The Apostle of Insanity

Nora shook her head.

He gave her a playful wink, straightened slightly in his chair, and with a wide gesture, stood up, stretching again. "Alright, why don't you tell me how these convocations usually go down?"

Nora sighed, stealing one last glance at the luxurious room before finally flopping onto the bed.

She fixed him with a mischievous smile, arms crossed, her eyes gleaming with amusement. Tilting her head to the side, she gave him a look that seemed to challenge him. "So, you really don't know?"

Azarel raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as well and leaning back against the chair he'd been sitting in. "Let's just say my knowledge is… broad," he said with a nonchalant tone. "Not exactly detailed, true, but isn't that better? Leaves room for the thrill of discovery, don't you think?"

He paused, letting his gaze wander around the room before settling back on Nora. "After all, surprises make life more interesting."

Nora let out a long sigh. "Fine, listen. A convocation of the elites is a rare thing. It only happens under two circumstances. First, if the organization is planning something big—a major event, something game-changing. It's almost unheard of, but when it happens, only the highest-ranking members, the ones the leader trusts completely, get invited."

Azarel nodded slowly, his expression exaggeratedly focused, as though he were making an effort to understand. "Got it. So, it's like a super-secret, ultra-exclusive shadow VIP meeting." He accompanied the words with an overly dramatic wave of his hand, giving them unnecessary weight.

Nora rolled her eyes but continued, unfazed. "The other reason," she went on, "is in case of an emergency. Something really serious, something that threatens the organization's stability. In that case, the leader summons the best—the ones he considers essential to handle the crisis."

Azarel nodded again, this time more thoughtfully. "Interesting… so it's either a monumental plan or an imminent disaster. Delightful." He shrugged. "And how does one get in?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

"That's where it gets strict," Nora replied. "The order for the convocation is given at the last minute to avoid any leaks. Only those with a special pass can attend. No exceptions. No loopholes. If you don't have a pass, you're not getting in."

Azarel raised a curious eyebrow. "And you? Do you have your pass yet?"

Nora shook her head. "Not yet. It should arrive soon. The leader uses his own messengers—shadow homunculi—to deliver the passes. One of them will come for me."

Azarel chuckled, clearly entertained. "Come for you, huh?" he said, standing and strolling toward her. "I think you meant to say come for us. I told you, I'm going too, remember?"

Nora frowned. "I doubt you'll even be allowed in…"

He leaned closer, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Wanna bet?"

Nora sighed deeply. "Fine, us then," she muttered, a trace of exasperation in her voice.

Satisfied, Azarel clasped his hands behind his head, settling into a relaxed stance. "Perfect. Now, all we have to do is wait… and enjoy this lovely hotel."

Nora clenched her teeth, her hands gripping the silky bed sheets. Azarel, meanwhile, looked entirely at ease, his feet propped casually on a stool, a smug smile playing on his lips. She had half a mind to chuck a pillow at his face—just to see if it would wipe away that insufferably calm expression.

"You're taking this way too lightly," she finally growled, glaring at him.

"Why stress over things you can't control? What will happen, will happen—with or without your very intimidating frown."

Nora rolled her eyes. "Seriously, what are you going to do if they don't let you in?"

Azarel feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "You doubt my skills? That's cruel, Nora. Very cruel."

"Cruel? No, cruel is forcing me to share a single room with you when we could each have our own space! But of course, why make things simple, right?"

Azarel let out a hearty laugh. "You're repeating yourself, you know?" He stretched, standing slowly before strolling toward the window. "But if it helps, let me put your mind at ease—I won't be imposing. I've got other plans tonight."

"Oh, really? And what exactly are you scheming, Mr. L?"

He turned, his grin as casual as ever. "Oh, nothing much. Just a little nighttime stroll. Maybe check out the town, meet some interesting folks..."

Her brow furrowed, suspicion written all over her face. "Don't do anything stupid. If you draw attention to yourself, it could jeopardize my spot at the meeting."

"Nora, Nora…" he sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "I'm the epitome of discretion."

Nora let out a long, exasperated sigh.

Azarel threw her a cheeky wink before heading for the door. "As always, your unwavering faith in me is truly inspiring."

Without waiting for her retort, he stepped out, leaving Nora alone in the luxurious room. She dropped onto the bed, her mind racing.

Gazing at the darkening sky through the window, an idea began to form.

In under five minutes, she was up, fully dressed, and ready to leave. Grabbing a dark cloak from the hook near the entrance, she slipped out into the night.

---

Azarel descended the wide marble staircase at a leisurely pace.

The inn's grand hall was as opulent as they came—glistening chandeliers lit every corner, and vibrant tapestries adorned the walls.

Still, he couldn't help but sigh in boredom. This wait was going to be long. Far too long.

He paused near one of the elaborately carved pillars, watching the occasional noble sweep across the hall, their fine robes rustling against the polished floor. "A medieval world, huh..." he muttered to himself. "No consoles, no TV... Perfect." His arms hung limply at his sides as he scanned the room, desperate for something—anything—to occupy his time.

Finally, his gaze landed on the reception desk, where a harried clerk flipped through a ledger. A mischievous grin spread across Azarel's face as he sauntered over, his steps unhurried.

Leaning casually against the counter, he declared, "I'm bored."

The receptionist blinked up at him, clearly caught off guard. "P-pardon, sir?" he stammered, his hands hovering awkwardly between the ledger and an ink pot.

Azarel raised a brow. "Bored. As in, bored out of my mind. Help me."

The clerk tugged at his collar, visibly uncomfortable. "Uh… well, we have a library upstairs, perhaps… or the music lounge…" His voice trailed off as Azarel stared at him with comically exaggerated despair. "May I at least have your name?" he ventured, clearly grasping at straws.

"Azarel Valcis," he replied, flashing a dazzling smile as he propped an elbow on the counter. "And now that you know who I am, let me make your life easier: find me some women."

The receptionist's eyes widened in shock, and he swallowed hard. "E-excuse me?"

Azarel snapped his fingers, clearly delighted by his own idea. "You know—companions! Charming young women, fascinating, entertaining... someone who could make this night a little less dull."

The man looked like he was about to faint, his complexion shifting from pale pink to an alarming shade of gray. "I… I don't think… that this establishment… well, I mean…"

Azarel sighed, visibly annoyed. "Of course not. You don't offer such services. But I'm sure a man of your caliber has… connections. Come now, don't be shy."

Before the receptionist could stammer out a coherent response, a sharp throat-clearing cut through the awkward tension. Azarel turned to see a woman standing nearby, dressed in a simple yet elegant gown, arms crossed and her piercing gaze fixed on him.

"Are you looking for trouble, or is this just your idea of socializing?" she asked, her tone icy.

Azarel flashed her a dazzling smile. "A little of both, perhaps. But you seem perfectly suited to help me solve at least one of those problems."

The woman raised an unimpressed brow, her expression hard as stone. "Charming," she said dryly, brushing an invisible speck from her dress. "Do you have any other skills, or is this your one specialty?"

Azarel straightened up with exaggerated theatrics, placing a hand over his heart. "Oh, I have plenty of skills, but I doubt you're ready to discover them."

Her lips curled into a faint grimace. "You know, I'm almost impressed… by how much bad taste you can pack into so few words."

Azarel laughed, unbothered by her cutting remark. Leaning slightly closer, he dropped his voice as if sharing a secret. "How about we discuss this somewhere more… private? You might be surprised."

The woman took a deliberate step back, her glare as sharp as a blade. "Surprised? Yes, but not in the way you're hoping, clown." She turned to the receptionist, who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. "I'll be in my room. If this… character continues his antics, notify security."

Azarel raised his hands in mock surrender, a smug grin playing on his lips. "Easy now, no need to call in the muscle. I'm just having a little fun!"

She didn't dignify him with a response, spinning on her heel and walking away.

The receptionist, visibly relieved, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "Mr. Valcis… perhaps you'd enjoy… um, the library."

Azarel shrugged, then casually perched on the edge of the counter. "You people are so uptight. No wonder no one's having any fun in this place."

That's when she stopped abruptly, her back still turned to him. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of her gown, and after a moment of hesitation, she slowly pivoted to face him again.

"You said… Valcis?" she asked, her voice suddenly colder, sharper.

Azarel, still leaning against the counter, arched a brow. "Indeed. Azarel Valcis, at your service," he replied, his tone smug as he gave her a slight bow and a charming smile.