Tristan's expression twisted in shock. Never in his life had he expected to hear someone speak so casually about murdering their own sibling. Hatred, resentment, rivalry—those were things he understood. But this… this was different. The way Bart spoke of it was almost unsettling, as though the thought of spilling familial blood was neither horrifying nor unnatural, but merely another burden to be carried.
"Did I hear you correctly?" Tristan asked slowly, disbelief laced within his voice. "You just said you want to kill your sister. That is not a normal thing to say."
Bart laughed quietly before taking another swig from the bottle he had retrieved from beneath the counter. The scent of alcohol lingered heavily around him as his fingers lazily scratched against the worn wooden surface of the bar.
"No," Bart admitted, his tone almost amused. "It isn't normal. But House Vermillion has never been a normal family. We are a bloodline that devours itself. Brothers kill brothers. Sisters poison sisters. Children betray parents long before they are old enough to understand the weight of betrayal." He chuckled bitterly before continuing, "Truthfully, we are probably not even the original Vermillion bloodline anymore. After generations of slaughter, replacement, and ambition… who can even say what remains of the true family?"
Tristan fell silent.
A family built upon the murder of its own kin sounded less like nobility and more like a curse passed down through generations. For a fleeting moment, Tristan found himself strangely fascinated by the history of the so-called greatest family in the nation. Yet even with that curiosity stirring in the back of his mind, his true focus remained unchanged.
Adel Vermillion.
The strongest Pillar.
The greatest obstacle standing before his ambitions.
Even thinking of opposing her felt absurd. Deep down, Tristan understood the reality of the situation. Bringing down the leader of the strongest Pillar—and surviving the wrath of her followers afterward—was a task bordering on impossible.
"How exactly do you expect to kill the strongest person in this country?" Tristan asked.
Bart placed the bottle back onto the counter before staggering toward his seat. The alcohol had clearly begun to affect him; his steps were uneven, and he nearly knocked over a chair as he returned to the table. Yet despite his drunken state, his words remained coherent—dangerously coherent.
"I have followers within the Pillar," Bart said as he dropped into his chair. "People loyal to me rather than her. They'll create distractions while we strike Adel directly. You and your friends join us, and together we kill her." He smirked faintly. "Simple plan."
Tristan raised an eyebrow.
"A little too simple," he replied. "You're assuming I even have enough people here willing to help you."
"I'm not asking you to bring an army," Bart said dismissively. "Three to five people will be enough. Besides…" His gaze slowly drifted toward the entrance of the bar. "I'm fairly certain there's more of you than you're letting on."
At that exact moment, the tavern door creaked open.
A violent gust of winter air swept inside, carrying flecks of snow along with it. Claire stepped into the dimly lit tavern, her brown hair dusted lightly with frost. Snowflakes melted against the floorboards as she entered.
Bart immediately stood.
"So, you finally decided to join us," he said with a crooked grin. "Can I assume you heard everything?"
Claire's expression remained calm, though Tristan himself looked surprised. He had not sensed her approach whatsoever. It was almost unnatural. Her presence was so faint it was as though she possessed no Star Energy at all.
"I heard your proposal," Claire replied coldly. "But decisions like that are not ours to make alone."
Bart slowly sat back down, disappointment flickering across his face.
"Then I suppose I'll just have to take you in instead."
In an instant, he summoned a revolver from his Celestial Forge. Claire responded immediately, materializing her staff into her grasp. Star Energy began to ripple around both weapons as tension flooded the tavern.
Bart glared at her through his one functioning eye, patiently waiting for her to make the first move.
Tristan sighed heavily.
"Wait," he interrupted. "I think we can help you."
Claire turned sharply toward him, confusion evident upon her face. Though she clearly wanted to object, she restrained herself, trusting that Tristan had a reason for speaking.
"I'm willing to help you," Tristan continued, "but only if you do something for me in return."
Bart stared at him for a moment before returning his revolver to his Celestial Forge. Resting an arm atop the table, he exhaled deeply.
"I'm already choosing not to drag you in. That alone should count for something." He glanced toward Claire before looking back at Tristan. "Fine. What do you want?"
"After we help you kill your sister," Tristan said firmly, "I want Pillar Orion to join our cause."
Bart leaned backward in his chair, raising the brow above his ruined eye.
"And what exactly is your cause?"
Tristan's crimson eyes darkened.
"To destroy the nobility," he answered, "and bring change to this broken world."
Silence consumed the room.
Bart simply stared at him, his mouth slightly parted in genuine surprise. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face.
"I can live with that," he said. "Provided we actually succeed in killing my sister."
"And if things go well," Tristan added, "we may even gain a fourth ally."
Bart tilted his head.
"There's another one of your people coming?"
Tristan glanced toward Claire. Her distrust toward Bart was painfully obvious. Whether it stemmed from his noble blood or his status as a Pillar member, Tristan could not tell. Still, if they intended to cooperate with him, there was little point in hiding their intentions.
"We're also searching for Jack the Ripper."
This revelation barely surprised Bart.
"That explains why you were snooping around Godfrey's place," he muttered. "So the old man actually did have information. He just refused to share it with us."
Bart began rhythmically tapping his foot against the wooden floor while staring thoughtfully at the tavern ceiling.
"So," he finally asked, "what exactly did he tell you?"
"He doesn't know Jack's current location," Tristan answered, "but he believes he'll make his next move during the Winter Masquerade Ball."
Bart nodded slowly.
"And how exactly do you plan on entering?"
Tristan immediately fell silent.
For the first time, he realized he had completely overlooked the problem. An event filled with high-ranking nobles would undoubtedly be heavily guarded. Normally, details like that would never escape his notice, but exhaustion had begun dulling his thoughts. Days without proper rest were finally catching up to him.
Rubbing at his tired eyes, Tristan admitted, "I… never thought that far ahead."
Bart, who seemed noticeably more sober now, immediately offered a solution.
"I can provide invitations," he said. "The guards barely check identities anyway. What matters is the insignia embedded into the invitations themselves."
"Thank you," Tristan replied sincerely.
Bart smirked.
"It's probably better not to thank me yet," he said. "At least not until you actually catch your man."
He extended a hand across the table.
"To our new partnership," Bart declared.
Tristan hesitated.
Every Vermillion he had encountered thus far had brought him nothing but suffering, arrogance, or bloodshed. Trusting another one felt foolish. Dangerous, even.
Yet if Bart Vermillion could become one of the many stepping stones needed to achieve his greater ambition, then Tristan was willing to work alongside him—if only temporarily.
After a moment of silence, Tristan finally reached forward and clasped the one-eyed man's hand.
And with that single handshake, an uneasy alliance was born.