Crownslayer

Crownslayer is a 6-star character in Arknights. Crownslayer's class is Specialist. Faction: Rhodes Island.

EXE-X: "This painting is the most famed of Valentin's works, purchased on recommendation some years ago.

Parted with about a million chervontsy for it," Duke Propp effusively tells the Government Inspector as he introduces his collection.

"And here we have a precious night pearl recovered from the east mountains.

Only two in the entire empire, one of them here with me, the other in the hands of Duke Beria..."

"You mean this one?" The Inspector pulls a gemstone out of her pocket the size of a burdenbeast's eyeball, glowing in faint green.

"Well, good Inspector, you certainly know your treasuries!", lauds the Duke, loath as he is to.

His territory is tenth on the Inspector's rounds, and the first nine are all extravagant when it comes time for bribes.

Not one Inspector hasn't been thoroughly spoiled by the time they make it here.

The Inspector strolls up to a corner of the collection, and picks up an altogether unremarkable and antiquated military saber, toying with it amusedly in her hands.

Its edge is polished to a shine, reflecting her carmine eyes.

"What fine taste you have!" As if he's caught sight of prey in his trap, the Duke bustles over to ingratiate himself.

"This precious sword here was one bestowed by the previous Tsar.

A perfect spoil for you to take back to Deity Grypherburg, I might think."

"How could I repay your generosity for such a precious article, Duke?", the Inspector makes her second question.

"I simply ask that on your return to Grypherburg, you might recount my service to His Majesty, so I could take part at the capital when he grants his subjects..."

"So you're telling me, you want the Empire to know of your mines' service, ten years accident-free, accomplished by having everyone who knew of the disaster there buried in a collapsed shaft?"

The Inspector's words completely blindside the Duke, and the sycophantic smile freezes on his face.

"You want the Empire to know of the 'ten thousand bandits' you killed, when half of them were refugees starving to death in your territory?"

The color in the Duke's face goes from pale to ghastly.

He has never met an Inspector like this before.

"Or maybe, you want the Empire to know that you, and the past nine Dukes, were all such devout and loyal executioners?" The Government Inspector, with the ceremonial saber at hand, has cast the night pearl worth a king's ransom straight aside.

She pulls off her hood, revealing her fiery red hair.

The Duke meets her eyes, and they call to mind the recent rumor—only a few years ago, the Crownslayer, whoever she was, had returned to Ursus.

"It couldn't be. Are they all..." The Duke tries to ask, but can only swallow the rest of his sentence, along with his fear.

"If there was an Inspector visiting, and if the Empire did know of all your deeds, maybe they would've given you shiny new prizes for it."

Duke Propp is dying to run, to scream for help, but before he knows it, thick and choking smoke coiling about him has stolen his voice.

"It's a real shame the Empire can't hear your cries." The 'Inspector' raises the saber.

"But don't worry. The Crownslayer will grant you your reward."

EXE-Y: A noisy afternoon. She buries her face in her father's arms to hide from the scorching sun.

Her father makes her greet the people standing behind the glass.

She cannot make out who they are from their blurry visages.

"Lyudmila."

Someone calls her. She recognizes that warm voice.

Her father often quotes that person, and likes to leave a lot of comments beside their work.

Watching Lyudmila doodle all over the floor with charcoal, the voice sighs, and hands the girl some paper and a wet towel to wipe her hands with.

Lyudmila does not mind it, for it doesn't matter where she doodles.

"Lyudmila Ilyinichna." Someone else calls her name, his body emanating the stench of tobacco she hates.

"What are you drawing?"

"Who let you draw these? Everything in this research institute has to remain confidential.

Do you know what that word means?"

"Enough, Sergei. It's a child engaging in pure creativity." So says the voice that handed her the paper.

"You ought to take a break, you're too tense."

"I have a daughter too, but I prefer not to bring her here.

Also, you'd best get rid of these drawings, for your teacher's sake.

You know how it is out there. It'll be best for everyone."

The hateful man leaves. She raises her head, and compares her work with the structure in front of her.

The warm voice approaches. "I believe it's still possible to record your feelings about something you have no understanding of.

So can you show me your drawings?"

She nods.

"You have a good eye for lines and shadows.

Just look at these scary shadows—you drew them like huge dark clouds, weighing down on everyone's heads.

But that thing is harder, and much heavier.

I can tell—this institute is oppressing you, making you afraid.

The voice sighs again.

We call it the Sarcophagus. We all feel the same way you do, but we're hoping that what we do here can change our feelings towards it."

"You might even clear the dark clouds above with your own hands, Lyudmila."

The voice becomes a little nervous: "Will you trust me?

Give me those drawings, like you're passing on your fear to me.

I'll return them to you when we're done with our work here.

I believe that by the time that day comes, you'll no longer be afraid of it."

She hands over the drawings almost instantly, as if agreeing with the voice.

"Lyudmila, as long as I'm alive, I will find a way to return these to you.

And if something happens to me and I'm unable to keep them safe, I'll help you destroy them.

Now, your father's coming over. Don't tell him about this—there's no need to distract him from his work."

Her father comes over, and wipes the charcoal off her hands with a handkerchief.

He looks into her eyes and says:

"Lyuda—"

A shrill alarm sounds. Crownslayer's eyes flick open.

The charcoal stick in her hand has already broken into three pieces.

Papers covered in old drawings are spread out all over, with huge shadows and clear silhouettes.

She briefly stays in a trance before realizing she is standing in Kal'tsit's office with no one else inside.

The drawings before her are from twenty years ago, and not her fresh work of art.

Tossed to one side, an envelope bears Kal'tsit's signature agreeing to seal them.

The prior promise has been fulfilled, a secret promise not even Kal'tsit' knew about.

Does this mean that person managed to walk out of the institute alive?