The seminar had just concluded at the training ground, and both students and new recruits alike began filing out toward the large double doors leading back inside of Garreg Mach. The air buzzed with conversation, with much of it coming from the nobles who'd arrived the day before to witness the training session. They lingered in the courtyard, talking excitedly amongst themselves about the demonstration and exchanging their impressions.

In the center of the courtyard, Kratos watched as the large open room emptied out. A satisfied look crossed his face before he turned to follow the last of the soldiers through the doors. Just then, a familiar figure entered his field of view. Seteth, who'd been mingling with the nobles during the ongoing seminar, approached the professor.

With his hands clasped formally behind his back, the green-haired bishop offered Kratos a pleased smile and said, "Well done, Professor Kratos. You've not only exceeded my expectations, but the nobles who are in attendance have spoken highly of your performance."

From Kratos' hip, Mimir's voice spoke out in dry amusement. "Well, I'd have been surprised if you'd expected anything less from us, Master Seteth."

Seteth glanced at the talking head. "Be that as it may, faith and results are not always aligned. That said, I had complete confidence in Professor Kratos' ability to handle this seminar with the professionalism it required." He paused, his expression shifting to something slightly sterner. "Especially after yesterday's... incident with Master Molinaro's unit."

Kratos responded with a dismissive grunt.

"I trust neither you nor Lady Rhea are too upset about the way things unfolded?" Mimir asked the other man.

Seteth paused, his gaze shifting slightly as though weighing his response. After a moment, he spoke with a measured tone. "It is not an incident I would consider ideal, but... understandable under the circumstances. Master Molinaro's disposition has long been a source of contention, particularly among the Kingdom's forces. Their animosity, while unfortunate, is not entirely unwarranted."

He hesitated briefly before continuing, his voice quieter. "Had I been in your position, Professor Kratos- and were it not for my role as Lady Rhea's right hand- I may well have done the same."

Mimir let out a low whistle. "Now that is unexpected. I'd honestly have pegged you as a 'diplomacy first' of sorts."

The bishop waved a hand dismissively. "Diplomacy has its place, but so does decisive action. Regardless, I trust that you would have the discretion to not share what I have just told you with anyone else. After all, my job is to ensure that there are no bad actors trying to rock the ship between the various major factions within Fódlan. Speaking of which…" Seteth nodded over Kratos' shoulder, and the brigand turned to see the several small groups of nobles talking amongst themselves and occasionally stealing glances at Kratos. "I know that I have said that once the seminar was over, you would be free to return to the comforts of your own classroom. However, most of the dignitaries that you see before you have insisted that they have the opportunity to speak with you directly."

Upon hearing this, Kratos remained silent for a moment before a low grunt escaped him, clearly signaling his displeasure at the insinuation.

"I know what you are thinking, Master Kratos," Seteth told him, his tone carrying an attempt to placate. "There is no doubt in my mind that many of these nobles intend to bombard you with offers- be it alliances, favors, or some other attempt to curry favor." He paused briefly. "But I also believe that we know each other well enough by now to understand that they have nothing of value that would interest you." His tone grew slightly more grim. "Still, I will caution you. These lords are not unaccustomed to rejection. If anything, I expect that will only make them more persistent. In the meantime, I ask that you mingle with them only long enough to satisfy their intrigue. The sooner they lose interest, the sooner they may leave, and the sooner you may return to your students."

"You don't suppose that they're bold enough to think they can change his mind, do you?" Mimir asked.

Seteth gave a faint smile. "It is not boldness, but rather persistence I would be more concerned over. But I assure you, a brief interaction will suffice to placate their curiosity and make all our lives easier in the long term." He straightened. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other matters that require my attention."

With that, Rhea's right hand turned and walked away, leaving Kratos and Mimir behind the remaining nobles.

"Well, Brother," The Norse god remarked with shared reluctance. "Best we rip off the bandage and get this over with, aye?"

Kratos glanced down toward Mimir's general direction on his hip, his expression unchanged as a low grunt escaped him in acknowledgment. Without a word, he began making his way toward the nearest group of nobles.

As the tall ashen skinned man approached, one of the three men, with broad shoulders and long blue hair, grinned with delight. "Well, I'll be!" Leopold exclaimed, placing his fists on his hip. "The famed professor of the Kingdom's house of kiddies! Kratos, was it?"

Before Kratos could respond, a sharp voice cut through the exchange. "Leopold, must you bellow like a bear announcing its territory?" Waldemar, the green-haired noble, said dryly as he adjusted his glasses. "I'm already saddled with one theatrical brute; let's not risk encouraging another."

Leopold let out a deep, hearty laugh, clapping a hand against his chest armor. "Ah, Waldemar, your wit is as sharp as ever. It's a wonder anyone dares approach you without armor of their own." He turned to Kratos with an exaggerated shrug. "Don't mind him. And don't worry, his tongue is the only thing he carries around that's sharp nowadays." He holds out his hand to the brigand. "In any case, the name's Leopard von Bergliez, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

For a moment, Leopold was certain that the man with red tattoos would reject the offer to shake, but was pleasantly proven wrong after Kratos didn't hesitate to clasp his hand in return.

Neither man made a move to let go, and instead, much to Waldemar's lack of surprise, Leopold continued to squeeze Kratos hand as to find out just how much iron the ashen skinned man had beneath those calloused fingers.

Leopold's grin widened as he maintained his grip. "Hah, a firm grip, Professor," he remarked, his cocky smile remained fixed as his eyes met Kratos' blank stare.

The spartan said nothing, his hand tightening ever so slightly around Leopold's. At first, the Adrestian noble didn't react, but as the pressure mounted, the smugness in his grin began to falter. His fingers twitched, his knuckles turning white, though he stubbornly held his composure.

Waldemar watched the exchange with a knowing smirk, his voice breaking the silence. "Careful, old friend. You might actually find someone who matches your bravado."

Leopold's grin wavered further as Kratos' grip tightened once more. Finally, unable to stop himself, Leopold gave the smallest wince, his pride forcing him to mask the discomfort as best he could. "You've got… quite the handshake, Sir Kratos," he admitted with a strained chuckle.

Kratos remained impassive but gave a single nod, releasing Leopold's hand. "Well met." He said in a flat tone.

The Empire's Minister of Military Affairs flexed his fingers discreetly as he stepped back, the grin returning to his face, though it was now out of respect for the man standing before him. "I see the stories weren't exaggerating. You're a hard man to impress. You wouldn't happen to have a Crest yourself now, would you?"

"I would highly doubt that," Mimir spoke up, prompting his Greek companion to unlatch his head from his belt and hold him aloft. "Hmm, I must say your reputation precedes you, Lord Bergliez. I've read many accounts of your exploits during the Empire's conflict with Brigid and Dagda, where you've slain many of the opposition in single combat. Only someone with a physique strikingly similar to Kratos could achieve so much in so little time."

Leopold let out a loud, hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the courtyard. "Well, I'll be! The man-goat sure knows how to flatter!" he said as he looked between Mimir and Kratos. "It's not every day I hear my deeds compared to someone like this mountain of a man."

"And I am sure that you two would have lots to discuss in that regard." The thin man with glasses finally intervened while gazing at Mimir with intrigue. "However, I, Waldemar von Hevring, am more interested in speaking with you, Master Mimir. A fellow intellect, as you've just so aptly demonstrated."

Mimir chuckled lightly, his disembodied head tilting slightly as if to nod. "Ah, indeed. It's always a pleasure to meet one who values sharp minds over sharp swords. Although, it may seem for now that you're stuck with the latter."

Waldemar quipped a faint smirk. "A fair observation. Though I assure you, my association with Leopold is strictly a matter of necessity, not choice. That being said," he gestured toward Kratos, "I imagine keeping the company of your... host has proven equally pragmatic?" Hearing this caused the spartan to noticeably scowl beneath the thick beard, and immediately Waldemar backtracked and bowed respectfully. "Forgive me, I meant no offense. I was merely curious, nothing more."

From right next to him, Leopard scoffed, crossing his arms. "As always, your brain keeps getting ahead of your common sense, Waldemar. Maybe try thinking a little less next time, and save yourself the embarrassment."

Waldemar shot him a sidelong glance. "And perhaps you might try thinking a little more, Leopold. A novel concept, I'm sure, but one worth considering."

Leopold opened his mouth to retort but paused, his grin widening as a thought struck him. He leaned forward, peering around Waldemar to look at their silent companion with purple hair. "Hey, Greg. Are you about to introduce yourself, or are you just planning to continue standing there like a stump?"

Unbeknownst to them, the man Leopold had referred to as Greg had been standing motionless, his gaze fixed on Kratos with his mouth slightly ajar. His wide eyes betrayed his unease, and it only deepened when his attention fell on Mimir's severed head. For a moment, he seemed lost in disbelief and unable to reconcile what he was seeing.

As the group's attention shifted to him, the noble suddenly became aware of the eyes now watching him. His gaze darted nervously between Leopold and Waldemar, his lips parting as though to speak, but no words came. After a painfully awkward pause, he finally managed to utter out, "I… I must be going now. I'm sure that my daughter is awaiting me back inside. G-goodbye!"

Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply on his heel and strode away hurriedly toward the interior of Garreg Mach.

Mimir watched him go with a raised eyebrow. "Intriguing…"

"Ah, don't mind him." Leopard told him, throwing his hand out toward the doors. "The paranoid dastard's always been that way, and I take it that the talking severed hand and a bloke like Kratos here didn't help much for him."

"Please forgive Lord Grégoire for his… apprehension," Said Hevring in a measured tone. "Rarely does he ever travel beyond his estate, much less leave his own abode. His general perception of his own stature had led him to believe that he may become a target for ransom, or some other means."

Leopold chuckled. "A bit rich, isn't it? Always acting like he's the center of everything. Still, at least it's entertaining to watch him squirm."

Waldemar sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Entertaining or not, it's a nuisance when his paranoia dictates his every move. But I suppose such concerns are the price of perceived importance."

Before the conversation could carry on further, footsteps echoed from the opposite direction of where Varley had hurried off, and the group turned to see Edelgard approaching with another nobleman at her side. Unlike the others Kratos and Mimir had encountered thus far, this man seemed to have a far more commanding presence around him. His sharp eyes immediately fell on Kratos and Mimir, inspecting them both closely as the young woman came to a stop beside the spartan and gazed up at him expectantly.

"Professor Kratos, and Professor Mimir." She greeted them before gesturing to the man next to her. "It would be my pleasure to introduce you to my uncle, Volkhardl, lord of Arundel, and the current Regent of the Adrestian Empire."

Volkhard gave a small, practiced nod. "A privilege to finally meet the individuals responsible for such a remarkable demonstration," he said smoothly with a bow. "Though I must admit, neither of you are exactly what I would've expected given the rumors and the stories that reached my ears from the capital.

Mimir was quick to respond. "Rumors, you say? Well, those do have a way of... embellishing the truth, wouldn't you say, aye? I'd be curious to know how we were painted by the good folk of Enbarr."

"I wouldn't think too highly of yourself, professor." Volkhard said in a dismissive tone. "As you have said, rumors are exactly that: rumors." There was an awkward pause as both Leopold and Waldemar gave the Regent a curious look before looking back at each other. Edelgard's uncle continued, "In fact, my curiosity lies in the reality before me. Specifically, how it is you live as only a head."

"Ah, now that's the question, isn't it?" The Norse god said with a hearty chuckle. "But to clarify, Lord Arundel, I wouldn't quite say I'm 'alive.' Nor would I say I'm dead, either, if that makes any sense to ya."

Volkhard's eyes narrowed slightly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Magic, then," he concluded with certainty. "And yet, I wonder. What sort of magic would make such an existence possible?"

Mimir's tone shifted to one of dry amusement. "Ah, unfortunately, it's the kind of magic that wouldn't particularly work here, if you catch my meaning."

"Oh? And why is that?"

"Well, you see, I'd spent roughly the past three studying…"

By this point, everything had begun to fade into the background when a flash of red hair caught the corner of Kratos' eye. His attention shifted, locking onto a man with hair similar to Sylvain's and marching toward the open doors leading into the monastery. Kratos' gaze followed him silently, and once the man passed through the doors, he came to an abrupt stop just inside before he started looking around. Eventually, after seemingly finding who he was looking for, he raised his arm and made a beckoning gesture as if to say, "Come here."

A moment later, Sylvain came into view with a scowl plastered on his face, and the spartan could see the boy mouthing something as if to say, "What do you want?" and the two soon became embroiled in an argument as evidenced by their body language.

"...and thus," Mimir concluded with dry finality, regaining Kratos' attention, "that is why I do not recommend it, considering what I had to sacrifice to even end up like this."

"I see." Arundel commented thoughtfully, though he still seemed pleased with the severed head's answer. "I do very much appreciate your insight on our current limitations, particularly when it comes to Reason." He then looked up at Kratos after having noticed the spartan's diversion throughout their conversation. "However, it would seem that your companion has other matters to attend to, and I would hate to be the one to hinder-"

"Here," Kratos interrupted abruptly, and without further explanation, held out Mimir's head over to Edelgard.

The young empress-to-be blinked, stunned by the sudden gesture. Her gaze darted from the head in her hands to Kratos' unreadable face. "I- what?" she stammered, instinctively reaching out and awkwardly grabbing hold of the string attached to Mimir. "I, um… Thank you?" she added, her voice uncertain as she glanced at her uncle, who appeared equally taken aback.

"I will be back shortly." He clarified in his usual blunt tone. Without another word, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the monastery door.

Edelgard stood frozen for a moment, holding Mimir's head in both hands like an unusual artifact. She glanced down at the severed head, whose expression was one of mild amusement. "Well," Mimir said, breaking the silence, "this is certainly not how I expected today to go."

Leopold let out a booming laugh, clearly entertained by the entire scene while Waldemar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Is there ever a moment without theatrics when he is involved?"

Edelgard, regaining some composure, straightened her posture and held Mimir's head at arm's length. "I… suppose I'll just… hold onto you for now," she said awkwardly, to which Mimir replied with a cheerful chuckle.

"Aye, my lady, just don't drop me. I quite enjoy staying in one piece."

Leopold's laughter then came to a sudden halt. "Hey, wait a minute! I didn't even get to make him an offer yet!"

As Kratos drew closer, the argument between the father and son became more audible until he'd reached the doors where everything said could be heard loud and clear. Though he wasn't out of sight from the two, the Ghost of Sparta made no attempt to hide himself or make his presence known as he listened in on what was being said as Sylvain threw his arm across his chest.

"You really believe that I think this is a game? That I'm not taking any of this seriously?"

Matthias, his arms crossed his arms and responded coldly. "You've done little to prove otherwise, Sylvain. How can I entrust you with responsibilities when you've spent your time sneaking out at night, chasing skirts, and squandering your potential?"

Sylvain's jaw tightened, his tone rising. "So that's why you're sending me to deal with Miklan? Is that the potential I've been squandering? Killing my own brother? Or is it because you don't have the guts to face him yourself?"

The father's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "Watch your tone, boy. You have no idea what I've endured to keep this house standing. Do you think it was easy disowning my own son?"

"No, but apparently sending both of them to kill each other seemed a lot easier for you in this case. I bet his mom would be really proud of you for that."

"This is not about her!" Matthias nearly shouted, his nostrils flared and jabbed a finger at his son's chest. "This is about the future of our house! Our name! Our legacy. And if none of that actually matters to you, then-"

The man stopped suddenly after becoming aware of someone else's presence. Both he and Sylvain turned toward the doors, where Kratos now stood, watching silently.

Matthias cleared his throat, straightening his posture as he struggled to recompose himself in front of his son's professor. "Master Kratos," he greeted stiffly, his voice regaining some of its controlled tone. "I hadn't realized we had an audience."

Sylvain's posture stiffened, his gaze shifting to Kratos with an almost pleading look that said, I really don't need this right now. Without a word, he shook his head and turned on his heel, intending to walk away from both the argument and the conversation entirely.

"Sylvain, wait," His father commanded, stepping forward and grabbing his son's arm to stop him.

"Let me go," Sylvain said in a low voice.

"Sylvain, just listen to me for one second-"

"I said let me go!" he yelled, yanking his arm free with enough force to almost cause the senior Gautier to stagger. The sudden act stunned Matthias, his hand hovering in the air where Sylvain's arm had been moments before.

Sylvain glared at him, his chest heaving as he fought to compose himself. After a tense pause, he turned again, this time walking briskly toward the monastery's interior without looking back. Kratos remained motionless at the doorway, his expression unreadable as he shifted his gaze to Matthias, who stood frozen in place, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The silence lingered as Matthias finally dropped his arm, exhaling sharply and muttering under his breath, "So much like his mother." He then turned to face spartan at the doorway. "Is there something of which you require from me, Professor?" He asked as if to sound business-as-usual as possible.

Kratos held Matthias' gaze for a brief moment before responding, "There was." He then turned his head to watch Sylvain's silhouette shrinking further and further away. "But not anymore."

Matthias remained rooted in place. With a heavy sigh, he ran a hand down his face, then gazed up at the ceiling and said, "Why has the goddess cursed me so?" After a moment, he straightened his posture, taking a deep breath as he worked to fully recompose himself.

"I know that my son has said a lot of things to you about me." The senior Gautier began. "He's likely told you his side of the story, and while there is no doubt a lot of truth in what he's said, I'd like to ask that you hear mine as well."

He paused briefly, his eyes locking on Kratos. "You've seen it, haven't you? The way human nature drags itself toward ruin. No matter how hard we try, no matter how much we reason or plead, it all too often amounts to nothing. I see it in your eyes." The spartan didn't respond. "You know exactly what I mean."

Matthias exhaled sharply, his gaze momentarily drifting as if recalling painful yet vivid memories. "There was a time when I believed I could change it. That if I spoke the right words, extended the right hand, people would see reason. I thought I could overcome their greed, their anger, their hatred. And yet, each time, I failed. My words fell on deaf ears, and my hand was swatted away. And what did it cost? Lives."

He clenched his jaw, his voice growing heavier. "I was a fool to think I could shape the world into something better. That I could outmaneuver the ugliness ingrained in us. And now, I see that same foolishness reflected in my son. I tried to reason with Miklan. Despite throwing away chance after chance, I still continued to offer it to him under the belief that the boy he'd once been was still in there, somewhere… and it was all for naught." Matthias straightened slightly, his expression hardening as his eyes returned to Kratos. "But I will not fail Sylvain. No matter how much he hates me for it, no matter how much he resents the choices I've made, I will ensure he survives what's coming. Because if I don't... then everything I've sacrificed, everything my family has endured… will have been meaningless." Gautier took a deep breath, "I don't like asking for favors, Professor. But if it comes to it, all I ask is… make sure Miklan's death is swift and painless."

With that, he turned and walked away in the direction opposite of where Sylvain had gone, and the Ghost of Sparta was left alone at the doorway as he contemplated everything he'd just heard for a long moment before heading back to the training ground and retrieving Mimir.