The morning chill in the bedchamber grew heavier as Isbert's words hung between them.
"My father wanted to eliminate you the very instant the dragon's steel hummed in your presence," Isbert said, his voice flat with memory. "He believed that the most dangerous fiends were the ones who walked and talked like men—that no matter how flawless the human veneer, a demon remains a demon."
Faust gave a slow, solemn nod.
He could hardly fault the logic; even though Faust had never encountered a real demon, he believed that "humans" were often worse than any demon that world had seen.
"He took the discovery straight to your father," Isbert continued, leaning his head against the high-back armchair. "The late Herzog of Saxe-Weimar loved you beyond measure. He was so furious, so fiercely protective, that their argument shook the foundations of the estate. Your father took you and stormed out that very night. My father wouldn't risk open war with a dear friend, but the only reason he didn't send our hunters into the shadows after you... was me."
Isbert met Faust's visible eye, a faint smile softening the lines of his aged face.
"I had spent enough time in your company to know you were no monster. At least, not then. I pleaded for your life. In exchange, my father gave me my official accolade: I was ordered to hunt down a high-tier beast shapeshifter hiding among the Bavarian nobility, stoking the fires between Catholics and Protestants." Isbert let out a dry, rasping sigh. "A century has passed, and those religious fools are still at each other's throats. But the second half of my accolade was simpler: I had to watch you."
Faust's jaw nearly hit the floorboards.
"So that explains it... That is why you suddenly attached yourself to my side from 1540s! A whole decade!"
Isbert threw his head back and laughed, a wheezing, joyful sound.
"What? Did you truly believe I voluntarily endured ten miserable years of high-society galas and noble gossip just for the wine? I struck a bargain with your father. I told him that if my family truly wanted you dead, they would find a way—so his best option was to let me act as your shield. Besides, completing the task secured my claim as Patriarch far faster. It was a win-win."
Faust stared at his hands, his mind spinning.
"So... am I truly a demon, Isbert?"
"Only by half," Isbert replied softly, shaking his head. "When your father took you in, he had you baptized in the grandest cathedral he could find. That holy rite binded and suppressed your demonic half beneath a veil of true humanity for nearly a century. But something recently provoked it..."
"Baphomet," Faust finished, his voice a low gravel. "When the creature pierced my abdomen in Paris, it shattered the anchor. It severed my connection to the divine."
Isbert nodded slowly, but before he could speak, a violent, wet cough tore through his chest. He doubled over, spitting a thick spray of dark blood into his linen handkerchief.
Faust surged out of the bed, catching his old friend's trembling shoulder.
"Isbert! Steady yourself. Let me fetch the syringe—"
"No," Isbert gasped, offering a bloody, defiant grin as he waved Faust away. "I strained my core to save Rita... The lifeforce is slipping through my fingers, Faust. No medicine can save me now."
The old Patriarch wiped his mouth, taking a ragged breath.
"After my accolade ended, my father formally apologized to the Herzog. But the two of them never stopped searching for a permanent balance. They conducted secret anatomical and spiritual studies behind your back while you were engrossed in your books. They realized that as your mortal years dragged on, your human essence would slowly wither while the demonic blood grew exponentially stronger."
Faust rubbed his chin, a dozen strange, fragmented memories of his father's odd medical checkups and peculiar alchemical tonics finally clicking into place.
"On his deathbed, your father and mine devised a single, viable path," Isbert said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "The Demon Hunter Initiation. By binding your soul to the calcified ashes of a legendary hunter, the righteous ash could permanently balance and suppress the encroaching dark."
"Then why didn't they make me perform the Initiation decades ago?"
"Because we had no idea who your demonic progenitor was," Isbert explained grimly. "If we used the ashes of an ordinary hunter, your awakening fiend would have simply consumed the remnant soul and burned your humanity away. You required an anchor of absolute, supreme power. There were only two men in history whose existence was potent enough to hold you: the legendary Grandmaster Azazel Weyer, whose remains are completely lost to the world... and the founder of Lux Tenebris himself, Hugues de Payens."
Faust's pulse spiked.
Hugues de Payens.
"My family spent decades searching for his tomb in vain," Isbert murmured, his eyes dimming. "Only recently have whispers surfaced that the Spanish Inquisition uncovered a lead. Your awakening... it is running on borrowed time, Faust."
Faust looked at the dying titan before him.
"Then my path is clear. I must find the ashes of the First Grandmaster."
"Yes," Isbert said. He reached up, his cold, weathered hand gripping Faust's shoulder with a strength that defied his failing body. "Faust... you saved my daughter. You have stood by my family for a century. Now, as the Patriarch of Frost, I must ask you for one final, selfish favor. There is no one else in this wretched world I can trust."
Faust offered a warm, sad smile.
"You kept my secret and honored my father's memory, Isbert. Name it."
"When I return to Munich, I will formally declare young Isfrid as the sole successor to the Frost seat," Isbert said, his jaw tightening. "The elders and our distant, power-hungry relatives will smile to my face, but the moment my breath stops, they will unleash every assassin and shadow blade in their arsenal to butcher my grandson and claim our ancestral heirloom."
Another bloody cough racked Isbert's frame, but he held Faust's gaze with desperate intensity.
"I will restrict the elders with the last of my authority, but Isfrid cannot remain in Bavaria," Isbert pleaded softly. "I will assign him an official accolade: he is to accompany you, aid you in the hunt for the ashes of Hugues de Payens, and temper his sword in true battle. Keep him alive, Faust. Let him grow into the master he is meant to be."
Faust placed his hand over Isbert's freezing fingers.
"He is my godson, old friend. I will guard him with my life. Besides, I have good news about my Arma."