Fury flashed in Herdam's eyes. He hurled his cigar to the ground, crushing it under his boot. "Where is he?" he spat. "Who was the officer in charge of that mission?"
"The Captain leading the mission was badly injured, sir," the messenger whispered, eyes fixed on the floor. "He is currently confined to the medical wing for recovery."
Without another word, the Professor stormed out of the workshop, ignoring the bows of his subordinates. He marched toward the medical department, his presence radiating a cold, terrifying energy. The medics scattered as he approached, looking at him with pure dread.
"Where is that bastard?" Herdam demanded.
A terrified medic pointed toward a private room. "He is in there, sir."
Two guards stood outside the door.
The heavy door to the medical wing swung open with a resounding thud. Inside the sterile room, the air was thick with the scent of ozone and antiseptic. Two officers stood guard: one with messy, ash-blonde hair, and the other—a man named Railey—with neatly combed purple hair.
Professor Herdam stepped into the room, his presence casting a long, cold shadow. The two officers, caught off guard by the sudden intrusion, bowed their heads in a mixture of fear and respect.
"Good evening, Professor," they murmured in unison.
Ignoring them, Herdam walked toward the bed where Captain Arnold lay. The Captain was pale, his body battered from the mission. When he saw the Professor, he struggled to push himself up against the pillows.
"Good evening... Professor," Arnold wheezed.
Herdam stood over him, his face a mask of cold stone. He took a slow, deliberate breath. "Arnold. Report on your condition."
Arnold managed a pained, apologetic smile. "I've been better, sir. But I failed. I couldn't secure the Blueprint."
The Professor's voice dropped to a dangerous octave. "That Blueprint was a cornerstone for the stability of this Continent. I placed my trust in you. I personally petitioned the High Council of Elders to appoint you for this mission, and you have repaid that faith with disappointment."
Arnold's gaze fell to his lap, his shoulders slumped under the weight of his shame.
"Sir!" Railey interjected, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Captain Arnold risked everything for that mission. He literally poisoned his own blood with high-level neuro-toxins to buy us time! You can't say he did nothing!"
The blonde officer beside him hissed, "Railey, that's enough! You're speaking to a High Professor!"
"No!" Railey snapped, his eyes flashing. "Let me speak for the Captain!"
From the bed, Arnold looked at Railey with a weary, stern expression. "Railey, compose yourself. Apologize to Professor Herdam immediately."
The Professor's face tightened. He looked at Railey not with anger, but with a chilling, clinical curiosity. "Young man, you certainly have a... vibrant way of addressing your superiors."
Railey's face went crimson, his mind racing with insults he didn't dare utter.
"Very well," Herdam said, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "If you admire your Captain's sacrifice so much, I shall personally appoint you to a new mission. You are to pursue the thieves and retrieve both the Blueprint and the perpetrators." Herdam reached into the inner pocket of his obsidian robes and pulled out a golden pocket watch. He clicked it open, the mechanical gears ticking with precision.
"You have exactly 72 hours to complete this task," Herdam declared, snapping the watch shut. "If you fail, you will be stripped of your rank and exiled from the Kusanagi Clan by sunrise of the fourth day. But," he paused, his eyes gleaming, "if you succeed, I will personally grant you a set of High-Tier Starlight Armor, custom-forged for your specific resonance."
Arnold tried to protest, swinging his legs off the bed despite his injuries. "Professor, this was my mission! Punish me for the failure, not him!"
"Arnold," Herdam said, cutting him off with a sharp gesture. "Your mission is over. This young man clearly believes he can do better. Let us see if a Kusanagi 'Stream-Walker' can work as well as he talks."
With those final words, the Professor turned and marched toward the exit. As he reached the threshold, he stopped and looked back.
"Listen well, boy. Do not mistake an old man's seriousness for a storyteller's whim. I am very much invested in this deal."
The door closed behind him with a final, heavy thud.