explode. So, we watched Malesh for a few weeks."
"I felt fine," Malesh shrugged. "I was just happy about the money."
"Once we saw he didn't turn into a lizard or die," Kniya continued, "I went back a few weeks later for my turn. Same sludge. Same doctor."
"We sat there reading comic books afterwards," Malesh added. "Then Kniya got a papercut from the comic. And it healed instantly. Like, zip, gone. We looked at each other and realized, 'Okay, this isn't vitamins.'"
"The experiment was a success. We were the first batch. And then came the payout."
"Grandfather handed Malesh an envelope," Kniya said.
"80,000 credits," Malesh said, looking satisfied but annoyed at the same time. "At twelve years old, I thought I was a king. I sold my genetic code for pocket money. I walked out of there thinking I scammed them."
"And then," Kniya grinned, a mischievous smirk forming on his face. "After Malesh left, Grandfather handed me my envelope. A 'Family Loyalty Bonus'."
Malesh's head snapped up. This was the only time he looked genuinely offended.
"Wait," Malesh frowned. "How much was in yours?"
"100,000 credits," Kniya winked.
"100k?" Malesh asked, looking at Kniya with pure disappointment. "You got 20,000 more than me? For the same injection?"
"Royal privilege, bro… hehehe," Kniya laughed. "Tax-freeee."
"I hate this country," Malesh shook his head, looking annoyed at the math. "I got fucked by my own bribery consent. I sold my soul at a discount. Fuck !!".