| Peasant / Novice |
?5,000.00 |
| Apprentice |
?17,500.00 |
| Craftsman |
?61,250.00 |
| Life Peer / Lord |
?214,375.00 |
| Baron |
?750,312.50 |
| Viscount |
|
| Earl / Count |
|
| Marquess |
|
| Duke |
|
| Prince |
|
| King |
|
| Emperor |
|
As far as he could tell, he could improve his Talent by spending the amount of Orbs written in that chart. There was a chance some Talents took more or less Orbs to advance, but based on every bit of info he¡¯d managed to scrounge up these last few months, this seemed accurate enough. He¡¯d mentioned it to Tenver once or twice, and the man never gave a surprised reaction, so it was at least close enough to the truth.
The Orbs themselves appeared to be stored deep within his being, almost like his soul was his wallet. Actually using them wasn¡¯t too difficult either ¨C declaring your intent out loud was enough to use or give them to someone. Which meant you could probably rob someone by threatening their life, but at least you couldn¡¯t just drop your wallet somewhere and be out of your life savings.
Despite Earth money being useless here, Adam still checked his pockets for his wallet every time he left his room.
¡°Let¡¯s see...¡± He checked his list of Talents. ¡°Anything I can improve?¡±
Painter [Novice]
Stained Ink [Apprentice]
Lord [Baron]
He most definitely could not improve his Lord rank ¨C the jump from Baron to Viscount was absurdly steep. Not unless he was willing to literally burn down Penumbria, which he wasn¡¯t.
In theory, Stained Ink could be upgraded to Craftsman if he borrowed more Orbs from the city, but that seemed like a dangerous precedent to set. Wonder how many people in this world go into debt telling themselves they¡¯ll make everything back with their new-and-improved Talent.
That only left one option...which was the one he¡¯d have picked anyway, all things considered. It was already his most useful Talent, and god knows what else it might be able to accomplish once he upgraded it.
¡°I will use my Orbs on my Painter Talent,¡± Adam declared to no one.
Painter [Apprentice]
He peered down as small Red Orbs exited his chest, harmlessly phasing through, before bursting into spheres that were incandescent, then translucent, then gone. It felt like watching a hologram, the spheres not seeming to affect his body at all.
The rank of his Talent changed just then ¨C and with it, he found something new.
Painter [Apprentice]
Ability: Plagiarism of Souls
To plagiarize is to steal one¡¯s soul. Understand it perfectly, commit it to art, and you will capture their very spirit and trap them within your medium. The target must see your art in order for this act to occur. In the case of there being multiple targetable souls, you may choose one to trap. Trapped souls cannot affect the Painter. If you fail to properly draw their soul, nothing will occur.
NEW Ability: Wager of the Heart
To gamble one¡¯s Talent, their very heart. You may wager a Talent of yours. The accuracy required to succeed in your ¡®Plagiarism of Souls¡¯ is reduced, but if your painting fails to capture its target, your wagered Talent is instead transferred to the target. It remains with them until their death ¨C upon which it is returned to you.
That was interesting in several different ways. First, Adam had gained more information on what his painting Talent did, and how it functioned. Second, it looked like each Talent could have any number of abilities.
Did he always get a new one after improving their rank or...no, that didn¡¯t sound right. Aspreay could do a bunch of weird shit I haven¡¯t managed yet despite having the same Lord Talent as him. There might be other things I have to do to master them.
But that was a thought for later. Right now, his main concern was how useless his new ability was. Frankly speaking, Adam saw very little reason to ever risk an entire goddamn Talent just to make the capture process slightly faster. There weren¡¯t any downsides to using the regular painting ability by itself until it worked, so why risk things like that?
Maybe he could game the system by messing it up on purpose if he wanted to give someone a Talent, but that seemed far too reckless. Even if he somehow acquired so many Talents that he could just hand them out like gold medals, there was no way he¡¯d ever trust someone enough for that.
Well, that sucks. Was hoping I¡¯d get something to help me negotiate with Vasco...but this should still be fine. I have plenty of cards to play.
He hoped they would be enough.
Chapter 7 (Part 2)
Shadows danced across the cold stone, flickering candlelight as its only illumination. Today¡¯s meeting was an eerie echo of the last, taking place within the same hall that Aspreay had lost his soul.
Much was different this time, however. Before, the room had been filled with enough nobility that their fine cloaks almost felt like set dressing for the hall itself. At present, there were only three people, and one of them had once been a court painter.
Who now sat upon Penumbria¡¯s throne.
¡°Discussing business in front of others seemed insulting,¡± Adam explained. ¡°No one is allowed here besides Tenver. I trust you have no objections?¡±
¡°None,¡± Lord Vasco replied, in an amicable tone. ¡°In fact, it saves me the trouble, my lord. I¡¯d planned on asking you for privacy, but did not expect it to be granted so readily.¡±
¡°Tenver will be most discreet,¡± Adam promised. ¡°I assure you that¨C¡±
Vasco dismissed it with a shake of his head. ¡°No, of course. You needn¡¯t worry, my lord. Lord Tenver¡¯s discretion requires no assurances.¡±
Lord Tenver. Adam refused to let his mild surprise show on his face. Which was easy enough, because it was only a mild surprise. People were reluctant to talk of Tenver¡¯s background ¨C too reluctant for it not to be something significant. Truthfully, the longer Adam went without hearing about it, the more dramatic he expected the full truth to be.
At this point he¡¯d be pleasantly surprised if the man turned out to be anything less than a bastard prince or something of the sort.
¡°If we are in agreement, then I invite you to sit, my lord.¡± Adam gestured at a chair laid across from his throne, a single table positioned in between. It was another change in their meeting; he meant for the visiting lord to sit down as an equal, rather than make him stand like Aspreay had. There was no reason to try to intimidate him like Aspreay had.
Better to make him comfortable. Get him to relax. Then, if I *need* to make him uncomfortable, he won¡¯t have time to get used to the change. Keeping him on edge the whole time won¡¯t help with negotiations.
¡°Very well then.¡± Vasco appeared pleased by this as well. He gladly took the seat and offered Adam a smile. ¡°Now then. You have your demands, and I have mine. Let us speak frankly.¡±
Adam nodded, placing a slip of parchment between the two of them. Vasco seized it at once, expecting it to contain prepared terms ¨C then lowered it again when he found something else entirely. He frowned, looking up at the painter. ¡°A map of the Empire. I pray you are not expecting land from us?¡±
Yeah, sure, that¡¯s what I want. More expenses. How goddamn stupid do you think I am? ¡°Of course not. But look here ¨C Penumbria is flanked by Rotted terrain from every direction. Austern used to exist to our west, but not so much anymore. Nothing but Rot in there nowadays. If we go south, though...we reach your city of Gama, my lord.¡±
¡°What of it?¡± Vasco defensively said.
¡°Just this: speaking plainly, Penumbria doesn¡¯t have enough Orbs to survive. We have too many people, including refugees from Austern and others. Our only trade is with your city, and you tax our bronze quite heavily.¡±
Vasco grunted. ¡°I know you were a painter, my lord, but do not paint me as a villain. Our taxes stem not from greed, but from care of our own. We have only a little more than your own city.¡±
Adam took a second to make sure he¡¯d parsed everything correctly. The way nobility spoke in this world wasn¡¯t that hard to understand, but it did take some effort to make sure he was paying attention. ¡°I would say you have more than a little.¡±
¡°We have less bronze than you.¡±
¡°You have the sea,¡± Adam pointed out. ¡°You can reach the rest of the Empire and avoid dangerous roads. Most of your Orbs come from sea trade, right?¡±
Vasco raised an eyebrow. ¡°My lord, if you are implying that you wish to use our access to the sea, it has already been established that we have less bronze than you. Allowing you free reign would¨C¡±
¡°Be bad for you,¡± Adam cut him off. ¡°Yes, yes. We still need it.¡±
The lord quirked a questioning eyebrow. ¡°Lord Adam, I had assumed you more reasonable than Aspreay, not less. Even he wouldn¡¯t have dared to request this.¡±
¡°Because he was a coward.¡±
¡°What does bravery change?¡±
¡°Because if he threatened you with what I¡¯m about to, you wouldn¡¯t believe him.¡±
Lord Vasco stiffened. ¡°You threaten me, Lord Adam?¡±
¡°Not yet,¡± Adam said, quickly but firmly. ¡°I know your city is lacking in bronze. Our own reserves are low, yet less necessary. What about¨C¡±
¡°Though I respect you, Lord Adam, I must warn you that there is nothing in Penumbria that I would consider trading for my own citys¡¯ economy. Burn me, I can always find bronze from the Dragon Puppets if my desperation grows.¡±
Adam closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Dragon Puppets? Should probably look into that later. For now, though, he needed to focus on the negotiation. He didn¡¯t think Vasco would end the negotiation right here ¨C if so, the Lord would¡¯ve just left in the dead of the night rather than stay in a foreign castle with a psychotic painter who could steal souls. There had to be something Penumbria had that he wanted.
Yes, this song and dance was just him trying to make Adam think he had no choice but to accept whatever terms Vasco proposed. That¡¯s how you wanna play? Talking mad shit and hoping the other side is too afraid to call you out on it? Cool, say less. I¡¯m game if you¡¯re game.
¡°In which case, I do threaten, my friend, and I do it loudly! Do you know why? Because with my Talent as a Lord, I can withdraw these walls, let monsters destroy Penumbria, and flood your city with refugees.¡± Adam smiled softly. ¡°Would you like to have your homeland become the Empire¡¯s dumping ground instead?¡±
Vasco¡¯s mouth opened, his features contorting in fury, a reply nearly leaving his lips. However, only a second after the first utterance came out, he paused. His gaze met Adam¡¯s. Recollection was plain on his face: Vasco remembered Aspreay having his soul stolen. It had been an affront to two divinities ¨C the divine right of the Emperor, and the divinity of life itself. It was a power no one had seen, a power that should not exist.
And it scared him.
Yet he did not break. ¡°It is more likely that you would bring down Penumbria¡¯s walls than Aspreay,¡± Vasco admitted. ¡°Still, I don¡¯t think you would shed your own people¡¯s blood.¡±
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
He studied Adam up and down, then barked out a low, dismissive laugh. ¡°Let us set aside how suicidal such an action would be, because I dare not question your attachment to life after brazenly stealing Aspreay¡¯s soul. I simply don¡¯t believe you have the eyes of a madman willing to kill thousands just as a negotiation tactic.¡±
He was right. Adam was bluffing, and not particularly well. His words sounded cold, but deep inside he couldn¡¯t even imagine sacrificing the people whose fates were now in his hands, and Vasco could sense that. Maybe he didn¡¯t have the stomach for this.
But he had to find a way to be convincing nonetheless. How do I make him believe me? What do I need to do?
Painting was, in a sense, like lying. You aren¡¯t actually creating three dimensional figures ¨C merely an illusion of them. And to do that, you needed to show things that were sort of true. If the colors looked like they would in real life, if a farmhouse looked like it was really being shaded by sunset...then you can make people believe it. All you have to do is use just enough truth.
What was true enough for Adam right now?
I have to do something for the people of Penumbria. Their lives were hard under Aspreay, but stable, relatively speaking. Then he¡¯d come and thrown it all into disarray. There was no guarantee that his reign would be an improvement, even with good intentions. A part of him wondered if they¡¯d be better off if he hadn¡¯t done anything.
Guilt. So much guilt there. So much sheer...responsibility.
Maybe that was it.
¡°You wouldn¡¯t shed your own people¡¯s blood,¡± Vasco continued.
¡°Perhaps,¡± Adam acknowledged. His hand fell on the map, his finger drawing a slow path toward Gama. ¡°But perhaps I would shed yours.¡±
A heavy pause fell over the room. Adam didn¡¯t know if Vasco believed that he would risk attacking a city like that. Adam himself didn¡¯t know if he would. He liked to think he wouldn¡¯t. But his feelings right now were something like a runaway train, and he had very little idea of where it was leading.
Man, that art contest...it really had messed him up, hadn¡¯t it?
How long am I gonna keep using that as an excuse to behave like this? He forced himself to push the thought away. There were other things to focus on right now ¨C and they made for an excellent excuse to avoid introspection.
Lord Vasco drew a deep breath. ¡°You have been very upfront with me, so it befits that I bestow upon you the same respect. The Emperor would be very displeased if I allied myself with someone guilty of your crimes. Furthermore, the chances of you attacking us are slim.¡±
¡°But not none,¡± Adam noted.
¡°But not none,¡± Vasco agreed. ¡°And so I offer a compromise. Trade rights ¨C we can tentatively agree on them, as well as your tax-free use of our ports, but this agreement would only be valid if the Emperor agrees to recognize you as a lord, not a rebel.¡±
In other words, you¡¯re willing to give me absurd terms because you¡¯re gambling on the Emperor annihilating us. That way you¡¯ll never have to pay up. Adam and Vasco smiled at this. They both knew that the other was aware of the implicit terms here. It was a raw, harsh truth, and as unwavering as the two confident lords who played dice with the lives of their men.
Except Adam had no intention of allowing his fate to be determined by the Emperor¡¯s whims. ¡°And what of until then?¡± he insisted. ¡°I¡¯m confident the Emperor will see to reason and recognize my rightful rule.¡± He let the word hang in the air, taunting the man of noble birth. Vasco, to his credit, gave no reaction. ¡°I¡¯ll be upfront ¨C you¡¯d need to give us Orbs to make that worthwhile. An advance to see Penumbria through the winter.¡±
¡°And what the devil would I be purchasing with those Orbs?¡±
¡°Peace of mind.¡±
There was a long pause. Twice Vasco opened his mouth, appearing to hesitate, and twice he shook his head, as if a wiser version of him asked him not to say the words.
Strange. He didn¡¯t seem too bothered by my threats, or by the idea of giving up some Orbs. What¡¯s he so nervous about? Adam looked over his shoulder to give Tenver a quick glance, but the man only responded with a shrug and baffled expression.
As the silence dragged on, Lord Vasco shifted nervously in his seat, before finally speaking up. ¡°I...offer a deal. While the Emperor would not look kindly upon allying myself with a rebel, he would not reprimand me too heavily for doing business with you, else I would not be here.¡±
¡°You want a trade to justify the amount of Orbs you¡¯ll give us? That¡¯s fine. We don¡¯t have much to offer, though. What do you want? The bronze, or was that thing about the Puppets actually¨C¡±
¡°I want your power.¡±
Tenver¡¯s weapon left its sheath before Adam could respond. The guard¡¯s movement was so precise that his longsword was immediately drawn and extended over Adam¡¯s shoulder, the tip of the blade glaring down at Lord Vasco. ¡°If you think what Lord Adam has done is treason,¡± he said, in a colder voice than Adam had ever heard him use, ¡°then know this ¨C if you allow your greed to covet his power, I will cut you down.¡±
Lord Vasco did not waver. He was older, and the days when he could have matched Tenver in a contest of steel were long gone. Despite that, he stared down the blade without flinching, using two fat fingers to gently, but forcefully push it aside. ¡°I am not threatening to steal your lord, Tenver. I want to hire him. If he can steal someone¡¯s Talent for me, I will give him the Orbs he¡¯s requested.¡±
¡°I cannot give you their Talent,¡± Adam lied. ¡°I can only keep them for myself.¡±
¡°To hell with the Talent!¡± Vasco thundered. Then, after the violent outburst, he chuckled quietly to himself. ¡°Even better if you can burn that Talent straight to hell. All I need is for you to do what you did before ¨C take someone¡¯s soul out of their body. Steal their Talent. Consign it to the abyss if need be!¡±
Adam nodded slowly. That sounded like a reasonable exchange. ¡°Very well. What target do you have in mind?¡±
Lord Vasco drew a deep breath. He appeared much tired, older, and frailer than he had been a moment ago, as if his aura of powerful nobility had vanished.
¡°My daughter. I want you to steal her Talent.¡±
Chapter 8 (Part 1)
¡°You''re certain of this?¡± Tenver asked later that night, arms crossed and leaning against the wall as Adam packed a few painting supplies. ¡°Is it not dangerous?¡±
¡°I¡¯m careful enough that you could call me a coward and I¡¯d make it a point of pride,¡± Adam replied as he sorted through his new clothes. For all Aspreay talked shit about Penumbria, the local tailor was incredibly fast. ¡°I¡¯m not going to be at risk at all. You saw what I did to Aspreay; no reason why I can¡¯t do it again.¡±
¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m afraid of,¡± Tenver said, somberly. ¡°Vasco was a bit sparse with the details, but I had our spies look into it.¡±
¡®Our¡¯ spies, he says, Adam thought. ¡°And what did they find?¡±
¡°Nothing you couldn¡¯t guess from context. His daughter¡¯s Talent probably has a negative side-effect of sorts. Information on her has been sparse at best ¨C even Aspreay didn¡¯t know much about her.¡±
¡°Well, it¡¯s not like they were on the best of terms.¡±
Tenver shook his head. ¡°But they were once best friends, and Vasco¡¯s daughter would¡¯ve been born before their falling out.¡±
¡°That...is odd, not going to lie.¡± Adam stopped packing to look at the guard. ¡°So what¡¯s your point?¡±
¡°My point is that something is wrong. You might succeed in stealing whatever odd Talent she has, but then succumb to the same issues that plague her.¡±
Adam had considered that possibility, but the wording on his painting ability meant it likely wouldn¡¯t affect him. He wasn¡¯t sure how to tell Tenver that ¨C or if he even wanted to. So he settled for saying, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I got this, okay? Penumbria could really use the trade deal, and it¡¯ll be a quick and easy job. No reason not to do it.¡±
¡°You could also steal Vasco¡¯s soul,¡± Tenver pointed out. ¡°His Lord powers don¡¯t work here. Not most of them, anyhow. If he wanted to use them, he¡¯d need to dismantle his own city¡¯s Walls in order to remake his Domain here...which he won¡¯t, now that we know his daughter is there. You can use your Lord powers to trap him here ¨C Aspreay wouldn¡¯t have the guts to do it, but seeing as we are already close to treasonous rebels, I see no reason to pull our punches.¡±
Adam blinked, as if waiting for a punchline. He almost felt foolish when he realized there wasn¡¯t one. ¡°Not for nothing, but if there¡¯s a choice, I¡¯d rather avoid the route that results in thousands of innocent deaths.¡±
¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think it will result in deaths. Vasco would cave first. This way, you wouldn¡¯t have to risk your life, and it would place you in a position of superiority.¡±
You¡¯re basically telling me to swing my military dick and establish dominance. Which made sense to a degree, but... ¡°I¡¯d rather have Vasco as a tentative ally than a subject that hates me. Power can only do so much, and keeping a close eye on him and his city would stretch our resources too thin.¡±
Tenver appeared, though still unsatisfied, less eager to argue back now. ¡°I suppose. Still, he demands much, and you could force him to listen rather easily, if you chose.¡±
¡°You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.¡±
¡°Certainly, but who in their right mind would bother catching the pest when it''s easier to eradicate it?¡±
Adam had to take a moment to digest that. How was it that at times Tenver would say the most noble of things, risk his life to help a random court painter escape a tyrant lord...and then at other times speak of horrific violence with an innocent expression on his face? Still haven¡¯t forgotten the decapitated heads.
¡°Do you have a reason for not wanting me to help them?¡± Adam asked sharply. ¡°Is it something to do with your background?¡±
¡°No.¡±
Adam raised an eyebrow. ¡°And you¡¯re not going to elaborate?¡±
¡°Vasco is the Butcher of Greenisle,¡± Tenver muttered. ¡°I care not to believe every complaint that came from Lord Aspreay, but that much is known to everyone. A man like that ought to be in the gallows, not in our ranks. Even the elves didn¡¯t deserve that.¡±
Okay first of all, not the elaboration I wanted. Second of all, even the...what now? Adam had to try very hard not to interrogate him just then. He could infer the important details, though ¨C Vasco, though he appeared more reasonable than Aspreay, had led a massacre of some sort against elves. That admittedly didn¡¯t make him sound like a great ally.
But still...
¡°Look, it¡¯s not that I¡¯m completely opposed to some machiavellian shit, but I¡¯d rather not do it unless it¡¯s our last resort. Feels like diplomacy should be our first move.¡±
¡°It should,¡± Tenver acknowledged. ¡°But I am worried.¡±
¡°About what might happen to Penumbria?¡±
¡°About you, you insane painter,¡± Tenver said, grinning and laughing. ¡°This is going to be dangerous, you know? How about you at least bring Dragonforged Steel armor with you? Nothing except pure Rot and Stained beings can damage it.¡±
¡°That sounds pretty useful, but I don¡¯t know if it would look suspicious to the common people there. What if they think I¡¯m walking in like a soldier instead of a visiting lord? Besides, that would ¨C wait, did you just call your lord insane?¡± Adam asked, feining offense. He knew he should have been offended, but Tenver had bought enough goodwill back when Adam didn¡¯t have a noble ranking or Talent to get away with a degree of irreverence. ¡°Some people would hang you for that, you know.¡±
¡°My lord? Hmm...funny, I seem not to recall bending my knee to you.¡±
¡°That¡¯s true,¡± Adam said slowly. Though the two were joking, there was truth in that. ¡°So, are you going to tell me about your past? Who you are? Your actual rank?¡±
¡°I could, but it would honestly just stress you out. How about I tell you after you return?¡±
Adam considered this. ¡°Okay just ¨C just so I can be prepared for the worst case scenario, are you a bastard and/or exiled son of the Emperor?¡±
¡°No, the truth is significantly worse, if adjacent to that.¡±
Adam sighed. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right, I don¡¯t want to deal with this right now. Tell me when I get back.¡±
¨C
One Day Later
Adam swept his eyes across the carriage¡¯s interior. It was a study in opulence, adorned with cushions of crushed velvet, mahogany paneling graced by intricate carvings, and brass lamps that cast a warm, inviting glow. Every surface sparkled with the unmistakable shine of meticulous upkeep.
The carriage¡¯s second occupant looked no less meticulous. Belmordo, Lord Vasco''s younger brother, was a man of slender build, sporting a mop of curly chestnut hair and with eyes that held a mischievous twinkle. His countenance bore the nobility of their family lineage, yet at the same time carried a disarming joviality that seemed almost out of place on such a stately figure.
Belmordo grasped Adam¡¯s hands tightly, his smile as warm as the carriage''s glowing hearth. While he was of noble birth ¨C much like his brother ¨C he did not have the royal title to match. To the Empire¡¯s laws, the man was nearly as much of a commoner as anyone. He comes from a family of knights, according to Tenver.
Not that you could tell from how he behaved. Although Adam was a Lord, and Belmordo a commoner, there was no trace of the subservience required by his station. His overly-familiar greeting was an affront to decorum. A less kind Lord could have taken his physical contact as an insulting implication that they were on the same level.
Adam, from the bottom of his heart, truly didn¡¯t give a shit. Unfortunately, when playing the game of nobles and monsters, a man needed to keep up appearances. ¡°Good sir?¡± he asked, raising an eyebrow.
¡°Ah, my apologies. I nearly forgot myself.¡± Belmordo lowered his head in a bow, yet his warm smile did not falter. ¡°My Lord Brother sent a raven ahead of you. He¡¯s kept me updated on the situation.¡±
¡°So you¡¯re aware of my reason for being here?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
Adam narrowed his eyes. ¡°And you know of what transpired between me and Lord Aspreay?¡±
¡°Oh, yes.¡± Belmordo¡¯s eyes sparkled at the question. ¡°As someone who lacks a royal title myself, the idea of stepping up and taking it away from the unworthy is frankly inspiring. Your presence will make this journey through the mountains much less tedious.¡±
Getting daaaangerously close to treason there, buddy. It wasn¡¯t that Adam was opposed to treason ¨C he was honestly all for it ¨C but loudly talking about it, and for no reason whatsoever...now that was just dumb.
The talk about the mountains was interesting, though. This was a carriage, so how exactly were they going to get through a mountain? While there was indeed something resembling a mountain between the two cities on the map, unless someone had built the world¡¯s most impressive tunnel...
Eh, no point in speculating. He could just wait a little bit and find out. More importantly, he should consider why Belmordo was fine with making treason-esque comments in front of someone else.
Maybe he¡¯s trying to sweet-talk me? Adam considered that, then decided it didn¡¯t really matter. Either way, it was better not to engage with him on this subject. ¡°Lord Vasco said you¡¯d fill me in about the details of this job. Gotta admit, I¡¯m a bit curious. Why does he want me to steal his own daughter¡¯s Talent?¡±
¡°Because her Talent is less of a gift and more of a curse.¡± Belmordo paused for dramatic effect, grinning and aiming an amused gaze at Adam. Whatever reaction he was hoping for, Adam refused to let him have it, forcing the man to continue with mildly deflated enthusiasm. ¡°It¡¯s not her original Talent, you understand.¡±
As far as Adam knew, this was virtually unheard of. Only his own Talent could grant someone ¨C namely himself ¨C another power. No reason to act surprised, though. ¡°Sounds like she got herself into trouble,¡± he said, affecting confusion.
¡°Oh, yes. And if she was the only person she¡¯d drawn into her own mess, that would be fine. But considering Lady Solara¡¯s original Talent...¡±
Belmordo drew a deep breath to stop himself from ranting. He remained quiet for two more long breaths, and then went on. ¡°But I digress. Lord Adam, before I explain the current issue, allow me to give you some context. Do you know why the Emperor is the world¡¯s strongest man?¡±
¡°No, but I can hazard a guess.¡± Adam frowned. ¡°Is it because he¡¯s the richest man?¡±
¡°Of course, but that¡¯s the wrong way to look at it. Do you have any idea how many Orbs it costs to keep a city from falling to the Rot? Even with Master Cabral¡¯s wondrous invention, it¡¯s absurdly expensive to keep the Rot from affecting the land. What you have to keep in mind is...how does he obtain so many Orbs?¡±
This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
That was a fair question. Adam had gone through several books back in Penumbria, and they all offered different answers. Probably because there wasn¡¯t a single defining reason behind the Emperor¡¯s wealth, which made sense. With that in mind, it meant that there was even more value in hearing someone¡¯s response to this question ¨C because whatever their answer was, it would show what they valued most in life.
¡°I have no idea,¡± Adam lied. ¡°Do enlighten me, my friend.¡±
¡°In one word: murder,¡± Belmordo plainly replied. ¡°And if you¡¯ll allow me another: money. While a person might accrue Orbs through trade, they could hardly retain an Empire with just a finite amount of their most precious currency. Too much of it is permanently expended whenever someone improves their Talent. The Orbs gained through monster slaying are the only way to keep an economy going.¡±
Adam had read this argument in a book before. Admittedly, he found it convincing. The Empire was, for whatever reason, able to create stronger soldiers than anyone else, which allowed them to consistently kill monsters.
¡®Consistently¡¯ was the key word. No matter how strong someone was, if they continually fought monsters, they were far more likely to die and waste everything they¡¯d accumulated in life than to improve their Talent. In a world like this, an organized fighting force was more effective than a single genius swordsman. Although maybe not more effective than a Painter.
Contrary to Belmordo¡¯s interpretation, Adam saw this as a matter of power rather than money. Under lighter circumstances, he would¡¯ve enjoyed some friendly debate over it, but for now, there was a job to do. ¡°This has something to do with Lord Vasco¡¯s daughter and her curse?¡±
¡°So it does.¡± Belmordo''s voice was low and cold as the grave, as if recounting some horrible event, but the edges of his lips still showed the ghost of a smile. ¡°Gama is better off than Penumbria, true. We can keep our people fed and the rot away. The question is...for how long? Once Penumbria falls ¨C no offense ¨C your refugees and Rot will turn to us. What then?¡±
¡°The Emperor would help Gama, surely? It¡¯s not like the Empire can afford to lose cities indefinitely, and like you said, they¡¯re capable of generating a steady revenue of Orbs.¡±
Belmordo smiled bitterly. ¡°Ah, if only. Quite frankly, the Empire only needs three cities to function: the Three Duchial capitals. Between their farmlands, Orbs, and hunting abilities, the Duchies are self-sufficient. Everywhere else is a bonus that they¡¯ll help to resist the Rot so long as it benefits the main three.¡±
¡°So Lord Vasco¡¯s daughter ¨C Lady Solara, you called her?¡± Adam waited until Belmordo nodded to confirm her name before continuing. ¡°She figured your city was going to be in trouble, and tried to do something about it?¡±
Belmordo paused before agreeing. ¡°Lady Solara...her Talent is not fit for combat. Thus, she entered into a contract with a dark sorcerer.¡±
¡°A dark sorcerer?¡± Adam quirked an eyebrow. ¡°Anyone in specific, or are they some traveling wizard?¡±
¡°Lord Adam don¡¯t...don¡¯t make me say his name. You know who I mean.¡±
No, I don¡¯t. Based on Belmordo¡¯s expression, though, just the phrase ¡®dark sorcerer¡¯ was enough to conjure memories of a household name among inhabitants of this world. Adam didn¡¯t feel like trotting out the amnesia excuse, so he opted to change the subject as gracefully as he could. ¡°Right. So about Lady Solara?¡±
Belmordo stared at him for a moment, but didn¡¯t inquire further. The difference in their rank spoke louder than his curiosity. ¡°Her Talent is not fit for combat, yet a city needs strong fighters to help sustain its Orb economy. Thus, Lady Solara made a deal with a...certain sorcerer, to obtain another Talent.¡±
He scowled. ¡°Why, acquiring another Talent, having more than your heaven-given abilities ¨C the very notion is abominable! Such a crime goes against nature, and...um...n-not that your own Talent is a crime, my lord.¡±
Adam waved off the perceived insult. ¡°So, she got a new Talent. What¡¯s the issue?¡±
Belmordo let out a muted sigh of relief. ¡°The issue is that the Talent she obtained is closer to Rot than an actual Talent. At first, it seemed like a blessing for our city. Lady Solara was strong enough that some ¨C foolishly ¨C thought her as strong as an Imperial Hangman. In only ten days, she killed dozens of the Rotten monsters, bringing many Orbs to our city. Her father was truly proud.¡±
There was a pause. ¡°And then?¡± Adam prodded.
¡°She lost control. Or rather, she never had control in the first place. The Rot took over her body, and soon enough, she became a danger to our people. With the life of many of our men, as well as my best efforts, we managed to contain her to an isolated tower at the east end of the city.¡±
¡°Your best efforts?¡±
¡°Aye, my lord.¡± Belmordo puffed his chest, appearing proud of himself. ¡°I may not have had my brother¡¯s luck and inherited our family¡¯s long-lost Lord Talent, but my Curses are not to be underestimated. After a valorous struggle, I managed to trap the Lady in a place where she could not harm her people any longer!¡±
Adam nodded absently, then glanced at his tablet without missing a beat.
Belmordo Gama
Talent: Curse User
Rank: Baron
Skill: Wilful Curse
The Talented may create a curse on anyone whose own Talent is of a rank lesser than their own. The curse must be accepted by the target to take effect.
Orbs: ?640,124
Lifetime Orbs: ?2,250,936
Big spender...still falling short of a Viscount, but nearly as rich as my entire goddamn city. And he complains about not having a proper title. Fucking hell.
It was interesting to see just how many Orbs he¡¯d spent. Belmordo probably didn¡¯t have that many actual living expenses, and he only owned one Talent to worry about upgrading. Guess even just the little expenses here and there really add up over time.
That, and Belmordo seemed like the kind of guy who spent a lot on bribes.
¡°I see,¡± Adam muttered, noting the discrepancies between the Talent¡¯s description and Belmordo¡¯s story. Solara couldn¡¯t have completely lost her mind by the time she was locked in, since in order for the curse to work, she had to agree to have it placed on her. The man was lying. Whether out of a desire to make himself look better, or for something more malicious, Adam wasn¡¯t sure.
¡°Alas,¡± Belmordo continued. ¡°Despite Lord Vasco¡¯s many attempts, his daughter could not be brought back to sanity. After much effort, some decided ¨C despite Lord Vasco¡¯s protests and threats ¨C that she should be executed.¡±
At this point, Belmordo hesitated. ¡°However, we have been unable to do so.¡±
¡°Is her Stained Curse that powerful?¡±
¡°It is, but that¡¯s not all. Her own Talent is to blame.¡±
Adam leaned forward. ¡°Which is?¡±
¡°Resurrection.¡±
Adam blinked. ¡°Excuse me, what?¡¯
¡°Resurrection,¡± Belmordo continued. ¡°Lady Solara can die once per day before her life¡¯s flame is permanently snuffed out.¡±
Resurrection. Okay. That¡¯s...really? You can just die and say ¡®Yeah, nah, not today?¡¯ Seriously?
Despite the turmoil in his mind, Adam managed to keep his face impassive. ¡°So the issue is that even if you manage to kill her, that turns out not to be enough?¡±
¡°Exactly! I should note, however, that we have yet to kill her once, let alone twice. The monster controlling her is very proficient in combat. Thus far, we¡¯ve only had one real chance at succeeding. Lord Vasco...didn¡¯t take kindly to that attempt, you see. ¡±
I mean, you tried to kill his daughter. Even if she became a monster, that can¡¯t have surprised you. Did it actually? This ¨C this isn¡¯t an act? Okay. Geez.
Things were starting to make sense now. So this was why Vasco was willing to help Adam out, despite the possibility that the Emperor might look at him unfavorably for consorting with a rebel. He was willing to face the Empire¡¯s wrath if it meant saving his daughter.
¡°I see,¡± Adam muttered. ¡°So my job is to remove the Stained Talent from inside her, then bring her back to normal. No one has been able to cure her so far, but Vasco knows that my power might be able to. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here.¡±
¡°That is what Lord Vasco is hoping for, yes.¡±
Adam caught the slight difference in that phrasing. ¡°Are you implying you don¡¯t share his desire?¡±
¡°Lady Solara is my niece! Of course I want to see her well.¡± Belmordo paused. ¡°Yet...well, plain as her desire to save Gama is, her recklessness stands just as plainly. My Lord brother¡¯s health is failing. She is his named successor ¨C though she didn¡¯t inherit it at birth, she has a...non-zero chance of inheriting the Talent upon his death, as he bears no other children.¡±
Wait, is that how it works? You get it once your parent dies? There were other things he probably should focus on right now, but Adam wasn¡¯t willing to let that slide. ¡°Ah, so your issue is with her committing the crime against nature of having more than one Talent, is that it?¡± Adam made his voice as mocking as possible, drawing the insult from Belmordo¡¯s own words earlier. It was fine if it didn¡¯t make sense; at worst, the insult would only fall flat.
¡°That ¨C my lord, do not equate the inheritance of the sacred Lord Talent to...not that your ability is a crime either but¨C¡± Belmordo cut himself short and closed his eyes to refocus for a moment. ¡°My lord, that is not my issue with her. It is rare, but not unheard of for this to happen. Most likely the...woman will not inherit the Lord Talent.¡±
He¡¯d need to analyze that tidbit later, but there was something else to focus on right now. ¡°Are you implying that you don¡¯t want me to save her?¡±
Belmordo grinned. ¡°If she were to die, my brother would be overcome with grief and unable to rule for a short while. During that time, I would be forced to take over his duties, even though I stand without rank or Talent. And I would be willing to concede more than my brother is. You would not only have free access to our ports, but we would be glad to supply you with additional Orbs during Penumbria¡¯s transition.¡±
That¡¯s...way better than anything Vasco has or would ever offer me. It could help Penumbria. A lot. All I have to do is...
Wait, what did he have to do? ¡°I¡¯m going to assume you aren¡¯t one for charity, Belmordo. What exactly is this proposal?¡±
Chapter 8 (Part 2)
¡°Simply put? Do not cure Lady Solara. Merely spend several idle days in Gama and wait for us to arrange her death. Afterwards, I will resume negotiation with you on my brother¡¯s behalf.¡±
The unspoken addendum, Adam figured, was that Belmordo meant to assassinate Vasco while the latter was wracked with grief. Lord Talent or no, there was probably a way to kill him. Hell, Belmordo could do it before Vasco entered Gama again, which would bypass the Lord Talent entirely.
At which point ¨C with Vasco and Solara dead ¨C the Lord Talent would fall to Belmordo, if the odd transfer worked as he¡¯d just mentioned. That sounded like it had a low probability of succeeding, though, so failing that, maybe Belmordo was hoping for Adam to steal Vasco¡¯s power and give it to him somehow. The finer details were a little hazy, but the general idea was clear enough.
Shit...if I go along with this, Penumbria¡¯s problems would be sorted out pretty much immediately. If not forever, then at least for the immediate future...but...
¡°There are two issues with that proposal,¡± Adam said, slowly. ¡°First, you just went on and on about how Solara is practically unkillable once, let alone twice. If I don¡¯t steal her Talent, what¡¯s your plan for dealing with her? To just keep the possessed, powerful monster sealed inside a tower forever? Can¡¯t be good for tourism.¡±
¡°No.¡± Belmordo¡¯s wicked grin returned to his face. ¡°Look here, my Lord.¡±
He threw out a sealed parchment and motioned for Adam to unpack it.
Gama requires aid. A Stained Monster has taken over noble blood, and must be put down. We request an Imperial Hangman.
¡°That¡¯s a vague letter,¡± Adam remarked, upon reading it over. ¡°Is it detailed enough to convince the Emperor to send someone over? Thought he was notoriously stingy with allocating manpower to this corner of the world.¡±
¡°It needs to be vague. What if the raven is intercepted? Can¡¯t have a panic over who is possessed by the monster. There are rumors right now, but the commoners don¡¯t actually know who is locked in that tower, or why. If they did know, there would be riots.¡±
¡°And the Emperor is okay with ambiguity?¡± Adam insisted, not bothering to hide his skepticism.
Belmordo grinned. ¡°What is unspoken rings louder than any words ever could. We are requesting an Imperial Hangman, and we also mention noble blood. That carries a strong implication of how impossibly hard to kill this possessed monster is. Furthermore, it is in the Empire¡¯s interest to keep the Rot from spreading.¡±
Spreading the Rot? So if someone powerful gets possessed by it, they can spread the Rot further inland?
Adam couldn¡¯t just let that slide. It seemed like an important detail. He wanted to prod for more, but showing the depths of his ignorance about this world would paint a target on his back. If anyone knew how little he was aware of, they¡¯d have almost no trouble concocting some sort of plan to get rid of him.
Which meant he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Where the rock was an important need to find out more about this world, and the hard place was his continued attempts to obscure his own ignorance.
Maybe it would be easier if Adam just...picked someone to trust. That way he could explain his situation properly, and they could help him understand everything about this world, bit by bit. Tenver would be a good candidate for that, wouldn¡¯t he? He seemed trustworthy enough. Maybe that was the logical route to take.
However...
NOTES ON THE PAINTED WORLD
¡ª Rot can spread through possessed people. Noble blood might make it worse.
¡ª Remember that Aspreay wanted to have me executed for interacting with a Stained Monster.
After a moment of thought, Adam steadfastly rejected that idea.
He¡¯d much rather do it the hard way. Read books wherever he could, infer things from context, then piece together what he knew. It would take longer, but it would also give other people as few openings as possible to exploit him.
Tenver ¡®seems¡¯ trustworthy? The hell does that matter? Rainbows might seem nice too, but they fade if you get too close. He¡¯s a psychopath who killed three noblemen to supposedly show his loyalty. Why the hell would I trust him?
Adam knew this wasn¡¯t entirely fair. It didn¡¯t matter. Better to assume everyone was going to betray him, than to be reckless and call it optimism.
He drew a deep breath. ¡°If you¡¯re gonna go on about what¡¯s ¡®unspoken¡¯ in that letter, then how about I say the quiet part out loud?¡± Adam narrowed his eyes, a touch of anger glinting within them. ¡°Or would you rather say it yourself?¡±
¡°I have no idea what you speak of, Lord Adam.¡±
¡°Playing dumb, huh? Fine.¡± Adam allowed his disgust to show on both his face and his voice. ¡°I¡¯m just saying it doesn¡¯t add up. Vasco is so desperate to save his daughter that he¡¯d commit borderline treason and allow a commoner who can steal souls and Talents into his domain...and he allowed this letter to be sent? Bullshit.¡±
¡°Ah, I see your point.¡± If Belmordo was upset at Adam¡¯s reaction, he didn¡¯t show it. ¡°I meant no deceit ¨C only good manners. In high society, we do not say plainly that which we find unsavory.¡±
¡°Forgive me. My rank might be higher, but I was not raised as a noble. Thus, allow me to speak like a commoner, and cut through your bullshit. You, Belmordo, are going behind your brother¡¯s back to get his daughter legally assassinated so you can maneuver your way to stealing his title. The letter is vague because Vasco probably intercepted a couple of them, and you wanted some deniability, even if he¡¯s suspicious of you.¡±
¡°And what of it?¡± Belmordo laughed. ¡°Surely, you, my Lord Adam, cannot protest that without confessing to hypocrisy.¡±
Well, he supposed that was what it looks like to the guy, didn¡¯t it? Maybe that¡¯s what it is. But hypocrisy or otherwise, Adam didn¡¯t intend on letting himself bend and break under that argument. He responded with a steady tone, playing the part of a calm, cunning lord in order to hide his real objections. ¡°Let¡¯s say that the Emperor really does send someone here. Would they be capable of killing the woman who can die twice?¡±
¡°Ah, I knew you¡¯d be uninformed about this. You¡¯re a Lord, but you grew up in Penumbria, didn¡¯t you?¡±
That was fantastically wrong, but it was probably a fair assumption to make. Although Tenver and a few others knew he was a foreigner, it would be a little unreasonable to expect someone to find out everything about a nascent Lord in just a few days.
Adam was more than happy to let the misconception stand. ¡°What if I did?¡± he spat back. Does that sound defensive enough for him to think he hit bullseye? ¡°Do you dare to look down on those who grew up in Penumbria?¡±
¡°No, my lord! Far from me to ever imply such a thing!¡± Belmordo lowered his head in an exaggerated bow that looked even sillier because he was still sitting down. Despite his subservient attitude, however, Adam saw a measure of satisfaction on the man¡¯s face. ¡°But it does mean you haven¡¯t seen a Hangman in action.¡±
¡°And what if I haven¡¯t?¡± Adam worsened his tone, making himself sound downright insecure. If he had a read on Belmordo¡¯s personality, the guy would take pleasure in exposing a Lord¡¯s ignorance ¨C and not think twice of it, since Adam was supposedly born in the Dumpster of the Empire.
He was right. Belmordo stood up and glanced outside the window, suddenly showing a glimmer of surprise. ¡°My lord, come with me. The carriage has stopped for the night, and it just so happens that we¡¯re in the perfect spot for me to make my point.¡± He opened the door and extended a hand to help the lord out of the carriage. ¡°Please, Lord Adam. Accompany me.¡±
I smell bullshit. But even so, Adam took the hand and followed him outside.
Adam couldn¡¯t help but wonder at the world around him as he stepped out of the carriage. It was sights like these that reminded him that he¡¯d come into this world through a painting. The colors were vibrant, the light breeze felt gentle, and there was a strange blue hue around everything, like a photoshop filter superimposed over reality.
Back on Earth, he¡¯d seen this kind of blue hue applied to paintings and movies to show how cold a place was. Actually seeing it in person was much weirder. It was slight, almost unnoticeable...but it was there. And it was stronger here than in Penumbria.
Commenting on that would draw attention, though, so he defaulted to a different sight. ¡°We have a lot of guards,¡± Adam muttered. More than the two dozen mounted and armored men were surrounding them. They stood at attention, ready to do battle at a moment¡¯s notice.
¡°Your men and my brother¡¯s both,¡± Belmordo replied. ¡°It¡¯s to be expected, isn¡¯t it?¡±
Maybe for someone who grew up in this world. For Adam, even after living in Penumbria for six months, the sight of those medieval soldiers still seemed surreal. He¡¯d learned to live with it, but that didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d fully wrapped his mind around it ¨C especially now that half of those soldiers were his.
He was about to make an idle remark to pass the time when something caught his eye. In the center of the clearing, illuminated by only the moonlight and the stars above, was a large rectangular object. The lighting made it hard to discern the object¡¯s shape. Under most circumstances, Adam probably would¡¯ve glossed over it entirely.
But this? No, he would never forget this.
¡°That ¨C that¡¯s a vending machine?¡± Adam cried out. ¡°Again?!¡± He found himself unable to pretend that he wasn¡¯t disgusted by the repulsive contraption. ¡°What the hell? Why are we stopping here?¡±
If there was one thing in this painted world Adam hated more than Aspreay, it was that goddamn machine. His first encounter with that thing had been a crash course in painful disappointment, informing him that this world was somehow more ruled by money than Earth had ever been.
Before he even knew why, Adam felt Vines of Stained Ink swirling beneath his sleeves. A second later, his thoughts caught up with his fury. I wonder if I can break it. If people here can only survive traveling by being rich, then I¡¯d rather no one survived at all. Maybe I could sharpen the Ink into a blade and¨C
His rage stalled as Belmordo approached the object, causing a luminescent menu to display in front of it.
¡ª Shelter (Monster-Immunity guaranteed!) : 13000 Orbs
¡ª Food (Two-meals!) : 4000 Orbs
¡ª Water (Enough for three days if you ration!): 2350 Orbs
¡°We already have enough supplies,¡± Belmordo muttered, studying the vending machine as if it were a common sight. ¡°But we could also use shelter to prevent later issues. Very well.¡±
At that, Belmordo nodded to himself and pulled out...a quill from his pocket, which he proceeded to use to write on the vending machine. Adam¡¯s mouth hung open for a moment before he shook his head and remembered to make note of this.
NOTES ON THE PAINTED WORLD
¡ª Rot can spread through possessed people. Noble blood might make it worse.
¡ª Remember that Aspreay wanted to have me executed for interacting with the Stained Monster.
¡ª The vending machine looks like something else to them. No idea what.
When Belmordo was finished, a faint red vapor began emanating from both his body and the machine. They fluctuated and shook, as if spending a violent effort to retain their shapes, then linked themselves to each other with a bright beam of light. Orbs shot out from within Belmordo and into the machine, a continuous, pulsating stream that no one but Adam seemed to pay much attention to.
After he was done, a large dome flickered into existence, high up above the trees and going as far as the entire clearing. The dome was visible for a moment, and then disappeared again. Adam could tell it was still there; an invisible barrier, just like the Wall he could conjure up as a Lord.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
I want to break it.
¡°Lord Adam,¡± Belmordo said, bowing deeply. ¡°If I may direct your attention toward the mountain...¡±
Turning away from the wretched machine, Adam¡¯s gaze landed on a sight that snatched the breath right from his lungs. The mountain contained a tunnel built into its side. He¡¯d seen both before, figuring that it was probably something made with a Talent to shorten travel time between cities. Except now he saw that his assumption wasn¡¯t quite right.
It wasn¡¯t a tunnel.
It was simply a hole.
An enormous hole had pierced through the mountain, cleaving through solid rock like scissors through paper. It wasn¡¯t a carefully constructed tunnel. The height was too high, the horizontal reach too uneven. Instead, it was like an electric drill had spun out of control and dug from side to side before returning to its original straight ¨C if shaky ¨C line.
¡°It¡¯s like the mountain was impaled,¡± Adam exhaled, the words leaving his mouth against his will. He didn¡¯t want to look impressed, but that was just...something else. ¡°This is what you wanted to show me?¡±
Belmordo stepped up beside Adam and joined him in looking at the cavernous hole. ¡°The last time a Hangman came here was when the Dragon Puppets left their caves and attempted to invade us. In just one blow, the Hangman destroyed their mountain city and sent them crawling back underground.¡±
¡°One blow?¡± Adam cried out. ¡°That hole goes all the way to the other side! That¡¯s gotta be at least a few kilometers ¨C one blow? Are you serious?¡±
¡°Aye, my lord. They do not have the supreme control that a Lord possesses over his domain, but when it comes to single combat, none can best an Imperial Hangman.¡±
¡°I...see.¡± Adam couldn¡¯t tear his gaze away from the sheer destruction laid out before his eyes. How long ago had this happened? Did those calamities disguised as men just walk the world, leaving behind destruction as proof they had been there? ¡°If an Imperial Hangman can do that much...¡±
¡°It is why I believe that the amount of times Lady Solara can come back to life matters very little. Do you understand?¡±
¡°Yeah. I understand.¡± Adam nodded slowly. ¡°I understand...that you¡¯re still playing games with me, Belmordo.¡±
¡°My, my lord?¡±
He drew a deep breath and grit his teeth. With every second that passed, Adam felt the world shifting beneath his feet. This was a land where the impossible was merely a part of the scenery, where magic was as real as the moonlight filtering through the leafy canopy above.
That didn¡¯t mean he was going to let it overwhelm him.
¡°So we happened to reach this place just as our discussion brought up Lady Solara and the Hangman? Please. You waited until you were here to make your point as dramatically as possible.¡±
Belmordo¡¯s smile faded a little. ¡°My lord, I only wished to make the truth plainer for you. At no point did I ever tell you even one lie.¡±
¡°But neither did you ever tell me the full truth,¡± Adam said, with a sharp tone. ¡°You¡¯d much rather if I didn¡¯t catch on to all your ¡®unspoken truths¡¯ and just went along with your bullshit.¡±
¡°Lord Adam,¡± Belmordo began, in a careful tone, ¡°I am but a man without a royal title. If your opinion of me is low, then so be it. My point stands above emotion, however ¨C if you go along with my brother¡¯s plan, you run the very likely risk of dying in a vain effort to save his cursed daughter. Meanwhile, if you go along with my plan, Penumbria will receive much better economical and political support than it would otherwise. Do you disagree?¡±
¡°No,¡± Adam stated. ¡°If I¡¯m looking at everything logically, siding with you would be more beneficial to me.¡±
¡°Then¨C¡±
¡°And I steadfastly reject that idea.¡±
Adam knew he was blindly following his emotions right then. Belmordo¡¯s proposal made sense. He didn¡¯t owe anything to Vasco or a daughter he¡¯d never met. Conversely, he owed it to Penumbria to make them as prosperous as possible after usurping their lord. Sacrificing one person he¡¯d never met in exchange was simply a matter of pragmatism. Few in this world would condemn him for it.
He tried to come up with rationalizations for his rejection. Maybe Belmordo couldn¡¯t be trusted to keep his word. Even if he did, the man would be a bad trade partner to have, especially since he would hold so much power over Penumbria. Adam tried to convince himself that if the Emperor was to deliberate on what to do about Adam, Belmordo would betray him without missing a beat. There was a good measure of logic in those assumptions.
Yet they weren¡¯t his real reason for refusing. To be honest, he just couldn¡¯t stomach the idea of working with someone who¡¯d talk of backstabbing others so readily, especially their own family. Allying with Belmordo would be a betrayal of the values Adam held dear.
And more than anything else, he¡¯d decided that he was going to live in this world according to his wants. No one else''s.
I already lost everything once. I refuse to lose a single thing more.
¡°Is that so?¡± Belmordo sighed. ¡°It is expected ¨C albeit disheartening ¨C that you would do so. Very well. I wish you luck in your valiant fight against that monster of a daughter.¡±
¡°You¡¯re still going to allow me into the city?¡± Adam raised an eyebrow. I was half expecting him to try and kill me right here. He knows I¡¯m gonna tell Vasco about this as soon as I can, right?
¡°I may lack a title, but you should question neither my blood nor my upbringing. My sense of duty will not falter, regardless of our...difference in opinion.¡± Belmordo laughed. ¡°Your cooperation will be needed before we proceed, however.¡±
Adam really wanted to punch this guy. Or at least trap him inside a painting. The second thought forced him to take a mental step back ¨C he didn¡¯t want that to become his first reaction to anyone who annoyed him. ¡°Figured as much. What do you want from me?¡±
¡°Lord Adam, please understand that you will need to agree to a Curse before I allow you into the city.¡±
¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±
¡°But I am.¡±
At first Adam wanted to laugh, but Belmordo¡¯s expression cut his mirth short. The man was serious. ¡°Your brother won¡¯t stand for that, you know? If I send him a raven, in a couple days he¡¯ll come here himself and take your head.¡±
¡°Oh, absolutely,¡± Belmordo acknowledged. ¡°But by then the Hangman will have arrived and killed Lady Solara. At that point, my brother will do his damndest to separate my head from my shoulders ¨C and alas, he might even succeed! But more importantly...¡±
Belmordo¡¯s face turned dark. ¡°With Lady Solara dead, you will have no leverage at all to negotiate for Penumbria¡¯s sake.¡±
Well, shit.
That was a good point.
"Gotta admit," Adam said, "it''s pretty ballsy to suggest this around a procession of Vasco''s guards. What happens if I stick my head outside the carriage and tell them you''re planning treason?"
Belmordo merely smiled. "You underestimate the situation in Gama. There are many who would be willing to turn a blind eye to certain indiscretions if it meant the Lady Solara''s demise. And as for these guards?"
He spread his arms wide. "They are Vasco''s men...in name, true. Yet, alas, each one has run afoul of trouble at one point or another. Debts, crimes, and such. I rescued them from their woes ¨C for a price. Curses bind them to my will. Not always, they live their meager lives as normal, but they cannot go against me. If I am in need of assistance, they have no choice but to come to my aid, regardless of circumstances."
The noble chuckled. "Furthermore, if I am slain in combat, they shall be compelled to cut down my assailant, fighting to avenge me until their last breaths. Except for one, whom I have instructed to return to Gama and warn the people of Lord Adam''s shocking betrayal. You can see why I handpicked them for this very trip."
Perhaps it was hypocritical coming from someone who literally stole souls, but Adam thought that was one of the most vile things he''d heard since coming to this world.
Without skipping a beat, he opened the carriage door and hung half his body outside. "Hey, everyone? Belmordo is talking treason in here. Wants to kill Vasco and his daughter. How do you guys feel about that?"
The guards didn''t even turn to face him. Some grimaced, some lowered their gaze, but they all simply kept walking forward.
Adam closed the carriage and sat back down in front of a very pleased Belmordo. "That''s messed up," the painter directly stated.
"Don''t shed any tears over them. They sealed their own fates, and they will be well-rewarded when my regime comes to pass."
For a long moment, Adam considered revealing his Stained Ink and strangling the life out of the noble prick seated before him. Unfortunately, he couldn''t envision a scenario where that ended well for him. He wasn''t confident he could take on a full contingent of guards, and killing people who were essentially being mind-controlled would leave an ill taste in his mouth. Still, he couldn¡¯t just agree to be cursed...unless, if there was a loophole or three...
¡°What would the terms of the curse be?¡± Adam asked. "Because if it''s a bind of servitude, then you can fuck right off."
¡°Nothing so drastic. For starters, you will not be able to speak to my brother about the things we discussed. In addition, as long as you live, you will not be able to raise a hand against me. You will not be able to kill me.¡± He laughed. ¡°I can imagine what you are thinking, Lord Adam. Mayhap this is not a bad deal after all, correct? After all, even if you cannot kill me, you surely can do to me what you did to Aspreay.¡±
Adam stood still. That had been his plan.
¡°In other words, the curse will also have you unable to ever take anything away from me. This includes my Talent or my soul. Get it?¡±
That was more than a little troublesome. ¡°Mind if I take a moment to consider?¡±
¡°By all means.¡±
Adam withdrew his tablet and wrote out his possibilities. It had always been easier for him to make decisions after writing out what his options were. Something about that made it all feel more real than just having the words in his head.
What to do?
1) I can refuse being cursed and keep going. If I try to force my way into the city, I¡¯d probably be killed. If I stay and wait for Vasco to do something, the Hangman will kill Solara and I¡¯ll lose my leverage.
2) I can refuse being cursed ¨C and kill Belmordo right here. The man doesn''t seem to have a Combat Talent, so it probably wouldn''t be hard. The guards are a different matter. No guarantee I survive against them.
3) I can accept being cursed, and go into the city to save Vasco¡¯s daughter. If I succeed, there¡¯s no guarantee Vasco will remain in power, and I will still be cursed. At that point Belmordo could become one of my most powerful enemies and also become immune to my paintings.
4) I can just go along with Belmordo¡¯s plan. That way I can be allowed into the city, not be cursed, and get everything I need for Penumbria.
5) I can pretend to go along with Belmordo, then betray him and steal the woman¡¯s talent in secret. Probably wouldn¡¯t work, as from the looks of it, he¡¯d get me to agree to a curse for that too.
6) I can just leave and go back to Penumbria. Belmordo''s designs will be revealed to Vasco...which won''t help me at all, as the Hangman will arrive and slay his daughter regardless. Penumbria loses the only city willing to be its trading partner. The city suffers with little recourse of a solution.
If he was being frank, Adam didn¡¯t like any of the options. Number four was the only one that seemed semi-reasonable. It was probably what he should pick.
Naturally, he decided to improvise with an option number seven.
¡°Fine,¡± Adam grinned, a plan coalescing in his mind. ¡°I¡¯ll agree to your curse. Let¡¯s get going, shall we?¡±
Chapter 9 (Part 1)
¡°You...do?¡± Belmordo seemed utterly baffled. ¡°Why not merely accept my proposal, Lord Adam? We both stand to gain from it.¡±
The man was far too naive. He thinks it¡¯s that easy, huh? That I¡¯ll either go along with his plan, accept the curse and render myself harmless, or walk away and let him get Vasco¡¯s daughter killed?
Adam could see why Belmordo had assumed all that. The would-be lord was making his offer from an advantageous position. Penumbria needed Gama, and due to the Hangman¡¯s imminent arrival, Adam¡¯s options were limited. Gama may have technically been Vasco¡¯s city, but Belmordo wouldn¡¯t be attempting this ploy if he didn¡¯t have support in both high and low places. Even if Adam decided to assassinate Belmordo right here and now, the guards would turn on him, then retreat home and raise the alarm about a ¡®traitorous¡¯ lord coming to assail them.
It would be different if there was more time. If the Hangman wasn¡¯t coming so soon, Adam would pull back and contact Vasco. He still could, technically, but that wouldn¡¯t save Vasco¡¯s daughter and earn Penumbria the financial support it sorely required. Belmordo was well-aware of this. He wouldn¡¯t have proposed his deal at this point in time otherwise.
So yes, Adam understood Belmordo¡¯s assumptions ¨C and he was more than fine with them. They would make things much easier.
So easy that it almost felt unsportsmanlike.
¡°Not long ago,¡± Adam began, ¡°I used to play a game of strategy, on occasion.¡± He was referring to chess ¨C and by ¡®play¡¯, he mostly meant that he listened to chess streams in the background while working or studying. ¡°Whenever I played against someone better than me, they¡¯d give me warnings. Before I lost like an idiot, they¡¯d say: ¡®Are you sure?¡¯ and ask me if I wanted to take that move back. So I¡¯m asking you, Belmordo...do you want to take that move back?¡±
¡°Have you been reduced to desperate bluffing, Lord Adam?¡± Belmordo laughed. ¡°My terms are plain. Accept them or not.¡±
¡°It¡¯s not bluffing. I just think that I¡¯d rather avoid killing someone. Never done it before.¡±
¡°You...you turned Lord Aspreay into an unmoving husk.¡±
¡°With a painting. Not quite the same as sticking a blade in someone¡¯s heart and watching the light of life fade from their eyes.¡± Adam fixed his gaze on the man, the Stained Ink twisting under his clothes. ¡°Although, if someone had to be my first, you wouldn¡¯t be the worst choice.¡±
There was a silence.
¡°If you kill me, you will be unable to save¨C¡±
¡°Yes, yes, I heard your spiel the first time. But if you insist on being blunt, I will too ¨C even if I accept your curse, I¡¯ll kill you by tomorrow morning.¡±
Belmordo gasped for a moment, then laughed it off again. His nervousness couldn¡¯t have lasted for longer than a second. ¡°Again, my lord; I am not one to be cowed by bluffs.¡±
¡°In that case, I¡¯ll be happy to accept the curse...if you agree to add one condition.¡±
¡°A condition?¡± Belmordo asked.
¡°You can add curses that trigger upon death, right? Like you did to the guards?¡±
At this, Belmordo appeared a little suspicious. ¡°Yes, but only if the effect is immediate ¨C nothing that can trigger many days after, for example.¡±
¡°Good. Then I¡¯ll agree to your cursed terms, so long as you add one item to that list.¡± Adam leaned forward. ¡°If you die within a day of our arrival in Gama, I want to have your Orbs. Every single one of them.¡±
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Belmordo studied Adam for a moment. There was some sweat on his forehead now, but although the atmosphere was tense, the man himself didn¡¯t appear overly nervous. ¡°What manner of bluff is this, Lord Adam?¡±
¡°No bluff. We¡¯ve established our terms. You think I¡¯m helpless, and I think I¡¯m not. So, come. Let¡¯s dance.¡±
¡°My lord, if you¡¯ll only agree to my proposal¨C¡±
¡°Quite frankly, Belmordo, I think you¡¯re rather repugnant, and I reject any idea of siding with you,¡± Adam snapped. ¡°You want me to be a dog on a leash? I refuse. Or maybe you¡¯d prefer me to just turn around right now and make matters easy for you? I refuse that too. In truth, the only decision that makes sense to me right now is to kill you.¡±
¡°If you kill me, my soldiers will place the city on high alert ¨C you won¡¯t be able to save Vasco¡¯s daughter. At that point, you¡¯ll lose out on establishing a deal that will help Penumbria¨C¡±
Adam stepped closer to him. ¡°Haven¡¯t you been listening? That¡¯s why we¡¯re going to handle things a little differently. Let me tell you how this is going to go: I¡¯m going to agree to your curse, save Vasco¡¯s daughter, then have you killed. I¡¯m telling you this, to your face. But you¡¯re still going to go along with it, because you¡¯re an arrogant idiot who thinks I¡¯m bluffing, when in fact you¡¯re simply too stupid to figure out your mistake.¡±
Belmordo¡¯s face tightened. He was furious, but even when speaking of murder, it seemed that people had to follow a certain etiquette here. With a motion that almost felt like an attack, he withdrew a piece of parchment, hastily writing on it with the same quill he¡¯d used on the vending machine earlier, and turned it around to show Adam.
¨CYou cannot kill Belmordo.
¨CYou cannot take away Belmordo¡¯s soul.
¨CYou cannot wound Belmordo.
¨CYou cannot take his soul, abilities, belongings, social status, or items that belong to him.
¨CYou cannot inform anyone about the contents of this conversation with anyone who does not bear a similar enough curse. As of this writing, only Lady Solara applies.
¨CYou cannot order anyone to kill Belmordo.
¨CIf Belmordo dies within twenty-four hours of Adam¡¯s arrival in Gama, Adam will gain all of Belmordo¡¯s Orbs. This cannot be undone, and if this item was somehow removed, the rest of the curse will also come undone.
¡°Did you think I wouldn¡¯t have the guts, boy ¨C my lord?¡± Belmordo said, with a wicked grin on his face. ¡°Did you think your bluff would make me back down and allow you to enter the city without a curse? Think again!¡±
¡°I thought nothing of the sort.¡± Adam didn¡¯t so much as blink. ¡°The only thing I thought was that no outcome sounded favorable to me. Killing you would put me at risk and lose the deal with Gama. Walking away would lose it too. Working with you would disgust me to my core. So this is what I choose instead; I¡¯ll play your game, win it, take your Orbs, and secure Vasco''s deal. There''s no need to compromise when I can have everything I desire.¡±
And my mind will be at peace. I did warn you, after all.
Belmordo took his quill to the parchment with a sneer, signing his name in flowing letters.
Adam took his quill to the parchment with a smile, signing his name in unembellished print. ¡°Enjoy your last day, Belmordo.¡±
Chapter 9 (Part 2)
Entering the city of Gama wasn¡¯t too difficult. Adam didn''t even have to pay the toll - unless Belmordo''s curse counted. The would-be lord had seemed increasingly pleased with himself as time went on. Every now and then, he would surreptitiously glance at Adam, as if expecting the Lord of Penumbria to break down and beg for their contract to be annulled.
I guess a bit of my worry is showing through to my face, Adam thought. Oh, he wasn''t concerned about the curse, not in the slightest. Rather, he''d been thinking about what this situation implied for the future. The consequences of his public takedown of Aspreay were already beginning to show.
While the ability to trap souls into paintings was uniquely powerful, there were ways to protect yourself from it, even if you didn''t know exactly how it worked. Belmordo was a prime example of this fact. He''d come to their negotiating table armed with countermeasures and contingencies. Not enough of them, and his arrogance would be his downfall regardless, but he''d still put Adam in a difficult position based on limited information.
And the more people learned about his painting Talent, the more they''d learn how to counteract it.
It''s fine, he told himself. This was bound to happen. Can¡¯t be relying on just my Talents all the time if I want to survive ¨C no, if I want to LIVE in this world.
Adam could''ve scraped by if he''d only used his power sparingly. He could''ve accepted Tenver¡¯s offer to escape Aspreay and never been seen again. He could''ve saved one or two people, gained their trust, and kept a low profile.
But he hadn¡¯t, so here he was. And if he was going to make an effort at this whole ¡®living¡¯ business, he certainly wasn¡¯t going to half-ass it.
Not again.
Never again.
To that end, information was vital. Adam drew back the carriage¡¯s curtains. ¡°Quite the city you¡¯ve got here,¡± he muttered, studying the sights that awaited him outside. ¡°It¡¯s very different from Penumbria.¡±
¡°Ah, you have good taste,¡± Belmordo said, with a smug tone. ¡°Aspreay could never see Gama that way. Always complained about it, said the city looked too dreary for his tastes. Too somber, he claimed! Can you believe that?¡±
Adam nodded absently. The first word that came to mind upon glimpsing the city...was one he purposefully repressed. The second word that came to his mind was tall. Gama was a city that felt born from stone and carved upwards, each building sliced together from the mountain''s heart and rising to graze the sky above. Every turn appeared sharp and unapologetic, so uncaring of aesthetics it became an aesthetic in and of itself, a sort of stern gracefulness to it. The soaring tower that lay at the end of their path was merely a capstone to it all.
He could kind of see why Aspreay despised the city¡¯s look, even when accounting for the former lord¡¯s petty jealousy. For someone who spent their time in Penumbria, with its odd Bavarian-esque architecture of crossed timber and contrasting pale plaster, the greystone houses of Gama would have seemed downright eerie.
Try as he might, however, Adam couldn¡¯t keep the first word that had come to mind from resurfacing. It was like telling something to avoid thinking of a pink elephant. Inevitably, they would, with the elephant in this case being the word gothic. It perfectly described Gama¡¯s design sensibilities. Sure, the city looked somewhat different from what he''d seen on Earth and in history books, but between the angles, the masonry, and the goddamn arches everywhere, ¡®gothic¡¯ fit it to a tee.
And thinking of Gama in that way forced another question to jump to the forefront of his mind.
Why does this medieval fantasy world have architecture that¡¯s straight out of Earth?
In all honesty, Earth hadn¡¯t really occupied his thoughts much lately. At most he¡¯d contemplate the difficulty of returning there somehow, sometimes ¨C only to remember that he didn¡¯t even know how he¡¯d arrived here in the first place. Felt like he was putting the cart before the horse, there.
And even when he did think about Earth, those thoughts would come with the vague admittance that, in truth, there wasn¡¯t much of a reason to go back at all. It wasn¡¯t like anyone would miss him. If he went back, he¡¯d just return to the same shit as before; struggling to pay rent while some smug prick lorded over him. At least here there was a chance that he could make some sort of positive difference. By trapping souls inside his tablet, but hey.
Just wish this place didn¡¯t make it so hard to forget about dear old ¡®home.¡¯
¡°We have arrived, my lord,¡± Belmordo announced, with a theatrical air. He reached for the door and bowed, gesturing for Adam to leave the carriage first. ¡°The Tower in the Sky ¨C one of the proudest monuments in our grand, beautiful city.¡±
¡°And you trapped someone with a monstrous curse there?¡± Adam asked, his eyebrow raised and voice unimpressed as he stepped outside the carriage. ¡°Seems disrespectful.¡±
¡°Tell that to my brother,¡± Belmordo dryly replied. He followed after Adam, dusting off his suit as he walked. ¡°Vasco turned down my suggestion of the castle¡¯s underground, where we could have kept a closer watch on her. He wanted his daughter confined in a location that was isolated, yet would still provide her with some comfort.¡±
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¡°You mean the lord rejected the idea of locking his daughter in the dungeons? How absolutely shocking.¡±
Adam tried to say it in as much of an obvious deadpan as possible. He wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d failed, or if the cause behind the city¡¯s blue hue was Belmordo¡¯s denseness bending light around him, because the man replied to it completely seriously. ¡°It is rather vexing, yes. If only he¡¯d listened to me...¡± Belmordo shook his head. ¡°Nonetheless, Lady Solara agreed to my curse before losing her consciousness, rendering her unable to leave these walls. It is a safe confinement.¡±
¡°Why bother with removing her at all, then? Just leave her there forever. She won¡¯t harm anyone.¡±
Belmordo hesitated, then looked down at the ground. ¡°I...fear we¡¯ve miscalculated slightly. Her curse grows stronger by the day. Mine won¡¯t hold her forever. If she is to tear down the city walls ¨C no, rather, her mere presence might cause the Rot in the city to become unmanageable. We need to contain it. Quickly.¡±
Debating that point would be a waste of time. Belmordo wanted Solara dead; even if Adam found a way to argue him down from his current justification, the man would just plow ahead and find a new one. Better to just not even try.
Instead, he turned his gaze and attention on the stone tower ahead. It coiled up defiantly, almost like whoever built it was trying to graze the sky itself. The damned thing was taller than most skyscrapers, but only as wide as your average house back on Earth. There was only one solitary opening, a thick set of double-doors after a short set of stone-steps, right at the base of the behemoth of a building.
There were windows, but not on the lower floors. Adam didn¡¯t think it was possible to look into the tower from outside, or that at least it wouldn¡¯t be an easy thing to accomplish.
¡°Have to say, I planned on spending a few more days before heading inside that tower,¡± Adam complained. ¡°But if the Hangman is arriving in a day or two...nothing for it, I suppose.¡±
¡°My lord?¡± Belmordo dropped some of the subservience his rank would have him display. ¡°If I may be so bold?¡±
¡°Just speak already.¡±
¡°I must ask you again not to take her Talent.¡±
Adam sighed. ¡°We¡¯ve already had this discussion.¡±
¡°I had hoped you would reconsider after having time to think on it. After the sight of what a single Hangman did...¡±
¡°Listen,¡± Adam began, impatiently. ¡°I''ve gotta get this done ASAP before the Hangman arrives ¨C so kindly stop wasting time I don¡¯t have. Do you have a point you¡¯re trying to make? Because if not, Belmordo, bud...I¡¯m terribly sorry, but I have more important things to attend to.¡±
Belmordo stuttered out an apology, his expression a mixture of naked shock and pure outrage. No matter what he says about birthright being bullshit, he still thinks I¡¯m more of a commoner than him, Adam noted. He''ll pretend to treat me respectfully so long as I have my Lord Talent and rank, but that¡¯s as far as it goes.
To his credit, Belmordo recovered fast. ¡°Lord Adam, I only ask that you consider what the Hangman could do to your very heart, to the city of Penumbria. Think of your people, my lord.¡±
¡°Penumbria?¡± Adam repeated. ¡°Why would ¨C ah. I see. Bribery didn¡¯t work, so you¡¯re moving on to threats, is that it?¡±
¡°I do not threaten,¡± Belmordo assuaged, his eyes twinkling with defiance. ¡°However, remember that your takeover of Aspreay¡¯s title was...contentious. If word reaches the Empire before you can make your case to the Emperor...well, Hangmen are known to act independently. They¡¯ve been granted the ability to make quick judgement calls, and are willing to do whatever it takes to preserve the Empire.¡±
¡°So if I don¡¯t do what you want, bad things happen?¡± Adam said, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. ¡°Yeah, I suppose that tracks. Even if I save Vasco¡¯s daughter, and he¡¯s inclined to defend me out of gratitude, it won¡¯t matter so long as you speak with the Hangman first.¡±
¡°You see then, Lord Adam. My offer is most reasonable: you can refuse to save this woman and gain yourself a powerful ally to your city, at no risk to yourself. Alternatively, you risk gruesome death in order to gain a fierce enemy at little reward. There is only one logical course of action, do you not agree?¡±
Adam nodded. He had to admit it was hard to argue against that. ¡°You have a point.¡±
¡°Fantastic!¡± Belmordo clasped his hands together. ¡°Shall we embark upon the carriage once more, then? Let us hurry to the castle and drink to our new alliance. The once-commoners who took the title of¨C¡±
¡°Getting a bit ahead of yourself there,¡± Adam calmly said, pushing Belmordo aside and striding up the stone steps that led to the tower. ¡°Said you had a point, and you do ¨C but I¡¯d still rather die than side with you. Sincerely.¡±
And with that, he opened the front doors to the tower, walked inside, then shut himself inside with a cursed monster.
Chapter 9 (Part 3)
Adam barely paid attention to his surroundings as he made his way forward. His mind was busy playing back his last few conversations with Belmordo. Okay, yeah, alright. That last bit was unnecessary. So were all the other times I taunted him, if I''m being honest with myself. My plan isn''t contingent on him being upset ¨C all I gained from antagonizing him was an enemy on the lookout.
After a moment, he shrugged. Felt pretty good though.
There were many things Adam had done since coming to the Painted World that he could admit were a tad on the self-destructive side. The way he was throwing himself at challenges and going all-in on things was a worrying trend. This, though?
No regrets.
None whatsoever.
Tenver had said before that, when a person lost everything, sometimes they just wanted to help whoever they could. Adam was close to fitting that bill. He was poor, an enemy to the world, and almost completely alone. It¡¯d made him briefly consider going along with Belmordo¡¯s cruelty, sacrificing his own self-respect for the sake of Penumbria.
Much to his surprise, however, he hadn¡¯t quite lost everything. He still had his pride ¨C and that was worth more than all the Orbs in the world.
If the people of Penumbria depend on me, and it¡¯s my fault that I¡¯m stuck with that responsibility...I¡¯ll make sure they live well. But I¡¯ll do it my way.
With that in mind, he started to actually examine the tower he was in. The ceilings were as high as he¡¯d expected, but they stood out in that they seemed made of lumber rather than the stone that the walls were built out of. A single spiral staircase looped around the center of the room, leading to the next floor.
There were no windows, though. Instead, a bombardment of decoration adorned the interior from top to bottom. He saw ostentatious banners, velvet cloths, shining trinkets, and glittering jewelry hanging from every wall. They were equaled in grandeur by the numerous suits of armor, clutching oversized longswords that Adam knew no human could possibly carry. Well, then again, this was a world of magic, so maybe a Talent¨C
Wait. Is that...?
Adam reached over toward one suit of armor in particular. While the armor itself looked like the others, it held a shield that stood out. Not only was it a different color from the others ¨C a bright red metal, as if dyed in fresh arterial blood ¨C but it also seemed to pulsate at times, almost like a heartbeat. Is this the Dragonforged Steel that Tenver was talking about? The thing that can¡¯t be destroyed by anything but Rot?
¡°What a discerning eye you have there,¡± said a new voice, from above the staircase. ¡°Lord Adam, I presume?¡±
Raising his gaze, Adam caught sight of a figure largely concealed behind the sweeping banisters. Hints of dark blue and glimmers of gold suggested a grand dress adorned with frills. From that angle, it was difficult to be certain of her looks, but her tone was booming, haughty, and commanding.
¡°You are correct,¡± Adam replied, speaking loudly so that it echoed off the walls and reached the distant woman. ¡°I was told no one else is allowed within the tower, so would it be fair to assume that you are Lady Solara?¡±
¡°Aye,¡± she replied, her voice a loud, imposing echo that seemed to hit him from all directions. ¡°Would you care to join me for tea, before one of us dies? It has been terribly lonely here. I¡¯m afraid there are no servants, however, and my upbringing hardly allowed me to become a master of the art.¡±
¡°And my upbringing left me unable to discern good tea from the bad. It would be my honor.¡± Adam reached for the shield and pulled it apart from the armor¡¯s gauntlet. Dear god, that was heavy. He had to wrap some Vines of Stained Ink beneath his sleeves to help hold it forward. ¡°Hope you don¡¯t mind ¨C I¡¯m stealing your expensive shield. For if our tea turns violent.¡±
Solara¡¯s laughter echoed throughout the tower. It sounded genuine, almost joyous at first, and stretched for a long moment. When it ended, however, it was on a bittersweet note. ¡°Feel free, Lord Adam. You are...odd. Do you always expect your rendezvous with women to result in violence?¡±
¡°Not always. Although I did have one turn out to be a serial killer,¡± he said, absently thinking of Miranda. That hadn¡¯t exactly been his favorite experience. The hospital people were really nice, though. ¡°You¡¯re probably at least a step or two above her.¡±
The voice hesitated, as if at a loss for what to say. ¡°Um. Should I take that as flattery, Lord Adam?¡±
¡°Probably not. Eric always said I was bad at flattering people. I¡¯m just being honest ¨C you¡¯re in a whole different league.¡± He still couldn¡¯t see Lady Solara¡¯s face. At this point, Adam began making his way up the staircase, bringing the heavy Dragonforged Steel shield with him. Every step seemed to make the metal expand and recoil like a beating heart. ¡°Let¡¯s have your tea. I assume you¡¯re not possessed yet?¡±
¡°I have my moments of self-awareness. This is one of them. It won¡¯t last long, but I will not harm you for as long as it does.¡±
¡°In that case, should I not prepare to fight you?¡±
¡°Mayhap so. But I¡¯d love if you could join me for tea, Lord Adam.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
¡°Because I have not spoken with anyone for a long time now.¡± There was no theatrics, noble etiquette, or even a cursory attempt to hide the sadness in her voice. ¡°It¡¯s simply that I...no, banish the thought or take it for a jest. I understand that¨C¡±
¡°Prepare your tea,¡± Adam said, cutting her off. ¡°I¡¯ll catch up to you.¡±
Hefting the red, dense shield, Adam began his ascent up the tower¡¯s spiral staircase. Each step seemed to make the shield vibrate rhythmically, pulsating against the grip of his Stained Vines. His other hand traced along the stone cold bannister, providing balance against the unusual weight he now bore. It was a slow ride, and he heard the woman move further into the room as he approached the top. Not only was the weight of his shield a problem, the surrounding heat made it feel as though he were ascending into hell.
So many torches... Sweat beaded on Adam¡¯s forehead as he struggled to climb. Never thought about how goddamn warm a room full of torches would be when I was reading up on medieval times. I guess it¡¯s necessary, considering there¡¯s no windows. You couldn¡¯t see anything otherwise.
Finally, he reached Solara¡¯s room. As befitting of a noble in harsh captivity, her abode was both stately and disheveled. Despite being furnished with luxury, most of the furniture was broken, a token effort made to sweep dirt and debris into one corner. And while the room was very spacious, it was clearly too big for a single person to clean properly, with dust coating much of the surface.
Most concerning of all were the numerous bloodstains, half-faded yet ever-present. Remnants of those who tried to fight the Curse and died, Adam reasoned. I¡¯ll take that as a warning to be careful.
One piece of furniture stood out amongst the others. It was an extremely long, rectangular table with a glass tea set laid out on top, striking in its elegance. Just two chairs were set out, distanced so far apart from each other that Adam thought he¡¯d be forced to raise his voice in order for Solara to hear him.
He turned to look at the woman ¨C only for his breath to be taken away. Behind her and around her were the brightest torches Adam had seen since coming to this world, burning a fire so red that even her pale skin seemed scarlet beneath it. The Three Torches were imposing, bright, and in near-complete sync with each other, flames dancing and swirling in tune with each other to the beat of an inaudible song.
And then there was the woman.
Since coming to this world, Adam had seen many nobles up to now, men and women alike. He thought he¡¯d known what to expect from the heiress to the city of Gama; that she would look like one of the women from Aspreay¡¯s court, if maybe dressed a little more ostentatiously due to her wealth and her city¡¯s prosperity.
He¡¯d been wrong.
Solara was dressed in the dark blue dress he had caught hints of from the bottom of the stairwell earlier, but upon closer inspection the golden adjournments were few and relatively modest. The fabric of the dress itself appeared not unlike what he¡¯d see among the commoners who knelt down before Aspreay to petition for help. Though she wore jewelry, it seemed relatively inexpensive, just small stones on a single ring and each earring.
Even so, there was an air of distinguished nobility about it ¨C about her. True, the dress was common, but it was impeccably clean. Sure, the jewelry was cheap, but it matched both the cloth and her disposition perfectly. And her face...
¡°Beautiful,¡± Adam said plainly. When he realized the words had left his lips, he considered them. I could try to play it off. Which seemed silly. He might die at any moment, why bother? Might as well be honest. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen anyone that beautiful since Tenver.¡± Okay, maybe a bit too honest.
But she did look as beautiful as him, and her face stood out as so oddly symmetrical. It almost looked like it had been painted, or carefully put together by some master craftsman. Most people would have found it off-putting, Adam knew. Her golden hair went past her shoulders, but it was cut evenly and precisely as if not a single strand was allowed to go beyond another. She had a penetrating sort of gaze, the harsh stare that felt as sharp and pointed as her ears. Solara looked at him with bright, wide eyes that were as golden as her hair, studying him carefully, her pale skin seeming ghostly beneath the faint torchlight that illuminated the room.
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After a moment of silence, she laughed. ¡°As beautiful as Lord Tenver? Now, that is flattery. Tales of his beauty have reached even the capital...if my spies are to be believed.¡±
That seemed like a little much, but Adam had no idea whether the woman was serious or not. He took a seat across from her, placed his shield on top of the table, and leaned against his backpack. ¡°You were expecting me?¡±
¡°I was. My father informed me through a raven. He mentioned finding another fool who would die trying to undo my curse.¡±
¡°That would be correct, yes. But I don¡¯t plan on dying.¡± Adam sipped at the tea. It was a little bitter for his taste, but frankly he was thankful for the drink. ¡°This is really good. Don¡¯t sell yourself short ¨C it¡¯s equal to any tea I had in Penumbria.¡±
¡°You damn me with faint praise, my lord.¡±
Adam smiled apologetically. ¡°Forgive my bluntness, but I was told you weren¡¯t in control of your curse.¡±
¡°I am not.¡±
¡°How long do we have to enjoy this cup of tea?¡±
¡°Perhaps five minutes. You have poor timing ¨C I usually have a few hours after waking up. I should warn you against attacking me before I transform, as it tends to make the curse more violent and affords you no real advantage.¡±
Five minutes. That wasn¡¯t nearly long enough to learn everything about her. It had taken six months for him to figure out Aspreay to the point where Adam could steal the late Lord¡¯s Talent. Even if he could lessen the amount of information he needed by gambling his Talents, that wasn¡¯t going to be sufficient. It was already difficult to truly grasp what made someone tick ¨C what made them who they were ¨C without being limited to a single brief conversation.
With that in mind, he withdrew his tablet from his backpack. Adam paused, taking the time to give her an extended, inquisitive look.
Solara perked up. ¡°Ah, I see. Lord Adam, are you drawing a portrait of me?¡±
¡°Yes. Assuming you don¡¯t mind.¡±
¡°No. Go ahead, my lord. My father did mention in his letter that this is how you would free me from my curse. Is that what you are attempting right now?¡±
Adam looked up from his tablet to shake his head at her. ¡°No.¡± He moved his head back to his tablet, sketching her with fast motions. ¡°That was my initial plan, but thanks to Belmordo, I don¡¯t have as much preparation as I thought I would.¡±
¡°Then what are you doing?¡±
Once more, Adam peered up from his tablet, this time clearly annoyed. ¡°I¡¯m painting a portrait of you. We established this. Now, if you don¡¯t mind, could you not move so much? I¡¯m already not great at quick sketches, and you aren¡¯t making this any easier.¡±
¡°We...did establish that, yes. But if you cannot take away my curse, then why...?¡±
"You look unique,¡± Adam said, nonchalantly. ¡°Your dress is a nice shade of blue, and that combined with the fire flickering behind you is creating a really interesting shade. The fabric is reflective enough that there¡¯s some blue on your face, but at the same time, the fire is so intense and bright. You don¡¯t usually see something so...saturated, in person. Usually red and blue scenes are more muted, closer to an orange and very light blue, almost gray sort of contrast.¡±
His excitement rose as he spoke. ¡°This though? It¡¯s different. I want to capture it, even if it¡¯s just a sketch. As long as I get the general idea down now, I can always iterate upon it later. Then it should remind me of what I had in mind when the idea first came to me, you know?¡±
¡°No, I...am afraid I do not know. At all.¡± The regality in Solara¡¯s voice was replaced by a note of full confusion. ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry, my lord, but am I to understand you mean to spend those minutes painting for the sake of painting?¡±
¡°And why not? Doing art for its own purpose is much more meaningful than giving it some idiotic justification.¡± Adam found himself grinning from ear to ear. This was the first time he¡¯d felt like painting something after the incident with Aspreay. Thankfully, he hadn¡¯t been burnt out by those six months of hellish work. In this moment, he wasn¡¯t worrying about budgets or politics or betrayals ¨C he was just painting.
God, it felt good. ¡°I think when you do something you love for no reason at all...that¡¯s where true art is.¡±
¡°I see.¡± Solara paused, contemplating his words. ¡°So what you are saying, my lord, is that you are insane.¡±
Adam shrugged, his desire to think of a comeback supplanted by his desire to get the color palette just right. Maybe if I play with the opacity a little ¨C no, can¡¯t. Not enough time. Just gonna sketch out the fire on a different layer, I can adjust the opacity and blending modes later to see what I like.
If only he had a camera; he could¡¯ve at least taken a reference picture. Hopefully this area wouldn¡¯t be destroyed in the upcoming fight. Would be nice to paint it too. The Three Torches were incredible at providing just the right kind of lighting!
¡°May I ask a question, my lord?¡±
Adam switched from one layer to another, vaguely cursing and resorting to vector layers so he could correct the lines later. ¡°Yes, what is it?¡±
¡°You called me beautiful and spoke at length about the fire, about the sight before you.¡±
It was getting harder to focus. Time limits were annoying enough, and Adam hated short sketches, but this was too much. ¡°Yes, what of it?¡± he grunted through his teeth.
¡°Are you not ¨C are you not going to comment on my ears?¡±
¡°Hmm?¡± Adam peered over his tablet again. He narrowed his eyes, grunted, and returned to drawing. How much time did he have left? Maybe a minute before she started trying to kill him? ¡°Not really.¡± If anything, he was half-considering covering them with her hair in the picture to keep them from being distracting. It wasn¡¯t he was going for an accurate portrait, this was more of a stylistically¨C
¡°Adam¡ªLord Adam¡ªmy lord¡ªyou stupid bastard, are you actually serious?!¡± Solara¡¯s voice sounded different now. Nearly all of its regality had vanished, and whatever was left had combined with a sense of indignant outrage.
Yet, somehow, it sounded far more honest than what it was before. ¡°Are you not going to question me about my heritage? About why I bear elven ears when my father, Lord Vasco, does not?¡±
¡°Later. I¡¯m running short on time here,¡± Adam snapped back, as if he meant his words as an insult. ¡°Your hidden lineage sounds like a tomorrow problem.¡±
He paused. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s why we didn¡¯t have much information on Lord Vasco¡¯s daughter, though, and why Belmordo isn¡¯t afraid of losing noble support if he kills you. And ¨C damnit, look!¡± Adam complained. ¡°Look what you did! You got me thinking about politics when¨C¡±
Solara rose from the table.
Then, she kept rising.
Not only did she stand up, but her feet ceased touching the ground, her body ascending forward suddenly and hastily, as if pulled by an invisible set of strings. Solara¡¯s eyes went wide, her mouth gaped open, arms snapping away, swirling independently from each other. Adam met her gaze for a moment, but though their eyes crossed paths, he knew there was nothing inside there anymore.
In one motion, the woman held up in the air by invisible strings turned her back first, and then her neck. Her head faced towards Adam, having turned around at an angle that no living human could endure. An inhuman sound came from her throat, a sort of forbidden music that pained Adam¡¯s ears and shattered the glass teacups on the table. Even her hands changed, her fingers growing longer like vines, her nails sharpening into claws.
Adam sighed. He stowed his tablet in his backpack, placed it in a secluded corner, and picked up the shield. His Stained Vines swirled around him, his heartbeat racing fast as the Dragonforged Steel pulsated.
¡°I suppose this will have to do,¡± he muttered. ¡°She puts on airs of nobility, has some deep insecurity regarding her heritage, and from how natural the words ¡®stupid bastard¡¯ sounded when they came out of her mouth, probably wasn¡¯t raised a noble.¡± He grimaced. ¡°Fucking hell, this would be a hell of a lot easier if Vasco told me more before sending me here.¡±
A shivering cold invaded the windowless room. It was like an invisible breeze, blowing Adam¡¯s hair away from his face as if he¡¯d styled it to point skyward.
¡°It isn¡¯t much to work with...but if it comes down to it, maybe it might be enough to gamble on the painting. Should I do that, or...?¡±
¡°You are not from this world.¡±
The shrieks coming from inside Solara ¨C it seemed rude to even think of this possession as her ¨C had converged into a single, shivery voice that seemed closer to the sound of blocks of ice colliding than human speech. Yet Adam understood its words, and listened carefully. ¡°And I thought I was just here to play thief...looks like this is going to be relevant to my interests,¡± Adam said softly, then shouted, ¡°what do you know about me?¡±
¡°Are you from the World of Ink?¡± Every word, every whisper, sounded like an indefinable music that humans were not meant to hear. Adam felt his breath catching, his knees threatening to give in, and even his eyesight blurred for a moment. He spread his Stained Vines under his clothes to force his legs into an upright position.
¡°I am from Earth.¡±
¡°Ah...the World of Ink...have you come here to offer...your...ink?¡±
Adam narrowed his eyes and spread the Vines evenly to his every limb, preparing for whatever was to come. Keep your breaths short. Stay calm. Losing your shit won¡¯t help here. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d believe me if I said I mostly work digitally?¡± What does it know about me? What does it mean? Have to¨C
¡°Give me your INK!¡±
It attacked.
Chapter 10 (Part 1)
STAINED VINES!
Adam called upon his ink, bringing the hefty shield up just in time to block the Curse¡¯s ghostly attack. A shrill ringing noise resounded when the claws met Dragonforged metal. He felt a brief moment of triumph. It lasted until he found himself being flung backwards at high speeds, his feet no longer touching the ground. As Adam crashed into a harsh stone wall, he realized he¡¯d been too naive.
My...back...
Stars swam through his vision, and pain swam through his mind. He immediately focused his thoughts on cataloging what he¡¯d just learned ¨C it would help him think straight. Aside from finding out that Solara¡¯s Curse hit like a truck, he¡¯d also confirmed Tenver¡¯s claim that the Dragonforged shield could withstand anything except Rot, although that didn¡¯t mean it nullified the force impact of an attack.
This meant two things. First, Adam wasn¡¯t sure if carrying around a shield that was this incredibly heavy would be of much use. And second...it meant that Solara¡¯s curse probably wasn¡¯t related to the Rot ¨C not exactly, anyway. If it was, then the attack would have gone through his shield.
Which probably would be relevant, assuming he survived. Granted, big assumption.
¡°You...from the World of Ink...will you try to Paint me? Do you think I will let you?¡±
¡°Can¡¯t say that I¡¯m a huge fan of that idea,¡± Adam spat out. Good ¨C he could still talk, despite his ribs hurting like hell. That was something, at least. ¡°It¡¯s not like I know enough about Solara to steal her Talent.¡±
¡°Will you die and give me your Ink?¡±
¡°Can¡¯t say I¡¯m a huge fan of that either,¡± Adam managed, letting out a low, bitter laugh. He wasn¡¯t delusional about his chances ¨C however, that didn¡¯t mean he was out of options. If he couldn¡¯t steal her Talent, then... ¡°Well, I doubt this is what Vasco had in mind when he asked me to save his daughter, but so long as I remove her curse the guy probably won¡¯t be too picky about it.¡±
He cracked his neck. ¡°I¡¯ll just kill her once. That should exorcise her. Shouldn¡¯t be a problem when she can die twice, right?¡±
The Curse swung through the air, guided by an invisible rope. Peals of laughter rang through the air. The sounds echoed across the room, like a legion of Curses laughing in tandem, somehow seeming to come from inside Adam¡¯s own head.
¡°GIVE¡ªME¡ªYOUR¡ªINK!¡±
It lunged forward, legs kicking against nothing to gain momentum, using the air itself as if it were an invisible wall. Vapour emanated from the Curse¡¯s uneven claws, now burning bright red. They swung directly for Adam¡¯s throat.
If that touches me, I¡¯m super dead. Adam tried to run, but his knees wouldn¡¯t respond, still wobbly from the last impact. He glanced at the Dragonforged shield and considered raising it once more, before ultimately discarding the idea. One more block and my fucking ribs would break. In that case¨C
Adam¡¯s Stained Vines unfurled towards the ascending staircase, wrapping around its bannister. He tried pulling himself away, but after an initial surge of momentum, came to a dead halt. Swearing loudly, he let go of the shield and hastily pulled again. This time he snapped over like an arrow in flight, his shoulder colliding with the railing and sending him tumbling on top of the spiral stairs.
He¡¯d hurt his head on the landing, but there was no time to whine. Where ¨C where is the Curs¨C
It was no longer flying. Instead, it had gotten down on the floor, crawling on all fours like a rabid dog. The thing¡¯s limbs were growing at uneven rates, its stomach faced the ceiling, and its eyes were pitch-black voids, two reminders of the Stained. When it raced forward, swinging arms and legs to climb up the staircase like a spider, Adam could barely remember that the body used to be human.
There wasn¡¯t time to think. By the time he¡¯d used his Stained Vines to pull himself into the room above, he hadn¡¯t even finished processing what his eyes were seeing. His heart raced and his mind converged into a strange combination of thoughts, some half-formed, some nearly incomprehensible ¨C yet with his body somehow acting as if it understood them all.
Is this what it¡¯s like to be filled with adrenaline? Even in the painted world, Adam had never been in a situation like this before. He¡¯d been nearly killed and risked his life on several occasions, but not once had he fought a grotesque abomination leaping at him with the intent to kill. This wasn¡¯t simply another instance of gambling with his life.
This was a duel to the death.
¡°Sharpen, Stained Vines.¡± The ink swirling around his arm straightened at the end; still flexible, but with its tip as sharp as any arrow. Once that thing climbs up to follow me...I¡¯ll stab it straight through. A part of him felt ashamed at how easily he¡¯d acclimatized to this. He knew a normal person should have felt conflicted, that they most likely would¡¯ve trembled in fear and agonized over the insanity unfurling before their very eyes.
But Adam was grinning.
¡°Come on!¡± he shouted, with manic laughter inside his heart, yet not quite leaving his throat. Maybe it was for the best if he couldn¡¯t make it back to Earth. Maybe this place had messed him up too much for that. ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Are you afraid of me, Curse?¡± Or maybe he was already messed up long before ever coming here.
Adam readied his Stained Vines, waiting for the Curse to show up at the top of the staircase. Even if it¡¯s faster than me, it only has one way of approaching. At this angle, I have the upper hand.
Those thoughts were still passing through his mind when sharpened claws ripped into his shoulder.
Huh? Adam stumbled back, his shoulder weeping blood as the Curse¡¯s laughter surrounded him. That...wasn¡¯t just speed. I was watching the staircase the entire time, how ¨C how did it show up without me noticing?
His body started to go limp. The pain didn¡¯t register at first, all of it happening so fast that his injuries seemed to just...become reality in an instant. He could feel the Curse standing behind him, emanating sheer dread from every aspect of its existence. A part of him wondered if it was time to accept death.
NO, he yelled at himself. Adam was far too used to fighting against his own negativity to throw in the towel here. He gave control of his body to adrenaline, rolling on the ground, unseen attacks whipping over his head. Like he¡¯d practiced, his blood turned to ink as he dodged, stopping him from bleeding out entirely. While it probably wouldn¡¯t save him if his vitals were destroyed, it would at least prevent him from succumbing to major blood loss.
¡°Focus.¡± Adam forced himself to stand, scanning the room for the Curse. There was nothing, not even a window it could have used to surprise him from, just the flickering of the many torches on the wall. ¡°This thing isn¡¯t invincible. I¡¯m not dead yet. I can beat it. I can¨C¡±
¡°Oh? Defeat me? You?¡±
The creature¡¯s icy voice felt like more of an attack than its next act of violence. Once again, the Curse had moved faster than mere speed could allow it to, reappearing behind him and then pressing its lips against Adam¡¯s wounded shoulder. He tried leaping away, but the Curse¡¯s tongue extended like a frog and dragged itself over his skin, drinking in whatever blood ¨C whatever ink he had not sealed inside.
This time Adam made sure not to take his eyes away from the monster, even as he ran away. At no point did the monster try to give chase, which was almost as upsetting as it was unnerving. What, don¡¯t want to finish me off? Don¡¯t think I¡¯m a threat?
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He almost wished he had. That way, he wouldn¡¯t have seen the creature¡¯s grotesque form start to stabilize. Somehow, the closer it looked to being a human, the eerier it felt. It still didn¡¯t look entirely like Lady Solara, but now its monstrously large appendages were almost human sized, now closer to actual arms instead of tentacles.
¡°Ah...the Ink sings to me. So sweet, so...natural,¡± the creature said. Its voice had stopped echoing at the end, yet it was a deep, masculine timbre that spoke borrowing Solara¡¯s throat. ¡°Would you care to give me more, my dear Painter? You need not worry ¨C I won¡¯t kill you if you surrender. If you die, the Ink will become blood once more. I cannot waste this opportunity!¡±
¡°Anyone ever tell you that you¡¯re way too chatty for a curse?¡± Adam barked out, trying to catch his breath. Wait...I was just talking shit, but that seems relevant. The more ink it eats, the more control it seems to get over its body.
¡°You haven¡¯t replied to my proposition yet.¡±
Adam snickered, his breathing ragged and his eyes dancing with a caricature of joy. ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t? My bad.¡± He quickly scanned the room. It was the same as the floor beneath ¨C large, circular, decorated ostentatiously, and with no windows in sight. There were bookshelves rather than the dining table, but it was extremely similar otherwise, and equally as dark.
No matter how hard he looked, there were only two ways out of the room¡ªthe staircase leading down, and the staircase leading up.
Where? Where did it come from? There¡¯s no windows. Even a secret passage wouldn¡¯t make sense, so how ¨C fuck it, I¡¯ll figure it out as I go.
The Curse stirred.
STAINED VINES! The monster leaped sideways to dodge an attack that never came. Instead of going on the offensive, Adam wrapped his vines around the staircase railing leading to the next floor, then pulled himself up towards it. He didn¡¯t trust his legs to move quickly enough to make an escape, especially since his knees were still wobbly after the Curse¡¯s last attack.
It was far from a dignified landing, and the way he crashed shoulder-first against the railing before making it over hurt tremendously, but it was better than letting that thing catch him. Adam stumbled to his feet and rushed over to the next floor. Keep thinking. Don¡¯t lose sight of what¡¯s happening. Is this room any different than the last?
No. The furniture changed slightly, but not the amount of exits, and even now there were no windows. If Adam recalled what the enormous tower had looked like from the outside, they were still a couple floors away from the lowest window he¡¯d seen.
That helped him narrow down his thoughts. He glared down at the staircase and swirled his ink in the air, connected to his arm only by a thin line. In a hurry, he extended it toward the steps so it would catch the monster as it approached, speed be damned.
Pain exploded behind him.
¡°Where the hell¡ª?¡± Light-headedness set in as Adam forced his new wounds ¨C this time on the other shoulder ¨C to close. He spun around in circles a few times, eyes searching, but found nothing.
Yet the moment he stopped turning, the Curse appeared from behind, this time inflicting a deep cut on his back before disappearing again.
¡°Fight me, you coward!¡± Adam demanded. It was an empty taunt, but he didn¡¯t have much else. Even an elaborate magic elevator wouldn¡¯t explain this. Somehow, the Curse seemed able to appear from virtually any angle. Can it teleport?
No. If it could, then it wouldn¡¯t be waiting for Adam to stop turning before it appeared. ¡°Think. Add everything up. There has to be an answer. What¡¯s that thing¡¯s power? Think...I have to...keep...thinking!¡±
His mounting blood loss, exhaustion, and fear made it hard to steady his rationality. Even so, Adam refused to allow himself to stop searching for a solution. Since the moment he¡¯d arrived in the painted world ¨C hell, since the moment he¡¯d been born ¨C his capacity to link logical details together had been the only thing keeping him alive.
What did he know so far?
1) It doesn¡¯t attack when I¡¯m constantly turning around. This means it doesn¡¯t want me to know where it¡¯s appearing from.
2) It¡¯s not just speed, or else¨C
Another blow; this time to the back of his left leg. Adam spun around with his Stained Vines, but the monster was already long gone. He could hear the creature¡¯s mocking voice coming from everywhere and nowhere. ¡°Why not use your Lord Talent, Painter? I¡¯m sure you could find where I am if you transformed this tower into your domain.¡±
¡°That¡¯s not an option.¡± Adam tried to make himself sound angry and resolute, suppressing how much agony he was in just from standing up. I...I didn¡¯t know you could feel this kind of pain and still function. If I sit down, I don¡¯t think I¡¯m getting up again. ¡°Turning this tower into my domain will leave Penumbria open to a monster invasion.¡±
¡°Ah, so you truly are from the World of Ink? Most curious.¡±
Adam shook his head to stay focused, then shouted, ¡°Where are you? Show yourself!¡±
¡°I am right here, Painter.¡±
Immediately, Adam whirled around to face the voice, readying his Stained Vines. Despite being sure that the Curse¡¯s voice had come from that direction, he couldn¡¯t see it. He looked for places where it could potentially be hiding, and found none. Although the room was somewhat dark, there were enough torches illuminating everything that a mouse couldn¡¯t have remained hidden, let alone a monster.
Think...where could it be...is there some sort of logic to it? A rule? A restriction?
Wait...maybe there is one.
Adam drew a deep breath. So far, he could only be sure of two things: the Curse didn¡¯t seem to attack him when he was turning around like a maniac, and it was getting stronger every time it drank more ink ¨C blood ¨C from his wounds. If he wanted to keep the creature from attacking him, his only option was to spin like a beyblade no matter how dizzy or tired he felt.
He had to admit that it was tempting to think of things in those simple terms. To imagine that all he had to do was repeat ¡®I¡¯ll do it, even if it hurts and I¡¯m exhausted, I¡¯ll keep doing it!¡¯ until the very end.
But that was naive. The human body had limits. Heroic willpower could push you to your limits, but that¡¯s all. Overcoming the inherent frailty of human mortality was a feat best reserved for action movie heroes. If Adam kept trying to survive with raw instinct and determination, he would eventually, inevitably, die.
So instead, he chose to drop to his knees and rest for a moment.
¡°Show it to me, Painter from the World of Ink.¡± The voice shouted. Adam could hear it in front of him, but even now he couldn¡¯t see anything. ¡°Show me.¡± The voice became less human, echoing wildly. ¡°Show me the Talent of a Lord!¡±
Adam thought of Penumbria and sighed. ¡°Oh, be a good creepy curse and shut up already, will you?¡± As if he could abandon those people. Not after he¡¯d forced them to live with him as their lord.
That made them his responsibility.
He launched his Stained Vines ¨C but not in the direction of the voice. Instead, he launched it behind him, toward the torches on the wall. As soon as he felt the Vines make contact, Adam made it twist, turn, and wrap itself around, tying up the Curse in one swift motion.
¡°I suppose it makes sense,¡± Adam said, projecting his voice towards the monster restrained behind his back. ¡°I was just thinking of you as a curse, but that¡¯s not exactly what you are. You have a Talent too, don¡¯t you? I was confused when trying to figure out what your ability was...it couldn¡¯t be speed or teleportation...but I understand now.¡±
Chapter 10 (Part 2)
Satisfaction empowered him. Even though his body was begging to rest, his desire to shit-talk the thing that had been kicking his ass until now was too strong to ignore. He turned around and faced the monster. ¡°Your Talent is the ability to Travel Through Fire isn¡¯t it? That¡¯s how you were teleporting around ¨C the torches on the walls!¡±
The Curse¡¯s laughter ricocheted off the walls, a resounding symphony of darkness and malice. Adam could feel his Stained Vines thrum in response, each chuckle like a pulse of dread. ¡°In many aspects, you are correct,¡± it replied. ¡°But not all of them.¡± Adam tensed up his grip, trying to keep the Vines tight. ¡°I am more than a curse, yes. Some hundreds of years ago, I died as a human so that my Lord Sorcerer could revive me as the Ghost of Fire.¡±
¡°So you¡¯re going to tell me the limits of your Talent? That¡¯s very kind of you, monster. Ah, excuse me ¨C ghost.¡±
¡°Why not? It¡¯s only fair. You¡¯ve fed me with so much precious ink that it would be terribly rude not to respond in kind.¡±
Again the monster laughed, the sound ricocheting off the walls. ¡°How many years would it have taken to eat this much ink otherwise? I cannot thank you enough, Painter. So know this ¨C yes, I can travel through fire, so long as the flames are close enough to each other. My body can fully reside within them, and they do not prevent me from speaking. Which is hardly a fair trade.¡±
The Ghost peered down at the long sections of Stained Ink that were restraining it. Slowly, it lifted a mocking gaze at Adam, and grinned. The creature¡¯s tongue unfurled forward like a frog, slithering across the Vine like a sort of razor-sharp snake, breaking the Stained Ink apart and swallowing it whole.
¡°How¨C¡±
Adam¡¯s shock was cut short as he winced and doubled over. He heaved, his body attempting to puke, although nothing came out of his stomach. Shit, I¡¯ve already lost a lot of blood, and this isn¡¯t helping. Although he retracted whatever Ink he could back into his body, the Vines he¡¯d lost were far from insignificant. There was no way of making a Vine long enough to tie up the Ghost again.
His first instinct was convulse on the ground. His second instinct overrode the first. I have to know ¨C what¡¯s going....what just happened. Otherwise, even if I survive today, I won¡¯t live past tomorrow.
¡°You said before that it¡¯s polite to offer information as payment, considering how rare my Ink is.¡± Which Adam still didn¡¯t fully understand. Was Ink that came from Stained Creatures different from the Rot? ¡°Considering the feast I just gave you, could you at least tell me what the fuck you just did? How did you break my ability so easily?¡±
The Ghost laughed amusingly. ¡°Fair enough. It is most simple, Painter of the World of Ink. I bear the Talent of a Viscount, and you of a Baron. A weaker Talent cannot ever break a stronger one. Do you understand what I mean?¡±
¡°Are you saying that no matter what I do, so long as the Rank of my Stained Vines is lower than yours, I can¡¯t hurt you?¡±
¡°Indeed. Such is the law of the Painted World, my dear denizen of the World of Ink.¡±
Which means I have to increase my Rank, by any means necessary. Penumbria needs more Orbs, and so do I. But that was a problem for another time. More pressingly, this meant no matter what he did, he wouldn¡¯t be able to hurt the Ghost whatsoever. There was an unbreachable gulf between them designated by the inherent rules of reality. If what the Ghost was saying was true, then this couldn¡¯t even be called a fight anymore.
It never had been.
That was the real reason why the creature was so unconcerned about keeping Adam alive. There was never any danger in the first place. It could take its time feasting on Adam¡¯s blood like he was a water fountain, prolonging his suffering for as long as it desired.
¡°Show me the Talent of a Lord!¡± the Ghost said, through an echoing, harrowing laugh. ¡°Show it to me ¨C give me more Ink! Make me more powerful! Unless, of course, you have accepted death.¡±
¡°Accepted death?¡± Adam repeated, thoughtfully. It was a fair question. ¡°Not sure if I have. Not sure if I haven¡¯t, either.¡±
He sighed. Then, when he realized his annoyance hadn¡¯t quite left his body, he sighed one more time. The Ghost¡¯s question was beyond annoying, it was downright frustrating...because it meant that he would have to address the issue he¡¯d been procrastinating on.
Until now, Adam had mostly avoided thinking about how he felt about living in the painted world. There was always something else to focus on ¨C sorting out his feelings could wait. Aspreay, for all his faults, had been very useful in this regard. The late Lord made for an excellent project to solve.
But Adam couldn¡¯t procrastinate any longer. It was time to come to a decision. If he truly didn¡¯t care about living, he may as well just let the monster finish him off.
What did it mean to want to live, though?
Every time he heard someone talk about the drive to live, be it in a book or in class, they¡¯d extol the feeling like it was some kind of divine spirit. An unavoidable force that possessed you, drove you, pushed you forward. External and intrinsic at the same time. A basic part of the human condition.
Adam...didn¡¯t think he had that. Not now, not ever.
But I don¡¯t think I want to die, either.
After all ¨C there were still so many things he wanted to draw. This world was strange, yet beautiful, in a creepy sort of way. It would be a waste not to capture those sights onto paper. He was also very curious about what life might be like without having to worry about money every second of every day. Maybe things would feel a little...different, now.
And I shouldn''t forget the people of Penumbria. They¡¯d be in trouble if I died, I think. Would feel crass to let them down after usurping their lord. Plus, I can''t help but wonder if it''s possible to turn the dumping grounds of the Empire into a powerhouse that everyone else envies. I want to see if I can make that happen.
Then there was Lord Vasco and his daughter. Adam didn¡¯t really know much about them. If Aspreay was to be believed, then Vasco was just as bad as any lord, if not worse. But he also seemed ready to give up his fortune, his title, and even his life in order to save his daughter...who from the looks of it, wasn¡¯t even blood related to him. It''d be nice to help them out too. Them, and the people of Penumbria, and...
¡°Ah, shit.¡± Adam rubbed the back of his head. He sighed, then looked up, flashing the monster a bittersweet smile. ¡°Honestly? I don¡¯t think I have that passionate desire to live that everyone always talks about. But, well...I do want to know what tomorrow looks like. If that counts...¡±
Adam called upon his Vines to swirl around his arm. ¡°Then I guess I actually do want to live. Which means exorcising you from Solara¡¯s body.¡±
He sent his Vines forward. When they seemed like they were about to collide with the monster, they instead went under it, through the floor. The maneuver was difficult to pull off without being able to see, but Adam remembered the tower¡¯s architecture; every room so far had a candelabrum at the dead center of the room below them. His Vines wrapped themselves around it, then violently pulled sideways, tearing the candelabrum and the ceiling ¨C their floor ¨C off with it.
The monster screamed in terror as it fell, the sudden destruction leaving behind a cloud of dust where the floor had been a moment ago.
Adam fell too, but his throat let out no screams ¨C only a manic laughter. ¡°If my Talent can¡¯t hurt you, how about gravity?¡± Adam shouted in midair, as they both fell.
¡°Are you insane?¡± the Ghost barked out. ¡°If you die like this, your Ink¨C¡±
There was no time for the monster to finish their sentence, but they both knew what he meant. If Adam died, his Ink would revert to ordinary blood again. Considering how valuable the Ghost had said his Ink was, the implication of both its warning and the sly grin Adam flashed as they fell was the same.
Then you¡¯d better save me, dear monster.
Adam collected his Stained Vines into a sharpened weapon and launched it downwards as he fell, hoping to weaken the floor. At the same time, the Ghost tried desperately swaying through the air to get closer to Adam and save him from the crash. Their actions lasted no longer than a few panicked seconds.
CRUNCH.
To be honest, Adam had no idea how successful the monster ended up being. He knew it managed to catch him at one point, trying to wrap its body around him, but he was also pretty sure he managed to struggle free at some moment. All he knew for certain was that his head was ringing, and that they¡¯d crashed straight through a couple floors during their fall.
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Hmm. Did I break any bones? Oh, yeah, several. Lovely. Did I at least manage to break the fall with my Vines?
Judging by the cold stone surface pressed against his cheek, they¡¯d fallen all the way down to the first floor. The Ghost probably did break his fall, then ¨C he¡¯d be dead otherwise. The monster itself was clearly alive, although it seemed to be dazed, staggering to its feet on shaky legs. In spite of his current state, Adam made sure to make a mental note.
Notes on the Painted World
¡ª Talents cannot beat Talents of a stronger Rank.
¡ª However, Talent users can still be hurt indirectly.
He wasn¡¯t sure why he was bothering. Even just drawing a deep breath hurt ¨C enough that Adam had to wonder if his ribs were poking against his lungs. If so, then he was on a short timer for how much longer he could last, and he¡¯d still accomplished close to nothing. The desperation ploy that nearly killed him had done little more than temporarily stun his opponent.
The Ghost knew this as well. ¡°You¡¯re insane, you know that?¡±
¡°Why do people keep saying that? My actions make perfect sense, alright? It was the only way to survive.¡±
¡°Survive? You would have died if I hadn¡¯t¨C¡±
Adam cut him off. ¡°But you had to save me, didn¡¯t you? Because you want my Ink.¡±
¡°I only need you alive for that, human.¡± Though the Ghost was up on its feet now, the creature looked less human than before. Like whatever it did to ensure that they both survived the fall had come at a cost. That was interesting. ¡°You will be my farm. Your Ink is all I need. I can cut off your arms and legs.¡±
¡°You probably can.¡± Adam shook his head. ¡°Hmm...this is frustrating. It does look like checkmate, doesn¡¯t it?¡±
¡°Yyeeeeeeeeeeesssssss.¡±
Everything hurt. Enough that he felt like he wasn¡¯t going to last much longer even if the Ghost let him go. Just a single attack ¨C hell, a punch ¨C would likely be enough to kill him. And in a few seconds, the Ghost was going to recover and make him wish he was dead.
Or...
There is the Lord Talent.
Adam hated himself for even considering the idea. Using the Lord Talent would mean opening Penumbria to monster attacks. He wanted to see tomorrow, but not enough to sacrifice thousands of people. Yet if he did nothing, the Ghost would remove his limbs and torture him, which sounded...less than pleasant.
Maybe I can use the Lord Talent, win here, then immediately rush back to Penumbria. If I''m fast, I can get there in time before monsters overrun the city.
Even inside his head, it sounded like a lie.
¡°It always ends like this, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Adam muttered to himself. ¡°There''s never a perfect solution. Just me wondering what I could¡¯ve done differently.¡±
The Ghost started to convulse, its wounded body slowly repairing itself by exchanging humanity for distorted flesh. ¡°Prepare yourself, human. The fun is over. I no longer wish to play with my food.¡±
There had to be something he could have done differently to avoid this. How far back did he have to go to find his first mistake?
Trying to become a professional artist ¨C now *there¡¯s* a mistake. Probably my biggest one. If I hadn¡¯t, I would never have been sucked into that painting. Wouldn¡¯t have ended up dying here, alone and miserable.
Being a professional artist was more than just difficult ¨C it outright sucked. Your work was disrespected by other fields, you struggled to make ends meet, and even your student grants were lower. Things would be so easy, he¡¯d often thought, if only I weren¡¯t an artist. On multiple occasions, Adam had considered quitting his passion and shifting his studies to something else. If he¡¯d stayed on Earth, he probably would¡¯ve done just that, eventually.
Earth. His home that wasn¡¯t a home. Adam had kept some long-term friends there, but he¡¯d never enjoyed the whole process. He found it difficult to get on the same page as other people. The only way Adam made friends was by forcing himself to act cheerful even when his social battery was running dry, pretending to enjoy things that he ''should'', and laughing at jokes that he didn¡¯t find funny. He didn¡¯t think he was better than them, but he was definitely different, and the fondness they held for him would¡¯ve evaporated in an instant if they knew who they were actually talking to.
It was a bit of an odd blessing that he''d worked so hard to pay for both school and rent. Being that busy drove him apart from everyone except for Eric...which was probably for the best. He didn¡¯t really know the person he became when keeping up those paper-thin friendships. At least his art protected him from losing himself.
And he was such a bastard that he didn¡¯t even protect that. His own art, the one thing that had never given up on him, was also the one thing he¡¯d considered giving up the most. How many times had he tried changing his style to appeal to a judge in some stupid contest where the winner was decided through nepotism, anyway? How often had he considered burning all his tools, never wanting to create anything again, just because one of his professors was acting like an arrogant dick?
How many times...how many fucking times...had he considered quitting the thing he loved most?
¡°Just because you love something,¡± Eric had said, ¡°doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s always going to be easy.¡±
Yeah...it wasn¡¯t just about art. It never had been. Whenever Adam ran into an issue, he¡¯d always tried to solve it by becoming anyone other than himself. Yet being yourself was supposed to be hard. If it was so easy to become the person you wanted to be, then everyone would do it.
Eric was a prick, but he¡¯d been right about that much.
I talked a big game to Tenver, Adam thought, hazily looking back on their conversation. Told him I didn¡¯t want to just survive. That I wanted to live. That I never wanted to do things I didn¡¯t feel like again. Just a moment ago, I concluded that I was still too curious about life to be okay with dying.
At the time, those words had been easier to say. Even so, he still meant them.
Then and now.
Which means I shouldn¡¯t dare hesitate¡ªjust because¡ªthings are getting harder!
¡°STAINED VINES!¡± Adam cried out.
At once, his Vines surged through his body, speeding toward the Ghost. Even with its grotesque face, Adam could tell the creature was showing him a mocking grin.
Sorry, but I¡¯m not aiming for you.
The Ghost put its hand to a nearby torch, activated its Talent, and prepared for a blow that never came. Instead, Adam¡¯s Vines shot straight past it, reaching the other side of the room and looping around his backpack. ¡°Return.¡± The Vines pulled back like rubber that had been extended too far, the whiplash of their sudden stop sending his pack flying backwards onto the floor next to him.
Perfect. With a wide grin, Adam retrieved his tablet from the battered backpack. His ribs ached, his wounds burned, and his body threatened to give out on him any moment, but this? This would never give out. It would fight and die with him until the very end.
Yeah.
This was how things should be.
Because this was how he wanted them.
Adam stood up, tablet in one hand, drawing pen in the other, brandishing both like a sword and a shield, and aimed a piercing gaze at the Ghost. ¡°I¡¯m not going to use my Lord Talent ¨C and I¡¯m not going to die either. I am done hesitating. Done thinking about the right way of doing things. Do you want my Ink? Do you think I can¡¯t paint Solara¡¯s soul?¡±
At that, he opened the half-drawn portrait from before. ¡°Then prove it. Shut your thousand invisible mouths, know your fucking place, and wait in silence, you goddamn philistine! I¡¯m going to kill you, right here, with my art!¡±
Adam clenched his fist around the pen and declared, ¡°I will now wager my Stained Ink to steal Solara¡¯s Stained Flames!¡±
Chapter 11 (Part 1)
The stage was set, and the players were ready.
It was time to give one hell of a show.
¡°If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯m going to get started on my drawing.¡± Adam felt the pain mounting in his broken bones. Even just standing was taking a lot of effort. ¡°Sit there and be quiet.¡±
¡°Am I understanding your ability correctly?¡± The Ghost sounded surprised, but more than that, it seemed vaguely awed at the idea. Just like Adam wanted. ¡°When you fail, will I receive your ability to turn your blood to Ink? Your...gift from the gods?¡±
¡°That¡¯s right. So kindly shut the fuck up and let me paint.¡±
¡°Quite the proposition you have there,¡± the Ghost mused. ¡°Are you certain you¡¯d like to gift me such a thing? Currently, I possess the body of a fragile, mortal human. Even if I distort and mutate, even if I move about my organs, destroying my vital points should still kill me. Do you not care to try those odds?¡±
¡°With my Talent that can¡¯t hurt you? Yeah, I¡¯ll pass.¡±
It¡¯s not going to attack, Adam thought, trying to ignore the rising pain in his shoulder. No reason to. This is a much better deal for him. He¡¯s uneasy, sure, but the Ink and my Talent are too appealing to pass up.
After a second of contemplation, the Ghost spread its arms out. ¡°Then I offer you an alternative. My siblings still seek a body. Welcome their Haunting, dear Painter, and be granted power untold.¡±
¡°Now you just sound like you¡¯re trying to sell me on timeshares.¡± Adam shook his head. ¡°If my choices are between being haunted by an evil ghost, trying to fight a living curse immune to my only attacks, or relying on the skill that I¡¯ve been practicing since I was a little kid...if it¡¯s all the same to you, I¡¯m going with painting.¡±
¡°You could also use your Lord Talent.¡±
Adam raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯d also rather not indirectly murder thousands, thanks. You really think I¡¯d be down with stepping on that many lives just to survive? Were you the medieval equivalent of a tech bro CEO before you died?¡± He didn¡¯t even care that the Ghost couldn¡¯t understand half the words he was saying. The implied rudeness was enough.
¡°Speak as oddly as you will. Are you confident you can win this gamble, human from the World of Ink? Is that why you deign to challenge me so?¡±
¡°To be honest, I¡¯m pretty bad at gambling,¡± Adam said, absently. His mind was already on the drawing ¨C this one was going to be tricky. ¡°I actually have a pretty addictive personality. Thankfully, my luck is so bad that I only ever gamble when I know there¡¯s no chance of losing.¡±
He meant that too. This wasn¡¯t a gamble. One way or another, everything would be settled with the pen in his hand. If he got his painting right, this would end with him stealing the ¡°Curse¡± Talent and sealing it within his tablet. If he got it wrong...
Well, things would get just slightly more complicated.
Adam dragged his pen from top to bottom, splitting the screen in two ¨C the drawing itself, and another file for him to write on. While his blood loss certainly put him on a timer, rushing would¡¯ve been just as fatal. He only had one shot.
Now then...let¡¯s start. It¡¯s time to put everything together ¨C and deduce the truth.
WHO IS LADY SOLARA?
Adam had been told that she was the daughter of Lord Vasco, but Penumbria didn¡¯t have much information on her, even before this curse business happened. Considering how Aspreay was supposedly friends with Vasco once upon a time, it felt weird that he didn¡¯t even seem to know who the girl¡¯s mother was. Heck, everything Adam read up on before coming here had implied that Vasco never got married at all.
What could he extract from that?
¡ª Lady Solara¡¯s existence was not well known.
But why?
¡°Are you not ¨C are you not going to comment on my ears?¡± Solara said that earlier, hadn¡¯t she? She¡¯d sounded pretty shocked. Based on that conversation and some things Tenver had said over the last couple months, it seemed like elves weren¡¯t exactly well-liked around these parts. On top of that, it also seemed like her heritage was a secret.
What did that mean?
¡ª Solara is either an elf and not Vasco¡¯s biological daughter, or a half-elf.
¡ª Either way, to put it mildly, this world isn¡¯t a huge fan of elves.
Yeah...everything made more sense when Adam thought of it from that angle. Solara, whether blood related or not, was both an elf and ¨C more importantly ¨C the heir to Gama. If these lands hated elves, then that factor re-contextualized much of the current situation.
It probably played a part in Belmordo wanting her dead, aside from his lust for power. It also probably made it easy for Belmordo to gain allies in Gama¡¯s royal court. Vasco may have been a popular lord, but his decision to bring his daughter into court was likely met with more than a little pushback.
¡ª Vasco brought in Solara and named her as heir, pushback be damned. And there *was* pushback.
And that led to¡ª!
¡ª Solara searched for a way to gain a strong Talent, to help Gama ¨C and to make the city more agreeable to her status.
That started to paint a picture of who she was.
As an outcast in another culture, Solara was probably very lonely and very worried about her father. She knew that her race would always paint a target on her back. How couldn¡¯t she feel concern for the man who threw caution to the wind and brought her into his life? And because of her background, Solara was likely sequestered from the rest of the population, only knowing and being known through whispers and rumors.
No matter how much idealistic optimism she may have held in her heart, as the attacks on her character began to pile up, she would¡¯ve inevitably wavered. When Solara eventually started suspecting Belmordo¡¯s intentions, and began considering how many might support killing her ¨C let alone her father ¨C she must have despaired.
Enough so that she resorted to searching for ways to acquire a new Talent.
If only it had worked that way. Instead, she was given a Talent that was closer to a curse than a blessing; the haunting of a ghost who took control of her body, reshaping it into a monstrosity that grew more grotesque and uncontrollable by the second. At that point, Solara''s only choice was to accept being trapped in the tower. More alone now than ever, she¡¯d spent her days hoping that she would be killed before her choices impacted her father. Worst of all, because of her own inborn Talent, even death itself seemed like a faraway possibility.
Adam swiped away the notes document. This was as complete of a picture as he was going to get right now. He shifted his attention onto the sketch he¡¯d started earlier, before Solara was possessed by the monster.
Nothing in those assumptions contradicts anything, Adam thought. The picture seems internally consistent enough. His wrist fingers flicked the pen from one point to another as he started moving the vector lines around.
He¡¯d rather have done it freestyle, but this was faster ¨C he could make mistakes and correct them without having to start over. Considering his injuries, there would be no retries if he got to the finished product and hated the result. Consistency is the best I can pray for right now. I can see the progression from point A to B to C...this should be good enough. It has to be.
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Well, it would be nice if things turned out that way. In reality, his theories were just like his drawing; rough, inelegant, and lacking in major details. You couldn¡¯t sum up a person that easily. He knew that. Everything he¡¯d envisioned was less of a deduction and more of a loose collection of guesses, each development spurred on by a mixture of bias and the wishful thinking that his ideas weren¡¯t completely insane. Even accounting for how the bar for ¡®understanding¡¯ and ¡®accuracy¡¯ was lower due to his wager, this still wasn¡¯t going to be enough.
That thought caused his pen to come to a halt. I need to not only understand her...but to also somehow get across the picture of who she was in a single attempt, made in only a few short moments. Even with all the time in the world, there¡¯s no way I could pull this off...so why am I deluding myself right now?
What the hell was he trying to do?
There was no way this was going to turn out good. He was forcing himself to make something under duress, clinging on to the hope that misery, stress, fear, urgency and pain would paint a hexagram to summon something extraordinary from within himself. Maybe deep inside his husk there was a talented artist who could conjure up the most beautiful of arts, usually locked away by heavy chains of self-doubt.
Maybe I¡¯m a genius, Adam liked to think. Anxiety, depression, imposter syndrome...maybe those are the chains that keep that genius hidden away. Deadlines are helpful. They force me to let out a bit of my genius, to show the world what I¡¯m capable of. Bleeding out like this ¨C being so close to dying ¨C that¡¯s just another way to force me to work. This is going to be...my best work!
He could do it, he told himself. He could create something so amazing that it would empower him with the wings of a genius, flying him toward whatever possibilities he dreamed of. I can fly ¨C I am good enough!
It was bullshit, but Adam made himself believe it. An artist had to be borderline delusional when holding their pen, and an impartial sage when studying their mistakes. No one could make anything while second guessing their every move. To create, they needed arrogance. To edit, they needed modesty. In a situation like this, where the deadline was rapidly approaching and there was no time to look at things twice, modesty and reason just had no place for existing.
This will be an ugly work at best, Adam¡¯s sense of logic told him. I don¡¯t know much about the subject, so my ability won¡¯t trigger. I barely had the time to sketch something out, so it won¡¯t come out good. We¡¯re still on the first floor. I should try to retreat instead. Maybe negotiate with Belmordo, tell him I agree with his plans.
It was sound reasoning, and it sang so sweetly to him, so enticingly, the beautiful music of escapism, the melody that encouraged cowardice as a virtue.
Adam banished it away.
I AM A FUCKING GENIUS, his inner artist screamed inside him, a manic grin overcoming his features. THIS PAINTING IS GOING TO BE THE GREATEST THING TO EVER GRACE THIS GODDAMN WORLD ¨C AND IT¡¯S GOING TO KILL YOU¡ªRIGHT¡ªNOW!
¡°I name it,¡± Adam declared, turning his tablet around:
¡°The Girl in the Tower!¡±
¡°Give it to me, Painter!¡± the Ghost snarled back, grinning just as widely, ¡°your Ink¡ªyour soul¡ªyour Talent!¡±
A thin, translucent hue of blue formed around the tablet. Adam glanced at it, then lifted up his gaze to meet the Ghost¡¯s, both of them wearily anticipating what was to come. The line flickered, twisted and turned, fighting to remain in their reality ¨C and then splintered upward, creating a three-way connection between the tablet, Adam, and the Ghost.
¡°Are you nervous, Painter?¡± the Ghost asked. It almost looked like Lady Solara again now; a portrait of a human that had been deformed by editing software. ¡°Are you concerned that you got it wrong?¡±
¡°What¡¯s the point in being concerned?¡± Adam shot back. He watched as the line flickered between its targets, sweat dripping from his forehead, refusing to allow his confidence to falter. ¡°Everything is done. Worries and regrets won¡¯t change anything.¡±
¡°Pretty words. Do you believe them?¡±
¡°Of course,¡± Adam responded.
¡°But do you live them?¡±
¡°Now that¡¯s a harder question you¡¯re asking me.¡± Adam¡¯s smile faded slightly, but there was some appreciation of his own bitterness in what remained of that grin. ¡°I try. I think it¡¯s right and try to live according to those rules. But...¡±
He held up his hand. It was shaking slightly. ¡°Guess it¡¯s not that easy.¡±
¡°Hmm...I must ask this, creature from the World of Ink. Do all painters choose pain? Why live a life that goes against your nature?¡±
¡°I suppose that must look crazy to someone like you. Not gonna pretend that I fully understand what you are, but it seems like you¡¯re haunting the world based on the connection you feel with your inner nature. For the rest of us...for the ones who look deep inside themselves and don¡¯t really like what they find there...saying it out loud is the first step towards changing that.¡±
Adam looked past the lightshow and down at his tablet. What a shit drawing. I know I was in a hurry, but I could¡¯ve done better. So much better. If only I had the time...if only I had the skill... His thoughts were loud, and so he made his voice louder. ¡°I am a damn good painter,¡± he declared.
He knew where he wanted to go. And he prayed his talent, his hidden genius, was enough to allow him to fly there.
The line began glowing brighter, so much so that Adam was forced to close his eyes to avoid being blinded forever. Before he could open them again, he was caught off guard by a feeling that was similar to an electric shock being sent all over his body. Similar ¨C but not quite. Immense pain coursed through him, but even in the midst of that agony, a part of him focused on identifying what this exact feeling was.
Hmm. Was it that he had more control over his body compared to an electric shock? No, his arms and legs were convulsing as if seizing up. Did he feel less numb than electricity would have made him? No, that wasn¡¯t it either; there was very little he could feel aside from an insistent ache searing his nerve endings.
Ah...of course. The answer came to him, clear as day, the entire thought materializing at once and fully formed.
It wasn¡¯t that he was being electrocuted, but rather that the electricity was leaving him.
He must have passed out for a couple seconds, because the next thing he became aware of was a cloud of dust surrounding the room, and the vague sound of ghostly laughter. The laughter felt like it was far off in the distance, but even with his blurry vision, even amidst the wreckage, Adam knew the Curse was close by.
¡°....Paint...er....Tal...ine....ink...power...¡±
His hearing was rapidly returning with every second, but the taunting laughter still seemed too hard to understand. Adam¡¯s head pounded, his body ached worse than ever, and suddenly he remembered what he should¡¯ve been concerned about.
¡°My tablet!¡± he shouted, although he couldn¡¯t hear his own voice. He looked down, touched its side to wake it up, and swiped the screen.
TALENT LOST
Stained Ink
Your wager was unsuccessful. Your painting was not a good enough portrait of her soul.
You have forfeited your Talent of ¡®Stained Ink¡¯ to Lady Solara, who shall retain it until death.
Chapter 11 (Part 2)
Adam looked at the message a couple of times, his eyes repeatedly scanning the words from start to finish. Was he seeing things? Was this right? No way. It couldn¡¯t be...
But it was.
And so, he let out a huge sigh of relief.
The Ghost¡¯s laughter ended with a final note of triumph. ¡°Your power is mine, Painter! The sweet Ink¡ªit belongs to me¡ªthe ecstasy...the thrill...¡±
It was downright jubilant. With an excited growl, the Ghost opened its maw and bit deep into its own arm. The creature¡¯s eyes sparkled as it watched the Ink flow out from within, extending its tongue like a snake to consume its prize.
Just then, the Ghost paused, turning to eye Adam with open curiosity. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you more distressed?¡±
¡°Because my tablet isn¡¯t broken,¡± Adam exhaled another huge sigh of relief. ¡°I really can¡¯t afford to buy another one, you don¡¯t understand ¨C oh, I guess I¡¯m sort of rich now. But not that rich, considering how my money should be used to help Penumbria. And I don¡¯t think I could buy a replacement for this anyway.¡±
He laughed nervously, like he couldn¡¯t believe his luck. ¡°Holy shit, oh my god, when I woke up and saw the damage everywhere, I thought: no shot my tablet survived. How did that happen? I¡¯m going to thank every deity I can think of for this. Thor, Zeus, Nadal on clay, the thing that took me to this world...¡±
Oh, yeah. The thing that took me to this world. I think it made my memories a little hazy. Can¡¯t forget to theorycraft about that in more detail later. He quickly jotted down a reminder on his tablet and¨C
¡°Your optimism confounds me, Painter,¡± the Ghost said, interrupting his thoughts. ¡°You have proven incapable of harming me. The painting you were so proud of turned out to be worthless. Are you so uncaring of your own lack of ability that your heart does not despair before the end?¡±
Adam smiled and gently laid his tablet to the side, away from collateral damage. He carefully tested his body ¨C without the Stained Talent, his wounds were liable to finish him off soon. None were lethal by themselves, but the blood loss would be, and there was no way to hold it back anymore.
¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯m hyped about this,¡± Adam admitted. Goddamn it, everything just hurt so much. ¡°No way I could be. Even I have my pride, you know? I wanted to be cool and save the girl by beating a horrible monster with my hidden genius. Who wouldn¡¯t? Unfortunately, reality is often cruel.¡±
He grinned. ¡°Still...I told you. Saying things out loud is the first step towards convincing yourself to feel a certain way.¡±
¡°Really now, human?¡± The Ghost¡¯s smirk was mocking, the ink dropping from its mouth seeming almost like venom dripping from its words. ¡°Then say it. Tell me the feelings that you hope will convince your heart to keep beating.¡±
¡°Frankly, I still think I can survive this.¡±
Adam dashed off, cursing all the while.
He cursed the pain, for making him wish for death. He cursed his wounds, for giving him so much pain. He cursed the monster, for wounding him so grievously. But most of all, he cursed himself, because this was only happening because he¡¯d rejected death. If only he would just lie down and die, then there¡¯d be no need to suffer like this.
But Adam had always been a sore loser.
Game on.
His dash was slow at best, but he took the Ghost by enough surprise that it merely watched in confusion as he stumbled toward the door ¨C or close enough to it. When his legs began to fail, Adam leaned forward so that his momentum would carry him when he fell, then tucked his shoulders away to help roll a little more toward his destination.
The Dragonforged Shield. He sat down with his back to the wall and curled himself into a ball, trying to keep his entire body behind the shield. ¡°You can¡¯t kill me now!¡± Adam shouted. His lungs burned with every word he dared to say. ¡°Dragonforged Steel can¡¯t be broken by your weakass attacks!¡±
It was only partially true, and would have been pointless even if wholly accurate. While the shield itself couldn¡¯t be broken, Adam could still easily be smashed into the wall until he died. Not to mention that he would probably bleed out in a matter of minutes regardless of what else happened.
Maybe a bit longer than that. Even if I don¡¯t activate the Lord Talent, just having it seems to make me more resilient. That¡¯s...something, at least.
None of this mattered to the Ghost. ¡°Have you forgotten, Painter?¡± Discordant laughter echoed across the tower. It felt like each reverberation was somehow louder than the last, until suddenly, it faded. ¡°There is one thing that can break through Dragonforged Steel.¡±
The Ghost held up its arm ¨C Lady Solara¡¯s arm ¨C as inked blood flowed out like a waterfall. ¡°The power you bestowed upon me.¡±
¡°It takes time to master. You¡¯re untrained. I wouldn¡¯t advise using it carelessly,¡± Adam said. He meant it, too.
¡°Fool! I witnessed you using it against me! I know of its power!¡± The idea of being unable to use the Talent it had just acquired seemed preposterous to the Ghost. ¡°I repeat, Painter: you have one more chance. Only one. Submit yourself to your desire ¨C become haunted by one of my brothers! If not...¡±
The Ghost shot out a Stained Arrow, just as it had watched Adam do. The ink penetrated through the Dragonforged shield as if it was made of regular steel, spearing through Adam¡¯s right knee.
It took every ounce of his willpower not to scream. Fuck ¨C I knew it would hurt but...I don¡¯t even ¨C I don¡¯t even think I knew what pain really meant before this moment. Adam managed not to drop the shield, but only because he¡¯d buckled it to his forearm and angled himself. Even if his entire body went limp, the shield would still stay upright.
¡°Go on,¡± Adam managed to weakly say. ¡°Try and torture me. I¡¯ll probably die in less than five minutes with these wounds. Can you make me feel enough pain...to surrender my body...?¡±
The monster continued launching more Stained Arrows. Not every arrow went through the shield, but many did. Their success rate differed based on size and point of impact, with the center of the shield being its toughest part.
You know better than to try the Vines, don¡¯t you? Adam noticed. He wanted to grin, but his face wouldn¡¯t respond to him anymore. If you used the Vines, you could just take my shield away and leave me defenseless. But at that point, while your Ink is transformed into the Vines, you¡¯d be unable to use the Arrows ¨C and I¡¯m right by the front door.
The Ghost was under the effects of Belmordo¡¯s curse. As long as it inhabited Solara¡¯s body, there was no way for it to exit the tower. And even in Adam¡¯s wounded state, if the monster gave him an opening, he could potentially lunge for the door and let gravity push him downstairs to safety, where Belmordo and the others would treat his injuries.
Much better to slowly, surely push him to the brink of death, leaving him with no choice but to accept a haunting.
¡°A pitiful display, Painter.¡±
Another arrow went through the shield, hitting close to the center. It didn¡¯t pierce Adam¡¯s body, but it did graze his chest, the back end left sticking out of the shield. This arrow was monstrously large, far bigger than anything Adam himself had ever created.
¡°The skill you took so much pride in ¨C the effort you put into it ¨C was completely useless. You were never good at anything. Talk as you might, you were never a genius, and you never will be.¡±
Yeah. The Ghost was probably right about that.
Another arrow, nearly as large as the last, went through the other side of the shield. Adam kept the shield up, but doing so now meant stabbing himself into the edges of the absurdly-sized Stained Arrows.
¡°If you want to become a genius ¨C give in to your desires! Call upon my siblings!¡±
Fair enough. The Ghost was an asshole, but he wasn¡¯t wrong, really.
Even so...
Adam glanced around. Numerous Stained Arrows laid lifelessly on the floor, slowly dissolving into Ink.
¡°You who gave me this intoxicating body ¨C this beautiful ability ¨C this Ink...I again offer you a chance!¡±
Adam said nothing. He could only say a few more words before losing consciousness, and he was saving them.
More arrows. So many more.
How many had hit him? How many minutes did he have left to live? The shield, once closer to a work of art than an instrument of war, now seemed more akin to a pincushion. So many giant Stained Arrows hung from it that Adam had to use his entire body weight to pull the shield back and keep blocking attacks. Come on...
¡°If you want to live, show me the Lord Talent! Accept my brothers!¡±
Come on, you stupid fucking moron.
¡°Give me the Orbs from your greed¨C¡±
More arrows still. That hit me, but it didn¡¯t hurt. Think that¡¯s bad.
Adam didn¡¯t dare to lift his head above the shield, but the sound he heard made what was happening clear enough. The monster¡¯s patience had run out. It was creating an even larger arrow now. Something that would do more than just blast a hole through the shield.
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This one would rip his entire head clean off.
¡°Painter, If you will not grant me the Orbs I need, if you will not allow my brothers to haunt you, then I will rip you apart! Die in the regret that you were a talentless fraud that could never create ¨C UGH! WHAT¨C¡±
Adam heard the thunk of a Stained Arrow hitting the floor. From what he could tell, the projectile had barely traveled a foot or two before impacting the ground. Ahh...finally.
¡°What, what have you done to me, human?¡±
Adam dropped his shield. If the Ghost still had any energy left, this would be its chance to score a killshot. But it didn¡¯t, and Adam knew it wouldn¡¯t. As expected, the Ghost was writhing in agony on the ground, paler than even a ghost rightfully should be, complete horror on its face. ¡°What did you do...what curse have you brought upon me? I cannot move...I...¡±
It couldn¡¯t even breathe.
It was dying.
I saved my last few words for this. Have to make them count. Only the anticipation of the satisfaction to come powered him through. ¡°I really did warn you not to use the Ink,¡± Adam began. ¡°You said it yourself ¨C you have Solara¡¯s body. A human¡¯s body, with human needs, no matter how distorted your flesh is. But while you said that...you don''t really understand it, do you? Either that, or you''ve forgotten what it means to be mortal.¡±
Maybe speaking this much was hastening his death, but that was fine. Adam had never meant to outrun death.
He''d meant to cheat it.
¡°Everything has a cost. For example, my Ink coming from my blood? That isn''t just symbolic ¨C it''s a resource. Every time you shot an arrow, you created it straight from your own body. And with how intoxicated you were, shooting Ink left and right...I don¡¯t think you even have enough blood in you to move right now, do you?¡±
¡°...Painter...you...¡± More than fear, sheer disbelief filled the monster¡¯s face. ¡°You...you can¡¯t mean...did you...¡±
Adam tried to grin. ¡°I meant what I said before. Nothing would¡¯ve been cooler than if I¡¯d managed to reveal my hidden genius when my back was against the wall, capturing you inside my tablet with a perfect drawing. It wasn¡¯t just for show. I tried really hard to win that way.¡±
¡°But...then...¡±
¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you earlier, Ghost? I don¡¯t like to gamble. If I wager something, it¡¯s because I¡¯ve won either way.¡± Adam started to crawl toward the fallen ghost. It wasn¡¯t a long distance, thankfully. ¡°I¡¯m not so stupid as to rely on a hidden burst of genius when I¡¯m betting my life. From the very start, this is what I¡¯ve been aiming for.¡±
¡°What...do you...¡± The Ghost was trembling now, its eyes wide. ¡°How? Why? When?¡±
¡°I knew there was a good chance I would fail in painting Solara¡¯s soul. Even betting my Talent on it, I still didn¡¯t know very much. So what I thought of instead was...is there a way to turn my loss into an advantage? And then I remembered the drawback of my Stained Arrows. You were ranting and raving about the ecstasy you felt when drinking Ink, exactly like a drug addict. And you didn''t seem to realize the implications of what my Ink being my blood truly meant.¡±
He would have chuckled, if he had the energy. ¡°At that moment, I knew; if you ended up getting my skill, you¡¯d lose your composure, drain your blood, and kill yourself. Whether I managed to steal your soul at that point or not was irrelevant.¡±
Adam locked eyes with the fallen specter. ¡°I¡¯d already won the moment you allowed me to paint.¡±
¡°No...n...¡± The Ghost¡¯s body went limp. It yet lived, but even with its unnatural power, a haunted body that had no blood could not survive, much less fight. ¡°Pa...ter...you....re....mon...ster...¡±
Adam took that as a compliment. ¡°Personally, I¡¯d love to be a genius. To be someone who can create a work of art and reach their desired destination in a single, beautiful step. But I¡¯m not. Even so, despite lacking talent, I¡¯m too stubborn to give up on my dream.¡±
His crawling reached the ghost. Its eyes started to spin, a vague sound of horror coming from its mouth. Stay away, it seemed to beg.
Adam didn¡¯t listen. ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit if I¡¯m not talented. If I don¡¯t have the genius that lets me fly towards my dream...then I¡¯ll build a fucking bridge, piling up every failure I¡¯ve ever created on top of each other! THAT is how I¡¯m going to live!¡±
¡°...Stay...away...¡±
At this point, now resting his upper body over the ghost, Adam reached inside his pocket. ¡°Fucking hate that you¡¯re making me use this ¨C only have a couple extra with me. Hope you burn in hell.¡± He withdrew the object he was looking for. ¡°They say the pen is mightier than the sword. I think that¡¯s bullshit, which is too bad for you. Considering how much you fucked up my body, that means my noodle arms are gonna need quiiite a few attempts, and it¡¯s going to hurt like a bitch.¡±
He raised his pen. ¡°Solara can come back from the dead once a day, right? So she¡¯s gonna be fine. You, however, won¡¯t be able to haunt her for at least a few hours.¡±
A savage smile crept up his face. ¡°I hope this hurts as much as I think it will.¡±
¡°NO! PLEASE!¡±
Adam¡¯s pen descended, right at the creature¡¯s throat, again and again. It surprised him how few attempts it took.
His vision faded to black.
A moment later ¨C maybe many moments later ¨C his consciousness returned as a jolt of electricity awakened him. Now *this* is like being electrocuted. His limbs were on fire, the feeling returning to them in a flash. It subsided just as quickly, leaving his skin tingling, a renewed energy coursing through him.
Gradually, he stood up. The fact that he managed that at all meant his plan had worked, but he still checked his tablet, just to be sure.
Talent Returned: Stained Ink
Lady Solara, the target of the painting, has died. You have your Ink once more.
It had gone more or less like he intended. The Ghost stole his Ink, inadvertently killed itself, and then his Ink came back before Adam could die. Unfortunately, his Stained Talent only prevented further blood loss ¨C it would do little to replace what he¡¯d already lost, and it wouldn¡¯t necessarily heal his internal wounds. At least he didn¡¯t think so. Most of his broken bones certainly felt broken, at least, and he couldn¡¯t be sure whether the Talent was speeding up his healing.
Regardless, he wasn¡¯t dying in the next couple minutes anymore. Maybe in a couple days if he didn¡¯t get his injuries treated, but that much was fine. More importantly...
He knelt beside what should¡¯ve been Lady Solara¡¯s corpse. Instead, she looked like she had simply fallen asleep, every wound suffered during the fight gone as if it never happened. If not for the blood and inkstains on her half-torn dress, one could¡¯ve been forgiven for thinking that she¡¯d just decided to sleep on the floor for some reason.
Okay, this is gonna be rude of me, but we really don¡¯t have that much time. He tapped at her face, first gently, then with a bit more firmness. ¡°Wake up, Lady Solara. We have to do this quickly.¡±
Her eyes slowly opened. Adam couldn¡¯t help but flinch. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw blue in her eyes, rather than murderous intent. The Ghost, for now, was gone.
Solara looked up at him, her face reflecting the haziness of thought that only someone who¡¯d just woken up could feel. ¡°Who...what? What happened? Where¨C¡±
¡°Lady Solara, I¡¯m terribly sorry to rush, but you were dead. You can die up to once a day, correct?¡±
That was enough to startle her awake, recognition dawning on her as she shook herself into full consciousness. ¡°I ¨C yes.¡±
¡°How long will the curse take to possess you again?¡±
¡°I...I don¡¯t know for certain.¡± Her gaze sharpened with focus. ¡°Maybe a couple hours. I¡¯ve...experimented with it, but the amount varies depending on how dead I was. Maybe I should¡¯ve killed myself for real and¨C¡±
Adam held up his hand to interrupt. There was no polite, dignified way of doing this. Ah, fuck it. Close enough. ¡°Okay, I actually did kill you before, so we should have at least a few hours. I hate to be so blunt, but that means I need to know your life story so I can seal the curse into a painting. Are you okay with that?¡±
Fortunately for them both, she didn¡¯t hesitate to nod. ¡°Tell me what you need, Lord Penumbria.¡±
Relief flowed through Adam, although he was too exhausted to show it. Vasco, I don¡¯t know anything about you, but thanks for explaining my abilities to her ahead of time ¨C this probably is going to save our lives.
¡°What do I need? Your life story and a way to treat my many broken bones would be like, really nice, but I¡¯ll settle for the former.¡±
¡°I can do both and get us something to drink as well.¡±
¡°Well aren¡¯t you just an overachiever?¡± Adam weakly laughed. ¡°That sounds rad, thanks.¡±
Chapter 12 (Part 1)
While Solara searched for proper healing supplies, Adam sat down by the table and glanced at his tablet.
Stained Flames
In exchange for:
¡°Forgive the delay, my lord,¡± Solara told him as she pushed a goblet onto his hands. ¡°It will take time for your bones to fully heal, but I believe your broken ribs shouldn¡¯t pierce your lungs, at the very least.¡±
¡°That¡¯s good. Would hate to do all that and die from my wounds right after.¡± Adam sipped at the drink and immediately felt a soothing warmth reverberate throughout this body. He lifted his eyes as the woman. ¡°Is this, uh...¡¯potion¡¯ part of the healing?¡±
Solara frowned, her eyes darting between him and the drink. ¡°What? No. That¡¯s rum. Figured it might take the edge off. That flower seed I gave you earlier was the emergency medicine.¡±
¡°Ah. Cool.¡± Adam glanced at his cup nervously. ¡°Wonder if I should be drinking before painting. We¡¯ve...kinda got a lot riding on me getting this right, you know.¡± Would¡¯ve preferred to keep her ignorant about how my Talent works, but there isn¡¯t much of a choice here. I need her cooperation. No time to screw around.
At this, Solara smirked. She tapped the side of Adam¡¯s wrist with the back of her hand. ¡°Don¡¯t be so hung up on duty that you mistake self-care for recklessness. Your hands are still shaking from that fight. How could you do my beauty justice with trembling fingers?¡±
Adam lowered his gaze to confirm that she wasn¡¯t lying. Enough time had passed that the adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind only a nervous anxiety, as if his body couldn¡¯t believe the danger had already passed. ¡°Huh. Would you look at that,¡± he said, amused. ¡°Looks like I really do care about living.¡±
¡°Indeed. So drink. Foul rum, that one, but beggars and ladies in towers cannot complain about the quality of their vices. You must turn the bottom of that cup to the ceiling before we start with anything else.¡±
Adam obliged. ¡°Have to say,¡± he said, between sips, ¡°you¡¯re more considerate than I expected.¡±
The woman¡¯s expression tightened. ¡°For an elf?¡± she asked, sharply.
¡°For someone locked in a tower and losing her sanity to a curse,¡± he quickly replied. ¡°Honestly wouldn¡¯t have blamed you if you¡¯d wanted to hurry on with removing the monster instead of...¡± He trailed off, gesturing at the drink, medicine, and food she had set around him. ¡°All of this, you know. Figured you would want to be cured more than anything.¡±
¡°I do.¡± There was no hesitation in her response. Solara¡¯s eyes were wide, and she held a grin that bordered on smug. ¡°Which is exactly why I must not be careless. It would be my eternal shame if I were to get this close to freedom ¨C only to succumb to the curse due to my own impatience. Does that not make sense to you?¡±
¡°I mean it makes sense, but making sense isn¡¯t enough for most people, you know? If anyone else were in your situation, they probably would¡¯ve given in to their emotions a little and¨C¡±
Adam stopped himself short when he saw her eyes. There was fire in there, blazing like a resolute inferno, and he didn¡¯t think it was because of the curse. Her mouth split into a grin, one of implacable confidence and quiet arrogance, that seemed to regard being haunted by a monster as nothing more than a bump in the road. No wonder my first painting got her wrong.
¡°So what if most people would lose composure?¡± Solara failed to keep a slight chuckle out of her voice. She maintained a measure of nobility to her voice, but only barely. ¡°When your dreams reach for the highest of skies, your heart must rise above all others. Even if everyone else would falter and lose their calm, I shall endure, like a dragon in a tornado of fire.
A part of him wanted to question what a ¡®dragon in a tornado of fire¡¯ was supposed to be like, but there were more important matters to attend to. ¡°Dreams, you say? Care to elaborate?¡±
She regarded him with smug silence for a moment, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her fingers. Solara¡¯s eyes seemed to say something, yet her lips remained unmoving.
¡°What do you want from...seriously?¡± Adam lifted up his half-empty cup. ¡°You¡¯re really not going to talk until I¡¯ve finished this?¡±
¡°Must I repeat myself? Has my lord sustained a head injury, perhaps? Was your good sense a victim of that curse¡¯s violence?¡±
¡°Fine,¡± Adam grunted. In one motion, he turned the cup upside down and didn¡¯t lower it again until it was empty. Although he wasn¡¯t proud of it, he did know how to drink, and this supposedly ¡®foul¡¯ rum was better-tasting than the crap he¡¯d scrounged back in college. ¡°Happy now?¡±
¡°Quite. Now ¨C you¡¯d like me to tell you about my dreams and ambitions?¡±
¡°If you find the idea of being freed from your curse appealing, then yes. Tell me of your dreams, of their importance, and where they started.¡±
¡°Ah. Where they started...¡± Solara shook her head, letting out a peal of low laughter as she did. ¡°That is...tricky.¡±
¡°If you prefer, we could just do nothing and let the curse take over. Mildly unorthodox strategy, but it might pay off.¡±
¡°No, no, that¡¯s quite alright. It¡¯s just, how do I say this? I don¡¯t know where to begin.¡± After a long pause, she smiled and went quiet once more.
Adam sighed. ¡°Fantastic. Look, I don¡¯t mean to hurry you, but no amount of rum in this world is gonna make me forget how much pain I¡¯m in, and your curse should wake up from its ¡®death¡¯ in a few hours. So if you don¡¯t mind...¡±
She smirked. ¡°Yes, of course, you impatient man.¡±
"My name is Adam.¡±
¡°And mine is Solara.¡±
¡°I knew that.¡±
¡°I knew not yours. Consider us even now.¡± Solara said nothing more until she poured herself a glass of rum, then held it up before her in a dark sort of concentration, the candlelight hiding where her gaze rested. ¡°My dreams, Lord Adam, begin with my being. And my being begins, as it does for all people, with my parents, for my existence would not be without them. Much like everyone else in this god forsaken Empire, my father¡¯s story starts with a war. Most of this he told me himself, many times, and the rest I have learned from history books, travelers, letters, and such. Although I cannot profess its complete accuracy, I trust this information with my life. Do you understand?¡±
Meaning that even if something is wrong, your life and personality have already been forged under the assumption that all of it is true. That¡¯s fine ¨C potential errors shouldn¡¯t affect the painting. Intent matters more than anything else. ¡°Of course, Lady Solara. Go on.¡±
She accepted his invitation with pleasure. While this was a painful topic, and even if Adam didn¡¯t know a single real thing about the woman yet, this much he could tell: Solara da Gama liked theater. Not in the way actors liked theater, but how history majors and scholars liked theater ¨C how their dialogue was transformed into a stage where they could deliver the most gruesome of tales.
And this dreadful tale has Solara herself as the protagonist. If the dramatics fit her sensibilities, so be it.
Solara didn¡¯t begin her story immediately. She was a masterful conductor, and silence served as her opening act. Every second of elven solemnity in her smile only added to the heaviness Adam felt in the air. Then, when she diverted her eyes, Adam unconsciously followed her gaze, becoming slowly aware of every detail of the dimly-lit room the two were in.
It was muffled and quiet in that half-wrecked dining room, one of the few in the tower untouched by violence, with four tall candles burned on the wooden table as their only source of light. They had drawn the curtains from the window ¨C the first one Adam had seen since entering the tower ¨C in a vain attempt to banish away some of the foreboding feeling the Ghost had left behind. The dark clouds outside had halted their attempt, its starless dusk a reminder of what they could not yet kill.
It was, Adam thought, a fitting background.
¡°The Dragon Puppets!¡± Solara declared, brandishing her rum glass like a weapon. ¡°It starts with them. It always starts with them, you understand.¡± She looked hard at the painter. A swirling, moist-scented gust of wind curled in through the room¡¯s lone window, making the candle-flames waver. Moving shadows were thrown across the elf¡¯s face. ¡°Have you had any bad experiences with the automatons?¡±
¡°Cannot say I have,¡± Adam said honestly.
¡°Then you and Emperor Ciro cannot claim common cause there,¡± she said, rather wistfully. ¡°To be sure, he was glad when the Dragons flew away from this world ¨C at first. The rivalry of the bright genius of darkness had finally been settled.But was it worth it to lose that rivalry when you still had to deal with their creations? No, no, whatever the common people might have felt at the time, we know the answer well enough. Yet can they be blamed? Imagine yourself in their position, just once!¡±
Would that I could, but I don¡¯t know the first thing about them. He didn¡¯t think that would be a problem for her. And so, Adam smiled through the flickering candlelight and said, in the gravest voice he could muster, ¡°Set the stage for me, my would-be bard.¡±
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Solara¡¯s solemnity gave way to a mischievous sort of grin, the kind that a person flashes when someone goes along with their dramatics. Thank you, her smile and polite nod seemed to say, I haven¡¯t had the chance to speak to anyone in a while.
He hoped his own smile was just as easy to read. Saying it aloud would ruin the moment, but his meaning was plain enough: Show me your dramatics, your passion, your love, and I will extract your very soul from them ¨C and then the ghost from your soul.
She was all too eager to take Adam up on his offer. As the elf continued, Adam gave focus to Solara¡¯s mannerisms. Immersing himself in her story was only half the battle. He would paint her portrait not just from the tale she told, but how she told it. What color is your soul? What drives you?
¡°After the dragons left, their Puppets were left without masters. Picture them as they are: wooden automatons of a vaguely-human shape, immortal to age, and nearly immune to pain. Intelligent, yet at the same time, oathbound to creatures no longer part of our world. They confirmed the worst of the Empire¡¯s fears when they refused to bend the knee to His Imperial Majesty.
¡° ¡®Swear that you see our Divine Ruler as your new Master,¡¯ Mareno Crark, then Lord of Penumbria, famously said. While the specifics of his reply are lost to time, every historian I¡¯ve read agrees on one outcome. Brasador the Puppet King flexed his wooden arm, strings contorting its grotesque hand into a grip that clutched his sword hilt, and immediately separated the proud Penumbrian lord¡¯s head from his shoulders in one swift attack.¡±
A chill invaded the room. Adam unconsciously touched his own neck. as if to ensure it remained whole. Solara smiled at the gesture, then went on. ¡°And that, of course, was when the Dragon¡¯s Puppets Rebellion ¨C you most likely know it by its slight misnomer of the Puppet Rebellion ¨C began in earnest.¡±
Adam stirred in his seat. ¡°Believe it or not, I first learned it by its correct name¡± he said, having frankly and technically only learned of it just now. ¡°Most interesting. Go on.¡± All he¡¯d been told was that at one point, an Imperial Hangman had been dispatched to deal with the rebellion, resulting in that monstrously large hole in the mountain Belmordo used as a shortcut between Vasco and Penumbria. This was the extent of his knowledge on the people involved; let alone the war itself. So they¡¯re humanoid, wooden...automatons? Made by dragons? Dragons can...make things? Like mad scientists?
Solara lifted a finger, framing each half of her face against the moonless night behind. ¡°Penumbria was devastated by the war. Mareno had been a young lord, and as he was slain outside of his domain, his Lord Talent did not protect him. The Puppets then left their mountain and ravaged the nearby cities. Coimbrago and Almadares got the worst of it, though its Lords quickly retreated and used their Talent to keep the cities themselves from falling. Asterna also suffered greatly; while its Lord died, his heirs kept things going for a while. In the end, infighting would be to blame when the city eventually ¨C and quite recently ¨C succumbed to the Rot.¡±
That adds up with what I learned in Aspreay¡¯s court...a woman from Asterna petitioned there recently.
¡°But I digress,¡± Solara said, with the unapologetic and unashamed tone of someone who had planned on the tangent all along. ¡°What matters most is that Penumbria and Gama lost their lords, and much of their economy was destroyed. The war lasted until our Divine Emperor finally had enough, deciding that even the Rot-ridden, outskirts of his lands should be ruled by his laws, not the Dragonspawn¡¯s chaos. His direct intervention brought the Dragon¡¯s Puppets to heel. In the aftermath, Emperor Ciro was left with an important decision to make ¨C as Penumbria and Gama were both without Lords.¡±
Adam listened to her carefully. I have an idea where this is going...but only partially. ¡°That¡¯s what led to your father and my predecessor inheriting these lands, correct?¡±
¡°Aye. Emperor Ciro turned to the Imperial Academy in the capital and sought the two best pupils amongst the very few who had the Talent.¡±
Adam nodded. ¡°Vasco...and Aspreay.¡±
¡°My father always said that while it came as a surprise to him, Aspreay had seemed almost too eager to accept, like he¡¯d always expected his hard work to result in this rare opportunity. My father, Vasco, was from a family of knights with only a small manor in the capital to its name. Aspreay, meanwhile, was even worse off ¨C he hailed from a branch family of a city that fell to Rot. He wouldn¡¯t have been different from any other orphan if he didn¡¯t happen to inherit the Talent of a Lord.¡±
To Adam¡¯s surprise, Solara¡¯s face tightened, and she showed something resembling sadness. Or was it pity, perhaps? Regret? No...not quite. He couldn¡¯t identify the exact brand of displeasure on her face.
¡°My father ¨C I will henceforth call him Vasco for clarity¡¯s sake, odd as it is for my tongue to name the man anything but ¡®father¡¯ ¨C told this part to me many times. He was hesitant to agree to the role, despite the chance at glory it offered. Vasco didn¡¯t think himself ready for the responsibility of ruling over so many people. It was not his father, the Imperial captain known as the ¡®Duke of Dread¡¯ who convinced him to take up the title. Rather, it was his dear friend, Aspreay.¡±
That name gave him pause, but Solara showed no such weakness and went onward with her tale.
¡° ¡®Think of it, Vasco!¡¯ Aspreay exclaimed, his eyes brimming with a childlike wonder. ¡®We can be more than protectors of the capital¡¯s walls. We can become heroes of new walls, my friend. Imagine it! Everything we used to stay up late discussing as mere academics...it can all become a reality. The frontier can be revitalized¡ªwe can stop the Rot¡ªwe can even restore the cities that fell to the Puppets!¡¯¡±
Solara fell silent. After a moment, Adam realized what felt so strange about that: the silence was her, the person, rather than an aspect of her theatrical telling. Something about this section of her story had summoned unwelcome thoughts ¨C but what? Is it because we¡¯re approaching the part that has something to do with you? Come on. Give me more. I need to know more.
¡°Do you need some water?¡± he hesitantly asked. ¡°I can grab some if¨C¡±
She held her hand up in a dismissive gesture. ¡°No, I simply...remember this part too well. Vasco told me of it often, and never happily, often between sips of an even fouler-smelling rum than this one. He would describe how Aspreay looked positively beaming with optimism, dreaming of the things he could do, speaking of his plans to rescue the frontier towns that the Emperor himself gave up on. Aspreay believed that becoming Lord of a city would give him the resources necessary to do so. It was, then, with much pleasure, that my father agreed that Aspreay would become Lord of Gama, and he himself would take up Penumbria.¡±
Adam recalled his meeting with Aspreay in the Penumbria treasury room. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet it couldn¡¯t have been much longer than half a year. ¡®The treacherous little weasel used to follow me around, to ask for favors ¨C and I gave him everything he asked!'' Aspreay had drunkenly spat out. ''You¡¯d think that kind of thing would have made us sworn brothers. Instead, it just gave him the chance to backstab me and get assigned the city I wanted. That¡¯s why I¡¯m stuck with this shithole.¡¯
At the time, Adam assumed that the drunken cursing was a product of bitterness. Nothing more than Aspreay¡¯s injured pride poisoning his words. Now, looking back...
The painter drew a deep breath. What had happened between the two of them ¨C and what did it have to do with Solara?
She seemed to notice his unspoken question, because she smiled and said, ¡°Easy, my lord. We are almost there. You hail from Penumbria and I from Gama, so something clearly went wrong. But what? Vasco was happy to rule the poor Penumbria, and the ambitious Aspreay was happy to take Gama...so who objected to that?¡±
She suddenly stopped, forcing the sound of flickering candles to duel with her silence, before meaningfully looking up.
¡°The Duke of Dread. Vasco¡¯s own father. Not a duke by title, truly only a knight, yet his reputation had christened him thus by the commonfolk. He was hungry for his family ¨C our family, I suppose, to return to its former glory. He could not believe that his son was willing to accept the poorer of two cities without so much as a fight.¡±
She raised her voice once more. ¡°Father, Aspreay¡¯s blood is more noble than ours. The Emperor would favor this result, in any case.¡± Solara grimaced. ¡°Vasco told the Duke this...and it is something he regrets to this very day.¡±
Chapter 12 (Part 2)
¡°Why?¡± Adam asked, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Why does he regret that? It seems like a reasonable objection. Even if he wanted to rule over the better city, the Emperor probably wouldn''t give it to him anyway.¡±
¡°You and my father both view that argument as decisive. The Duke of Dread did not ¨C he only considered it an obstacle to be overcome. If his son was stubborn, and the Emperor unwilling, then he needed to do something to gain his family enough favor that His Imperial Highness would insist upon naming Vasco the Lord of Gama. And so, sparing no expense, borrowing whatever coin he could from friends and conniving businessmen, the Duke of Dread gathered together a fleet, taking his son with him in the smallest, but leading vessel. Care to guess where they went?¡±
Adam slowly shook his head. ¡°No. Where did they go? To fight the Rot somehow, or kill monsters?¡±
¡°Monsters!¡± Solara let out a harsh laugh. ¡°Perhaps that is how the Duke saw it. Vasco was unaware of the purpose of their journey, but he¡¯d assumed it was an attack on a monster encampment, or at worst a conflict with another minor lord. My father¡¯s relationship with his own father was often cold, and always frail. He interpreted their voyage as a clumsy attempt at a bonding trip, or perhaps an attempt to help Vasco gain more support from the Emperor before setting off to become a man in his own right.¡±
She showed no outward hesitation, yet appeared interested in her rum for a moment before resuming. ¡°Maybe...maybe Vasco suspected its true purpose, yet refused to believe it ¨C at least until they disembarked to see that their mercenaries had already started their work, and that his father did not hesitate to join them.¡±
¡°What did they do?¡± Adam asked, leaning forward. A pit of dread was settling within his stomach. ¡°Where the hell did they go? Who did they attack?¡±
¡°Greenisle,¡± Solara muttered. ¡°The last elven settlement on the continent. My homeland. There was no raid, no listening to cries of surrender. It was a massacre.¡±
Adam stared at her, open-mouthed. He started to form a theory of what had happened, but he didn¡¯t want to believe his own ideas. ¡°You¡ªyou mean¡ªthe Duke of Dread tried gaining favor with the Emperor by murdering hundreds of innocents?¡±
¡°No.¡± Solara¡¯s voice was sharp, and her grip on her cup had grown so tight that the object would¡¯ve shattered if it was made of glass. ¡°Thousands. Very few of us could fight back. None expected a sudden invasion.¡±
Adam knew it was better to stay quiet. Their time was limited. He needed to sit still, let her talk, and get a complete picture of the incident as soon as possible in order to seal away the Curse.
But he couldn¡¯t stop himself. ¡°What the actual fuck does slaughtering thousands of innocent people have to do with gaining favor? Why the fuck did the Emperor...¡± He shook his head. That wasn¡¯t the right thing to say. ¡°You...were you there? Was your family? I¡¯m so sorry¨C¡±
He shook his head again. That wasn¡¯t the right thing to say either. What was the right thing to say?
Was there any such thing?
Solara smiled gently. ¡°If my lack of emotion earlier surprised you, allow me to say that your display likewise surprises me greatly. Most would not even question why.¡±
¡°Well, I fucking do! Why? What the hell could justify that? I don¡¯t get it!¡±
¡°After the incident with the Dragon Puppets, it was only a matter of time until the Emperor sought to deal with my kind. The Duke of Dread merely solved the matter for His Imperial Majesty ¨C in a more final manner than Our Divine Ruler would have been politically allowed to do.¡±
Her lips twisted into a facsimile of a smile. ¡°Even those who hated elves would have balked at the idea of the Emperor killing them all. But despite their loud protests, they all secretly praised the Duke¡¯s solution.¡±
¡°Fucking monsters,¡± Adam barked out. ¡°I can¡¯t believe...well, I can believe, but I can¡¯t understand...how do they sleep at night? Can¡¯t they imagine what they¡¯ve done?¡±
Solara¡¯s smile hardened, and when she spoke, her voice was dry, amused. ¡°They can. It delights them. Elves rode dragons, long ago. Stories about the Rain of Fire keep human children awake at night, and vermin used it to justify the expedition.¡±
¡°And Vasco...didn¡¯t know about his father¡¯s plans?¡±
¡°No. The Duke of Dread likely knew that his son wouldn¡¯t have the stomach for it. He assumed that once they were on the battlefield, there¡¯d be no way for Vasco to turn back. My father told tales of entering the battlefield in a state of disgusted shock, surrounded by desperate pleas and the putrid smell of death. He was stunned, in equal parts due to the horrific sight and the sheer shock of it all, unable to even question why his father had done such a thing.¡±
Solara¡¯s recounting became subdued, clinical, as if she was purposefully distancing herself from the events that had occurred. ¡°Vasco¡¯s first memory of his awareness returning to him, he told me, was when he saw Belmordo charging up beside him, wearing full plate, whirling death onto every elf he could see, and grinning. Come on, brother, Belmordo cried out then. Don¡¯t let me have all the fun! Pointy end into the pointed fucks! Before long, he¡¯d disappeared in a sea of corpses of his own creation, but Vasco could hear the cries that followed long after the corpses blocked his sight.¡±
Her left eye twitched. ¡°Worst of all was the Duke of Dread. He soon took command of the largest detachment of mercenaries, fighting like an organized unit against a modest isle of refugees that could barely defend themselves. It was here that he proved, once again, that he¡¯d earned his name. The massacre he led grew worse by the moment, and he refused to listen to his son¡¯s desperate pleas to end it.¡±
¡°How do you know...¡± Adam started, then stopped. That wasn¡¯t a good idea to ask. No good could come out of it.
Still, Solara smiled. ¡°How do I know Vasco truly tried to stop his father, and that he didn¡¯t merely change the story to make himself sound better? Worry not; I take no offense. It is a fair point to wonder. As for the answer, I know it because I heard it.¡±
¡°You heard it?¡±
¡°Aye. There were few survivors by then, but we had gathered inside our Stone Square, a lightly defended building with few exits. It was a bad strategy, yet I pray you understand none of us were thinking straight at that moment. So thin was our only protection that I could hear much of the screaming as our last few fighters tried desperately to hold the line.¡±
She gestured at her pointy ears. ¡°Our hearing is quite good, you know ¨C and I could hear it all. His protests...his anguish...and his tears. Many of us cursed humans for attacking, yet we also prayed for the Dragons above the clouds to grant that one human a way to convince his people to relent.¡±
She stopped suddenly and solemnly.
¡°Did he?¡± Adam asked, after a long while. ¡°Did Vasco convince them to stop?¡±
¡°No.¡± Solara¡¯s voice was low and quiet. ¡°His axe did. An argument ensued, and just as the first of the Square¡¯s barred windows started to falter, Vasco ¨C father, took his weapon and beheaded his sire. Everything fell quiet then; mercenaries, noble soldiers, and elves all staring as the leader of the reavers fell to his own son. We even dared to push open the windows to see what was going on. That¡¯s when we saw Vasco, covered in his father¡¯s blood, fists shaking and a boot stomped on the Duke¡¯s severed head.¡±
Her eyes flashed with emotion. ¡°And he cried out: ANY MAN WHO DIES WITHOUT SAVING AN ELF WILL HAVE THEIR CORPSE GIVEN TO THE DRAGON PUPPETS!¡±
Adam was left speechless. Eventually, Solara pressed on. ¡°I do not believe for a moment that many of his men, mercenaries or noble, felt for the plight of elves then. But they feared him. I could see it in their eyes. Men who ¨C until a moment before ¨C were taking joy in killing my kind began desperately fighting others in the chaos, all swearing their loyalty to Vasco. He stalked¡ªstormed¡ªhis way through the corpses of elves and his own comrades and found his way to the building where I and the other refugees were hiding.¡±
She began to mimic a short conversation. ¡° ¡®Are there any survivors elsewhere?¡¯ He had asked.¡±
¡°There was a silence, and out of everyone there, I was the one to break it. ¡®I doubt it.¡¯¡±
¡° ¡®I see.¡¯¡±
¡°Without hesitating, he called upon his Lord Talent to summon a mighty barrier that would protect us all. He was unpracticed at the time, but the building was small enough for him to manage, albeit with effort. Then, without another word, he traveled outside the Walls he¡¯d constructed for our safety. To search for survivors, and to end the attack.¡±
A note of conflicted pride entered her voice. ¡°To this day and until my last, I will always say that the man I respect the most is my father. He is also the scariest. The Talent of a Lord protected us, but it did not imbue his axe with magic after he stepped outside the sanctuary of the Walls. What kept him alive ¨C and his enemies dead ¨C was his skill, the whirlwind of violence he became. In just a short time, between his orders, the unbreakable Wall, and the soldiers who now fought alongside him...the chaos had given way to obedience, and the battle was done.¡±
She closed her eyes. ¡°I remember how he looked when he came back. We all cheered when he returned to the Wall, but stopped as he held out his hand and shook his head sadly. At the time, I remember thinking, He just killed his own father. This will haunt him for the end of his days. I would learn later that this thought was only his second-largest regret that day. Not killing the Duke sooner to save more elves was the first.¡±
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Questions whirled in Adam¡¯s mind, but he stayed silent. Solara was already giving him everything he needed. With every word she spoke, a picture was forming in his thoughts.
¡°I was among the youngest then. Vasco knelt down, remembering that I was the one to speak up before, and talked with me as I informed him of everything I knew. There were older elves there, but none seemed able ¨C or willing ¨C to confer with the bloodsoaked human, even if he was our savior. To them, he was closer to a demon than a hero.¡±
Her tone shifted to one of genuine fondness. ¡°To me, he was both. If that noble monster is a devil, then I thank the flames for embracing me that day. Vasco looked me in the eye then and asked if my parents were alive. I told him no. He didn¡¯t comfort me, but instead nodded firmly and said softly: Then from today on, I shall be your father. And I shall care for every surviving elf of this massacre.¡±
She sighed. ¡°Not every elf was willing to go back with him, and more¡¯s the pity. Later, I heard, slavers and raiders finished off the last few survivors in Greenisle. For the rest of us, he took us to his own residence ¨C and then later to this city, but I¡¯m getting ahead of myself. Of course, this wasn¡¯t met entirely without resistance, even before we left Greenisle.¡±
¡°KINSLAYER! Belmordo had screamed, brandishing a longsword and stalking toward Vasco. YOU KILLED OUR FATHER!¡±
¡°Vasco grabbed the incoming blade with his gauntlet and squeezed it, disarming Belmordo as he brought his boot upward and kicked him in the stomach. When the dazed bastard looked up, Vasco glared at him with the tip of his axe. Aye. And think not that I will hesitate to commit that sin again, brother.¡±
Solara fell silent. The candlelight flickered, then returned as if summoned back. ¡°You can surmise the rest, Adam?¡±
He nodded. ¡°I believe so. Vasco felt responsible for the elves, and decided he needed as much power as possible in order to take care of them. And so ¨C although he loathed it ¨C he took credit for the Greenisle Butchery.¡±
¡°Correct.¡± Solara nodded. Some color had returned to her face. Maybe this topic was impersonal enough to not make her think of...everything. ¡°Father always told me he felt too ashamed of it all to admit this to Aspreay. Whenever he tried to do so, Aspreay would lash out at him with words of betrayal, and father wouldn¡¯t bother to defend himself. He said it was easier if he was hated.¡±
Adam could infer the rest. Aspreay¡¯s dreams of rescuing his fallen hometown were shattered, and he was saddled with the debt and Rot-ridden Penumbria. At the same time, his trusted partner seemed to betray everything they stood for, stole his position, and refused to lift a finger to help Aspreay when his city needed it most. Because Vasco needed the Orbs to care for the elven refugees. It was almost understandable that Aspreay had become disillusioned with the idea of doing good.
But that doesn¡¯t make him innocent, Adam told himself, firmly. He couldn¡¯t let himself waver. He wasn¡¯t being a good lord to them. Aspreay had tried, most likely. For a long while. Until he couldn¡¯t. I feel sorry for him...but whatever the reason, he wasn¡¯t capable enough to lead his people.
He exhaled, refocusing his thoughts. ¡°Gama¡¯s elven refugees ¨C are they all from the Greenisle Butchery?¡±
She shook her head. ¡°No. Many traveled east after hearing of Gama¡¯s elven district and its kind lord, despite father¡¯s involvement with the butchery. Better here than the cities that allow outright hunting of our kind.¡± Solara let out a bitter laugh. ¡°Can you imagine how hard it is? To be so desperate that you seek refuge in a city led by the son of the man who butchered your last haven?¡±
Adam shook his head. ¡°Even saying that I can imagine what it feels like would be a terrible, rude lie.¡± He paused. ¡°But I can at least understand things a bit better in general. Like how Vasco decided to name you his heir as a form of repentance. Maybe he thinks that will change things for the better. I also understand Belmordo¡¯s motivations for wanting you dead ¨C he hates elves, and considering his father¡¯s death, I don¡¯t think he¡¯s overly fond of Vasco either.¡±
¡°My dear old uncle is fantastic, isn¡¯t he?¡± Solara asked dryly.
¡°Oh yeah. If there is one thing I¡¯m glad about, it¡¯s that I told that bastard to eat shit.¡±
At that, Solara truly and heartily laughed. It was the first unrestrained emotion she¡¯d shown since her near-outburst before their fight. ¡°Well, Adam? Do you think you have a measure for who I am? Enough to take this curse away from me?¡±
¡°Frankly, not really. Most of what you said relates to your father. To Gama. It explains a lot, and yet...doesn¡¯t really tell me much about you. Can you tell me anything else?¡±
¡°No.¡±
¡°Sorry, uh...did you say no?¡±
¡°Aye, Lord Adam.¡±
¡°Ah. I see.¡± Adam drew a deep breath. ¡°Fine, not gonna waste our time complaining.¡± Especially when he didn¡¯t know how much long they had before the curse resurfaced. ¡°Guess you¡¯re going to make me work for it a little.¡±
¡°Forgive me.¡±
¡°Nah, it¡¯s fine. I kind of expected something like this. You must have a good reason for not wanting to say it out loud.¡±
Which, in and of itself, was already a huge hint. Solara knew their time was limited, and she definitely didn¡¯t want to remain cursed. If she was still playing coy, there must have been a damn good reason for it. Let¡¯s assume she¡¯s not suicidal...what else do I know about her?
Notes on Lady Solara
¡ª She was cursed while trying to obtain a stronger talent.
¡ª According to herself, she has a very ambitious dream.
¡ª Solara is a survivor of the Greenisle Butchery, being saved and adopted by Lord Vasco.
¡ª Whatever her dream is, it is likely at the core of her person.
¡ª Whatever her dream is, she does not want to reveal it despite the urgency of the matter.
It stood to reason that if Adam figured out what she was after, everything else would come into place. What could she want? Revenge? No...the Duke of Dread was dead already, and she truly appeared to love her father. Maybe she wanted Belmordo to die, but that wasn¡¯t so dangerous of a thought that someone would risk their life to avoid saying it out loud.
What if she does want revenge? Adam reasoned. Revenge or...change. Something to make sure elves aren¡¯t massacred like that again, if their population ever grows to a significant point.
Who would her target be in that case?
For what reason would she need to gain a stronger Talent?
Unless...
¡°Excuse me,¡± Adam said, grabbing a piece of parchment and retrieving his painting supplies. His drawing pen was still bloodied from the fight, and he figured his Talent should work on any surface as long as he had his tablet with him.
And most importantly, he didn¡¯t want to waste any time. ¡°I believe I understand now. Based on the way you act, the lofty dreams you speak of...and why you¡¯re afraid of saying your goals out loud, even to the guy who nearly died saving your life...I can only think of one thing.¡±
His sketch was incomplete, almost impressionistic, featuring only gray shades to represent the people, and a dark sort of blue to represent the sky. It was a moody, dry piece, that seemed to lack in saturation by design ¨C except for the bright, savage red that drifted from the shades, serving as the only connection between their bodies and their decapitated heads.
Adam had been vaguely inspired by the French Revolution.
He calmly took a picture of the art, transferring it to his tablet, and then gave it a title.
JUSTICE
¡°Please,¡± he said, passing his tablet to Solara. ¡°My Talent requires that you take a look.¡±
She did. Her eyes narrowed. ¡°Hmm. This seems...perhaps accurate.¡±
¡°Solara,¡± Adam began. ¡°The thing you don¡¯t dare say out loud, even with your life on the line...your dream ¨C no, your goal...¡±
He smiled. ¡°You want to kill the Emperor, don¡¯t you?¡±
She smiled back and said nothing, but the curse being sealed into his tablet told him everything he needed to know.
Name: Adam
Talents and Rank:
Painter [Apprentice]
Wager of the Heart ¡ª The Talented may wager a Talent in order to reduce the difficulty in painting a portrait of a person¡¯s soul. If unsuccessful, the wagered Talent is given to the target and only returns to the Talented upon the target¡¯s death.
Stained Ink [Apprentice]
Lord [Baron]
GAINED: Stained Flames [Viscount]
The Talented may travel through open flames within 10m of each other, and hide their entire self within the very flames, for as long as twelve hours. This Talent is given to those Haunted by the Ghost of Flames. The Ghost of Flames will not haunt someone possessing a higher ranked Talent.
Chapter 13 (Part 1)
At first, Solara suggested they rest for a short while before departing from the tower, but Adam steadfastly rejected her idea. ¡°Much as I would love to rest,¡± he said, ¡°we don¡¯t have time.¡±
¡°Why not?¡±
He thought of how long it would take to explain, then shook his head. ¡°Just go along with it for now ¨C I¡¯m honestly low on energy, and we have to get out of here soon.¡±
Solara briefly held her gaze. When she finally nodded, it was with a stern expression that let Adam know blind agreement wasn¡¯t a habit of hers.
After that, the two of them went through their preparations as swiftly as they could. Solara changed into a dress that wasn¡¯t half torn and covered in blood, and Adam arranged a gift for Belmordo. Considering how fast things were progressing, he wouldn¡¯t have much opportunity to do this later ¨C so he used his painting ability and drew the ugliest, most inaccurate portrait he could think of. Well, it¡¯s supposed to look bad, he told himself, although the artist in him still disliked the result.
There was no time to dwell on that, however. The instant he finished with his short preparations, Solara showed up beside him and began badgering him about his appearance. And to be fair, Adam understood why. While she looked positively beautiful after those scant few minutes, wearing a modest yet impeccably styled dress, he had made a point to reject her offer of clean, undamaged clothes.
¡°Are you sure you want to go out looking like that?¡± Solara asked incredulously, examining him from head to toe. Adam¡¯s Ink had closed all his external wounds, but that was all. Both his internal wounds and the considerable damage to his clothing remained.
Though not in tatters, his fine noble garments were now stained with blood and prominently featured numerous rips and tears. If before Adam had looked like a nobleman ready to meet the Emperor himself, now he mostly looked like he¡¯d just got done being mugged. As if his traveling carriage was raided by bandits, and he barely made it out alive ¨C after being beaten within an inch of his life, no less.
Which, frankly, wasn¡¯t too far off from what actually happened.
"Yeah, it¡¯s the image I want to give off,¡± Adam barked out, gritting his teeth to hide his pain. They¡¯d managed to do some emergency healing on his injuries, but he was barely in the shape to walk, let alone fight. ¡°It¡¯s not just Belmordo that¡¯s going to be waiting outside. His supporters, his soldiers...they¡¯ll be there too. I want them to look and see a man who almost died, but is still acting like everything went according to plan. If they see an unhurt, fancy-looking lord, they can justify it in their heads, say I just got lucky. But if they see a half-dead man who¡¯s still grinning like an arrogant bastard...that ought to make them second guess themselves, if only a little. Let them think I have ice in my veins.¡±
¡°Ink is close enough to ice,¡± Solara replied absently. ¡°At least let me fix your hair. If you¡¯re playing the part of a battered hero, then impeccably-brushed hair combined with a battle-worn look will make more of an impact.¡±
¡°That sounds good to me.¡± No sooner had he finished saying that, Solara was beside him fixing up his appearance. It felt odd to have someone touch his hair like that outside of a barbershop, but not unpleasant.
¨C
Solara was soon proven right. When the duo stepped outside the tower, they immediately heard the crowd¡¯s chatter go as silent as death. Even the soldiers ¨C a band of hard-bitten types ¨C were left staring wide-eyed at Adam and Solara as if they were a pair of ghosts.
Belmordo, for his part, went paler than the cursed Ghost itself, his mouth agape. It didn¡¯t last long; the man had enough grit about him to snap himself back together. ¡°My lady,¡± he said, rushing up to the stone steps and kneeling. Without looking up, he asked in a hushed tone, ¡°You¡¯re, you¡¯re outside the tower. Does this mean the curse...¡±
¡°Gone.¡± Solara declared, in a booming voice that felt like a rejection of Belmordo¡¯s whispers. ¡°No ghost shall haunt me or my noble house.¡±
¡°That is fantastic,¡± Belmordo quickly said. He sounded genuinely honest. Adam probably would¡¯ve believed him if the man hadn¡¯t spent so long trying to argue in favor of letting Solara die. ¡°Most fantastic ¨C I ¨C can we speak in a more private place at a later time?¡±
Solara nodded toward the carriage. ¡°That seems private enough, and I have waited for too long already. Let us speak.¡±
¡°Surely my lady needs rest¨C¡±
¡°Your lady has spoken, Belmordo. Surely you don¡¯t dare to pretend that your thoughts and her voice are the same??¡± Solara¡¯s reply was as loud as it was sharp. Then, she added, just as loudly, but dryer, ¡°Then again, it wouldn¡¯t surprise me. I hear you have much pretending in mind for the near future.¡±
Adam had to make an effort not to whistle softly at the implicit accusation. Belmordo¡¯s aspirations for taking the city were open secrets, but secrets nonetheless ¨C not the kind of thing you spoke aloud where anyone could hear you. It was enough to make the lord hurriedly nod along and lead them inside the carriage, where he promptly closed the door shut.
Despite his bravado, Adam was glad to sit down again. He figured he¡¯d done a decent job at looking like a horrifying blood lord, but the truth was that even standing was difficult right now. Being able to relieve some of the strain from his body felt nice.
Although it was still necessary to put on airs around Belmordo. The man seemed a little scared, but he was the kind who recovered quickly.
Best not to give him the chance..
¡°Belmordo, my friend. Thank you for receiving us on such short notice.¡± Adam forced himself to arrogantly plant his crossed legs on the table between them. My ribs¡ªmy fucking ribs¡ª ¡°I suppose seeing us alive puts you in a difficult position, doesn¡¯t it?¡±
¡°I am positively thrilled that Lady Solara has returned to us alive and well,¡± Belmordo began, ¡°not to mention my delight that Lord Adam managed to do so without losing his own life. Such a turn of events is a providence from our¨C¡±
¡°Are you an idiot?¡± Solara raised both her chin and her voice as she fired the question. ¡°There is a time to play dumb, and that time is long past. You wanted me dead, Lord Adam¡¯s testimony has made this clear enough for my father to have you arrested. Let us speak plainly ¨C will you surrender peacefully, or fight a hopeless war?¡±
At that, Belmordo¡¯s face turned bitter. He chewed his lip and let out a faint sound like a wounded animal ¨C but when he spoke again, after a mild pause, it was with a determined tone and a grin on his face. ¡°Lady Amara¡ªLord Adam¡ªif you wish to speak plainly, then let¡¯s. Hopeless is the word to describe a hypothetical war, but not for me.¡±
¡°You think the city of Gama would side with you over Father?¡± Solara asked mockingly.
¡°No. I think they would side with me over an elf,¡± Belmordo stated. ¡°They¡¯d hesitate to start a war without proper cause, true. But if their backs are to the wall, and they only have one chance at ridding themselves of elven influence...well, I am certain of where their loyalties will lie.¡±
¡°One chance?¡± Solara raised an eyebrow. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±
Adam winced in pain, but tried to play it off like he just had a sudden realization. ¡°Vasco is outside the Walls right now,¡± he explained. ¡°If he tries to march back and take control of the city, then Belmordo can have his men clash with him outside, where he wouldn¡¯t be able to use his Lord Talent at all.¡±
Belmordo¡¯s face lit up in amusement. ¡°Precisely! Oh, Lord Adam, why can¡¯t you use that beautiful logic of yours to make the correct decision here?¡±
I¡¯m way too tired for this nonsense, Adam thought, but didn¡¯t say. ¡°I am. But by all means; tell me what your idea of a correct decision would be.¡±
¡°The same choices that I have advised you to make for some time now. Return to Penumbria, execute Lady Solara, and execute my brother. Do so, and we shall establish the mutual relationship between our states that was discussed earlier.¡±
Solara, to her credit, was relatively calm at this. ¡°You stupid bald fuck,¡± she spat out. Relatively. ¡°Don¡¯t you think you should save the conspiring for when your assassination target isn¡¯t around?¡±
¡°My, I thought my lady had professed the time for playing dumb was long past,¡± Belmordo replied, in an innocuous tone. ¡°I am laying out my cards as plainly as possible. Just as you¡¯ve said, the moment my brother returns, I will be called to the executioner¡¯s block. Let us not mince words ¨C he won¡¯t think a dungeon is good enough for me.¡±
¡°If you repent¨C¡±
¡°But I will not.¡± Belmordo¡¯s voice grew cold. ¡°That is the one point where I will allow the flame of emotion to color my judgement. I will not repent. I do not regret my actions ¨C gods, to allow an elf to rule me? No. Death is a kinder fate, and murder even gentler.¡±
Solara¡¯s hand curled into a fist. ¡°Do ancient legends scare you so much?¡± she shouted. Hope this carriage is soundproof enough, Adam mused. ¡°Would you go so far at the mere stories of what my ancestors did? Just because we rode the dragons¨C¡±
Belmordo leaned forward. ¡°Fuck the dragons.¡± His voice was a whisper again, but this time it didn¡¯t feel like secrecy was the reason for it. There was a calm, icy hatred there now. ¡°Even if your kind never rode the dragons, even if the reason the Rot is eating away every city in this Empire wasn¡¯t you treefuckers ¨C I would still want you dead.¡±
¡°Why then?¡±
¡°Greenisle.¡±
Solara¡¯s hand fell to her dress pocket. Adam saw a flicker of steel in there. ¡°You name the massacre of my people as your reason?¡± Her voice dripped with nearly as much disgust as it did fury. ¡°And for that reason, you would kill your own brother? Do you listen to yourself?¡±
¡°You think you are the only one who lost something that day? My father died there! Your people ¨C you turned my brother into a kinslayer!¡± Belmordo slammed his fist against the side of the carriage. ¡°Do you wonder why I balk not at fratricide? Because my brother is already dead. Vasco died the moment he sank his battleax into our father¡¯s neck. This is mercy.¡±
Can¡¯t let this go on. ¡°That¡¯s very interesting, but let¡¯s get down to business.¡± Adam pretended to stretch his arms to hide a wince of pain. Much as he would rather prolong the conversation and learn more about the situation, he knew his body was reaching its limit once again, and he wouldn¡¯t have the advantage in a prolonged negotiation while also looking like he had a foot in the grave. ¡°Why the hell would I side with you over Vasco?¡±
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
¡°Well,¡± Belmordo started, a measure of calmness returning to him. ¡°Because you don¡¯t have a choice, Lord Adam. Not truly.¡±
¡°That so? Because it really, really seems like I do.¡±
¡°Then your memory fails you. The Hangman is coming.¡±
Adam glanced at Solara and both shared a questioning look. ¡°Strange. She doesn¡¯t look cursed to me anymore, and I don¡¯t think the Hangman would make that mistake.¡±
¡°No. But recall that word has not yet reached the Empire of what transpired between you and Lord Aspreay. Then, recall further that Hangmen are encouraged to take action independently in order to protect the Empire. If I were to inform them of this treasonous, heretic madman who killed Lord Aspreay...well, they would have to interfere, would they not?¡±
¡°You¡¯re threatening me with the Hangman,¡± Adam said, slowly. He¡¯d suspected things might come to this, ever since they came across that pathway through the mountain. ¡°If I don¡¯t side with you...then I suppose I should expect a Hangman to come knocking in Penumbria soon.¡±
¡°Very soon,¡± Belmordo replied, with a smirk. ¡°He should arrive within a fortnight, remember? Mayhap a few hours now.¡±
¡°I remember,¡± Adam grumbled.
It was more than an idle threat. Imperial Hangmen were capable of tearing holes through a goddamn mountain; holes so large that they became tunnels. If one were to attack Penumbria, they wouldn¡¯t stand a chance, with or without Adam¡¯s Lord powers.
The Ghost mentioned that a Talent can be overcome by a higher ranked Talent. Even if very few people are likely to be immune to a Baron level Talent...an Imperial Hangman probably would be one of them.
And if someone like that came to Penumbria? A hand of the Emperor, wielding enough destructive power to reduce their home to dust? Every Aspreay loyalist would turn on Adam at once. While they couldn¡¯t oppose him directly, they could definitely make his efforts to prepare the city for a fight that much more difficult.
Maybe if I spend all of Penumbria¡¯s Orbs to improve my Lord Talent...I might be able to hold off the Hangman. That wasn¡¯t a guarantee, though. At ?3,320,384 Orbs, even if he were to draw on the city funds, Adam could at most improve his Talent to the rank of Viscount. Who¡¯s to say that someone who could single-handedly tunnel holes through mountains wasn¡¯t above that?
Not to mention the collateral damage that was sure to follow. Even if he could hold off the Hangman¡¯s assault ¨C and wouldn¡¯t it just call for reinforcements if he did? ¨C he would have no way of keeping the people of Penumbria alive. They needed Orbs to live. Using Penumbria¡¯s Orbs to upgrade his own Talent was equivalent to condemning everyone to death by starvation.
Maybe I can paint the Hangman¡¯s soul...Even in his head, the thought sounded foolish. Solara¡¯s Ghost had nearly killed him in single combat; he wouldn''t last more than a second against the Hangman. Besides, what was he going to do? Ask for its life story? Not everyone was so forthcoming.
No matter how he considered it, the Hangman wasn¡¯t an enemy he could beat at this juncture. Which led to his next question, this one directed towards Solara. ¡°Do you think he¡¯s telling the truth? Can he really convince a Hangman to go after Penumbria?¡±
¡°I...yes,¡± she hesitantly said. ¡°Your takeover of the city is a crime. It would not require much convincing for a Hangman to march down your doors. They rarely if ever act without noble request, but if Belmordo puts a request in the name of the city of Gama...¡±
It was an honest answer, and one that didn¡¯t benefit her whatsoever. Adam appreciated it all the more for that. ¡°My next question is...Belmordo, why the hell are you talking to us? Why not attack us right here?¡±
¡°Do you think I am foolish enough to attack you?¡± Belmordo cried out. ¡°He who defeated the Curse? I know not what devilry you can perform with your Talent. How many good men would I lose?¡±
He composed himself. ¡°And besides...I am a man of logic, and leaving you alive is just good business.¡±
Adam narrowed his eyes. ¡°Explain.¡±
¡°If I attempt to kill Lady Solara, you and your men ¨C not many, but a good honor guard ¨C will defend her. Most of us will die, and perhaps you might still escape. But I trust you are a logical man, Lord Adam. Oh, right now you will die to defend her, honorable man that you are. After a night of sleep, however...when your dreams are visited by the hundreds, thousands of lives you might snuff out with your oh-so-noble desire to protect one family...¡±
¡°You think I¡¯m going to kill her and Vasco,¡± Adam said, in a quiet voice.
¡°Of course. And doing so would prevent me from having to lose armed, expensive men to kill Vasco outside the Wall. It would be much, much more beneficial for me to retain positive relations with Penumbria and its lord than to start violence right now. Ah, that would just not be good business, not at all.¡±
Solara stirred in her seat. ¡°And what if we kill you here?¡± Her voice was cold, and her hand gripped at something inside her pocket. ¡°If you are silenced, the Hangman will more likely than not avoid targeting Penumbria. They wouldn¡¯t do anything without an official request straight from your lips.¡±
¡°You are correct.¡± Belmordo leaned forward. ¡°Why don¡¯t you try killing me? Oh, you can¡¯t, can you?¡± His grin widened. ¡°Both of you have the strictest of curses ¨C or have you forgotten? You cannot harm me. You cannot use your ability to take my soul, Talent, or anything else away from me. You cannot order someone to rob, kill, or otherwise inflict harm upon me.¡±
Those were the terms of the Curse Adam that had agreed upon in order to enter the city of Gama. Judging from Solara¡¯s reaction, they were also the terms she¡¯d accepted to be safely locked away in that tower. The Ghost may be gone, but Belmordro¡¯s Curse remained.
Adam fell into quiet contemplation. Unfortunately, Belmordro had put forth a strong argument. If Adam refused to kill Solara and Vasco, then an Imperial Hangman would march down to Penumbria and slaughter hundreds ¨C if not thousands ¨C until he painted the shattered ruins of the city with Adam¡¯s inked blood. There was no reasonable way to stop Belmordo from informing the Hangman of what had transpired, and no way of even slowing down the Hangman, let alone killing him.
And worst of all, Belmordo was untouchable, now and forever, Adam was wholly incapable of fighting him, hurting him, or even ordering someone else to inflict any kind of violence upon him.
He could never take anything away from the man.
¡°Coward,¡± Adam said, in a low voice. ¡°You don¡¯t even have the balls to fight me like a man. I guess scumbags like you prefer to sit down and watch everyone dance, kill and die while you sip on some overpriced wine that probably cost more than a fucking house.¡±
¡°I¡¯m disappointed, Lord Adam. Are you that simple of a person?¡± Belmordo laughed. ¡°That¡¯s not cowardice; it¡¯s pragmatism. I fight for a noble cause. When your cause is just, there are no sins ¨C even using another¡¯s blade to fell your enemies is a noble act.¡±
The three remained in silence for a while.
I wish I could kill this fucking waste of oxygen with my own hands, Adam thought. But life didn¡¯t always go like you wanted. Sometimes, you had to adapt and play with what you had...even if you didn¡¯t like the hand you were dealt.
¡°It seems like we¡¯re done talking,¡± Adam suddenly said. ¡°Give us fresh horses and supplies for the trip back. It¡¯s in your best interest if we¡¯re stocked up anyway.¡±
Belmordo grinned and was happy to oblige. ¡°Of course. Will my lady be going with you, her presumed murderer, or will she stay with me?¡±
¡°I...¡± Solara hesitated. ¡°Perish the thought. Even if Lord Adam were to betray me, I¡¯d rather die by his hand than yours. I will not remain here.¡±
¡°Very well. It is better for me if your death happens outside the Wall, anyhow. Less likely for the blame to fall on me.¡± He stood up and smiled at them both. ¡°I look forward to hearing good news from you, Lord Adam.¡±
He wasted no time in readying their supplies. The only time in the next few hours Belmordo appeared anything less than confident was when he heard news that the Imperial Hangman was approaching, and fast. For his plan to work, Adam had to be long gone before the Hangman¡¯s arrival.
Maybe I should stay here just to screw with his plans. But that would¡¯ve resulted in Adam¡¯s death by Hangman as well. No...for now, I need to leave. Even if all I want is to punch this man in the face and watch him suffer.
Unfortunately, there was more to life than what he wanted. He had to consider the people who relied on him ¨C he was their Lord now, and it was a role he¡¯d taken by choice.
Only a short couple hours later, Adam and Solara rode away from Gama. Their carriage was flanked by Penumbria¡¯s mounted soldiers, and stocked up with the finest gifts Belmordo insisted on them taking, making sure to publicly act like a graceful host.
Adam played the part as well, insisting upon likewise gifting Belmordo with a few things before they took their leave. As they engaged in the theatrical, seemingly friendly farewell, Adam whispered in Belmordo¡¯s ear, ¡°Wait until we are gone from sight and look at the gifts I left you ¨C my response is in one of them.¡±
He hoped Solara hadn¡¯t heard him. Things would get very complicated if she had. They would still work out, sure, but Adam wanted to avoid a scene if possible.
His stomach churned as he shook hands Belmordo. This wasn¡¯t what he wanted to do. His fists ached to pummel the arrogant noble¡¯s face until it broke open like a rotten pear.
But I¡¯m Penumbria¡¯s Lord, Adam reminded himself. There¡¯s...there¡¯s thousands of lives that could end if I make the wrong decision. If I can¡¯t do what I want...then it falls on me to do what I must.
And so, he and Solara left the City of Gama.
Chapter 13 (Part 2)
Adam didn¡¯t sleep for long inside the carriage. He wasn¡¯t sure how much time had passed, but a short while later, he was awoken by the buzzing sound of his tablet. A smile came to his face as he inspected the notification. Good.
¡°I trust you,¡± Solara abruptly said. When Adam turned to meet her gaze, she repeated, ¡°I trust you, Lord Adam. You seemed on edge since we left the tower, and I imagine Lord Belmordo¡¯s attempts at planting those seeds of doubt are largely the cause. So I need you to know this ¨C I trust you.¡±
Adam grunted, turning back away from her. He planted his gaze outside the window, towards the city of Gama they¡¯d just left behind. ¡°You really shouldn¡¯t put faith in people so easily.¡±
¡°I¡¯d rather endure the sting of betrayal than wall off my emotions to the point where I never trust anyone.¡±
¡°Trust me,¡± Adam replied, bitterly. ¡°You don¡¯t.¡±
He didn¡¯t trust her, even now. This speech could very well be an attempt to guilt trip him into not betraying her. Or worse, she could already be convinced that he would betray her, and was merely using this speech to get him to lower his guard. At any moment, she might sink a knife in his chest and run for the hills. None of those options seemed likely, but then again, they weren¡¯t zero. If there was a chance, any chance at all, he needed to be on guard for it.
¡°It¡¯s not that I¡¯m naive,¡± Solara continued, in a straightforward tone. ¡°This approach to life will one day drive a dagger into my back, I¡¯m certain. But I¡¯m just as certain that living differently would drive me mad.¡±
At this, she sighed. ¡°And here I should be the one to say ¨C trust me, Lord Adam, you don¡¯t want to live like that either.¡±
He considered her words. Looks like there is more to her than what she told me back then...which makes sense. My painting knew enough of her soul to steal her Talent, but not everything. ¡°Fortunately for me, I¡¯m already mad.¡±
¡°That you are.¡± She laughed, and it felt more genuine than her noble speech thus far. ¡°Very few sane men would have stalked into that tower while the Ghost still haunted me.¡±
¡°So, me being crazy helped you? Is that what we¡¯ve established?¡± Adam asked. ¡°In that case, there shouldn¡¯t be any problem with me not trusting people. It¡¯s good for you in the end.¡±
¡°You may take it that way if you wish. But if you aren¡¯t bothered by the poisonous, untrusting nature that Belmordo thrust upon this very cabin...¡± There was some pointedness to Solara¡¯s words, but Adam chose to ignore it and motioned for her to continue. ¡°Well, then I would like you to tell me ¨C what¡¯s got you in such a dark mood?¡±
¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± he asked, raising an eyebrow. ¡°Belmordo himself. I don¡¯t like the game he set up. Not one bit.¡±
¡°Ah...yes.¡± Solara¡¯s voice turned dark. ¡°My dear uncle is something we will have to handle soon enough. Mayhap Father will have an idea on how to deal with his...his plan.¡±
Adam looked outside the carriage window, observing the Penumbrian soldiers escorting them outside. Brave men and women, with families, probably. None were aware that their futures were being decided at this very moment. By the whim of a single noble craving petty vengeance, everything they held dear might perish before the day was out.
¡°While I trust you, Lord Adam,¡± Solara continued, ¡°I must confess that I have no solution to the problem at hand. The devil of a man has cursed us. We cannot inflict violence upon him. We cannot steal from him. We cannot even order others to harm him on our behalf.¡±
She laughed darkly at this. It was a sad, bitter sound that seemed to keep her from despairing altogether. Adam glanced at her for a moment, and saw that her hand had curled into a fist.
¡°I sacrificed so much for power.¡± Solara¡¯s voice was low and melancholic. She was speaking aloud, but Adam didn¡¯t think she expected a response from him. The elf was facing her own window now, looking out of it as if peering into a different world. ¡°You painted me correctly, my lord. I need power to achieve my final goal.¡±
Slaying the Emperor, Adam thought. Even when alone, she wouldn¡¯t say it out loud.
¡°And not just that. I need power for so much else. You know, Uncle has hated me since the day of the massacre. I remember him laying on the ground after Father bested him in their duel. He was covered in blood, of both my people and his own sire, whose corpse he¡¯d cradled desperately moments before. Yet when he glanced at me, you¡¯d mistake elven blood for blue, and Belmordo to be colorblind.¡±
She laughed again, her voice shaking slightly. ¡°He looked at me like I was to blame for what had just happened. Gods...I was only a child, a victim of his and his father¡¯s violence. And yet he dared to do more than simply accuse. I am sure that in his heart of hearts, he truly believed that he was without fault, and I was to blame. That my birth was crime enough.¡±
Solara studied her clenched fist as if it held the answers she so urgently sought. ¡°I needed power. More than just for my goals ¨C I needed it to keep myself alive. He would come for my life one day, I always knew. And now he has.¡±
She shook her head sadly. ¡°And now that he has made his move, no amount of power I have gained will make up for it. This man is immune to our violence. More than merely stronger than us, he has made it so that we cannot even attempt to fight him. I risked my life ¨C my soul in order to become strong enough that he wouldn¡¯t be able to harm me. Yet now he stands in a realm where strength means nothing. We cannot harm him. We cannot steal from him. We cannot even order others to attack him. This strength that I have gained ¨C the one I have now lost ¨C meant nothing! My sacrifices were meaningless!¡±
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Her voice rose at the end, anger touching her lips. ¡°What can we ¨C what can I do against someone like that? It doesn¡¯t matter how strong we get. The man is the devil incarnate, may the Rot take him, but he planned for everything. Bravery isn¡¯t enough. Power pales. Decency falls. For how many years must we put up with that man? How can we¨C¡±
¡°I killed him forty-five minutes ago,¡± Adam said.
The carriage hit a small bump in the road. He frowned as a jolt of pain lanced through his body. ¡°Can¡¯t wait until I get proper healing. At least the seats are comfortable; would¡¯ve been torture to travel on horseback or something.¡±
Solara was quiet. At once, Adam realized the problem. ¡°Oh, sorry for interrupting you. I hate to do that, it¡¯s generally very rude, but you seemed distressed, and that seemed relevant.¡±
¡°What...do you mean?¡±
¡°Forty-five minutes ago,¡± he repeated. ¡°Give or take. Don¡¯t have a watch, so it¡¯s hard to tell¨C¡±
¡°Not that!¡± Her voice was manic. ¡°What do you mean you killed him ¨C I was with you the entire time! He was alive when we left Gama!¡± The vestiges of tragic nobility within her speech eased away as she spoke. ¡°How in the everliving fuck did you kill him? With the curse, neither of us should be able to attack him! You couldn¡¯t even steal his Talent!¡±
Adam sighed. She was being very loud, and he was feeling very tired. Still, he drew a deep breath and gazed out the window into the now-distant city of Gama. ¡°You asked me earlier why I was so upset, didn¡¯t you?¡±
¡°I did, but what does that¨C¡±
¡°I¡¯m not like you people,¡± Adam grunted. ¡°Murder doesn¡¯t come easy to me. I¡¯ll do it if it needs to be done, but I can¡¯t take it as nonchalantly as you lot do. By which I mean you nobles,¡± Adam added, ¡°not elves. That¡¯s not the part I take issue with.¡±
Solara hesitated, then said, ¡°Lord Adam, I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t...¡± She shook her head, then shrugged, giving up on the attempt to regain the nobility in her manner of speaking. ¡°Look, just start making some goddamn sense will you?¡±
¡°Tenver murdered people so easily for me,¡± Adam stated. ¡°So casually. I know that¡¯s the way things are done here. And since I¡¯m not keen on dying ¨C our duel made me sure of that much ¨C that means I have to be willing to kill. There¡¯s no point in whining about how it isn¡¯t right to take a life when my own life, not to mention the lives of the people of Penumbria, are at constant risk. But I did decide that at the very least, I owed it to the people who died because of me to look them in the eye before I killed them. It didn¡¯t feel right to delegate murder to Tenver back then, even if he acted out of his own free will.¡±
¡°Where are you going with this?¡± Solara asked, suspiciously. ¡°Did you get someone else to kill him for you? No, that can¡¯t be it...we weren¡¯t allowed to order anyone else to act in our stead. What did you do?¡±
¡°The curse stopped me from killing him, from harming him, from stealing his soul or Talent, and indeed from taking away anything from him at all,¡± Adam admitted. ¡°Which is why I didn¡¯t take anything away from him.¡±
Solara¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You mean...?¡±
¡°Yes.¡± Adam nodded, allowing himself a grin. ¡°I gave him something instead.¡±
He hadn¡¯t lied to Belmordo, either. Not truly. The small gift he¡¯d left for the noble contained his answer. It was an attempted painting of Belmordo¡¯s own soul. Of course, as Adam had no idea of the man¡¯s life or his character, there was no way he could portray him accurately ¨C and he didn¡¯t even try.
Adam wanted to get it wrong, and had.
Earlier, he¡¯d been woken up by a message on his tablet letting him know things had gone as hoped.
TALENT LOST
Stained Flames
Your wager was unsuccessful. Your painting was not a good enough portrait of his soul.
You have forfeited your Talent of ¡®Stained Flames¡¯ to Belmordo, who shall retain it until death.
¡°I...I can¡¯t believe you...¡± Solara¡¯s eyes darted to the window, toward Gama. ¡°You mean¡ª?¡±
Adam didn¡¯t respond. He just looked out the window and waited. If he had been awoken by the notification of his Talent being lost, the next step should happen any moment now.
He¡¯d figured things might turn out like this. Earlier, Belmordo had shown him the letter that he¡¯d sent to the Emperor. It was purposefully vague in case of interception. ¡®Gama requires aid. A Stained Monster took over noble blood, and must be put down. We request an Imperial Hangman.¡¯
Now...with that ambiguous information, if the Imperial Hangman, a nearly almighty creature of destruction, arrived and found Belmordo, a man of noble blood possessed by a Ghost...what would he do?
Adam¡¯s expression tightened as he remembered what Belmordo had said at their departure. He narrowed his eyes and fixed his gaze on the fading city in the distance, and spoke softly, as if the accursed bastard was standing right before him. ¡°What was it that you said before, Belmordo? When your cause is just, there are no sins ¨C even using another¡¯s blade to fell your enemies is a noble act.¡±
His voice turned cold. ¡°Then you will have no complaints about this."
A bursting flash of light went off in the distance ¨C in Gama. It was an eruption that soared to the sky and made the carriage they resided within tremble. Solara watched it with shocked awe, both hands covering her mouth.
Adam didn¡¯t blink. Not liking a game doesn¡¯t mean you find it difficult, Belmordo.
TALENT REGAINED
Stained Flames
Your target, Belmordo of Gama, has been killed. Your Talent has now been returned to you.
CURSE ACTIVATED
Belmordo''s 640,124 Orbs have been transferred to you.
Chapter 14 (Part 1)
¡°Lord Adam,¡± Solara said, after a pause. ¡°You¡¯re a little more cold-hearted than I thought you¡¯d be.¡±
¡°And you¡¯re a little more honest than I thought you¡¯d be.¡± Adam spoke in a harsh tone, but he made sure to relax into a smile at the end so she knew it was safe to lower her guard. ¡°You just saw me use an Imperial Hangman to murder your uncle. Shouldn¡¯t you be flattering me and all that?¡±
Solara smiled back. ¡°Somehow, you don¡¯t strike me like the type who takes well to flattery.¡±
Are you kidding? I¡¯m an artist. I fucking crave approval. It¡¯s the only drug I want more than caffeine. ¡°You read me right,¡± he lied. Well, half-lied ¨C she was right that he didn¡¯t want her to flatter him over killing someone. He didn¡¯t feel good about it, even if he didn¡¯t regret it, either. ¡°Can¡¯t say I got half as good of a read on you, though. How are you taking this?¡±
¡°By this, do you mean how you murdered my dear old uncle?¡± She smirked. ¡°I¡¯m mildly annoyed I didn¡¯t get to do it myself. Mostly, though, I¡¯m impressed. He has been more than a passing nightmare in my life, for a long time now. You got rid of him in...moments. That¡¯s absurd.¡±
¡°It¡¯s what I had to do.¡±
¡°A starving man will not fight a dragon for fruit.¡± Solara leaned forward. ¡°Needing something is rarely enough to make someone actually do it. And even when they do, it¡¯s only after much hesitation. You...didn¡¯t need that. It felt like you had already decided to kill him before we left the tower.¡±
¡°If I did, then I¡¯m afraid I gave you the wrong impression,¡± Adam said. ¡°To be accurate, I was half-planning on that since before I entered the city.¡±
Solara studied him closely for a moment, her furrowed brow the sign of a person trying to figure out whether they were in a serious conversation or not. ¡°Why did you even think you¡¯d need to do that? I thought you came here as his ally, at first.¡±
¡°I came here as your father¡¯s business partner, and Belmordo seemed suspicious as shit. When he asked me to accept a curse before entering the city...well, you know. The first thing I considered was whether there was a loophole in there. Not gonna pretend that everything went exactly like I planned, but I definitely wouldn¡¯t have entered the city without at least an idea of how to hurt the guy, if things came down to that.¡±
¡°Most impressive,¡± Solara remarked. ¡°You are certainly committed to your goals.¡±
¡°And you aren¡¯t?¡± Adam asked seriously. ¡°Most people wouldn¡¯t try acquiring a Talent from some ¡®Dark Sorcerer.¡¯¡±
¡°I...suppose that¡¯s right.¡±
¡°Who gave you that Talent, anyway?¡± Adam leaned forward with his question. This was important. ¡°Who the hell has the power to just give Talents like that, even cursed ones?¡±
¡°I cannot say,¡± Solara replied quickly. ¡°You, of all people, should understand why, Lord Adam.¡±
¡°No, I don¡¯t.¡±
YOU DO.
Hearing it was like being shot with a voice. The words were loud enough that Adam felt his skin tremble at the impact, as if he found himself amidst a music concert. Yet Solara did not appear to react to this strange voice, as if it had been too quiet for her to hear, as if it had not been violence in the form of sound.
Then Adam noticed Solara was doing more than ignoring the voice: her mouth was not moving. She was not blinking. She was not breathing.
...What...is...
Adam turned his eyes, but not his neck, to the outside of the carriage. Until now they had been moving forward at a steady pace, yet now they had come to a complete halt. Worst of all, it wasn¡¯t as if the horses had merely stopped galloping.
It was as if the entire world had frozen.
...going...on...
Adam tried to move, only to find that he too was frozen. His eyes could move, albeit with great difficulty, yet even his throat appeared paralyzed. Even his thoughts were slowed.
Suddenly, a gentleman¡¯s hand touched his shoulder from behind him. It was firm, gentle, and dignified. There was a certain warmness and noble sense to this hand, feelings that should not have been so easily invoked with a simple touch.
Worst of all was the fact that there was no space behind Adam in the carriage. He stood at one end and Solara at the other ¨C there was no way a person could stand behind him.
And yet that arm reached further, stretching past his shoulder and toward his face. Throughout it all, time stood still.
...Who...what...
The hand touched his face. It felt as though it had the shape of a hand, yet the sensation was closer to wet sand brushing against his skin. Adam still couldn¡¯t see what it looked like. Eyes...turn...turn! The act of turning his eyes felt as exhausting as lifting twice his own body weight, but Adam refused to back down. I will NOT be bossed around and left in the dark! What¡ªare¡ªyou?
That thought urged him forward, and as he felt his body urging him to faint, Adam caught a glimpse of the stranger out of a corner of his eye.
It was made of ink.
A type of ink darker than a moonless night, a sort of black that appeared so dark it drained every color that dared to touch it, even light itself. It was less of a color, more a vortex. Where...have...
His memories stirred.
It was the echo of a voice, spectral and uncanny, that had once torn him from that old, dusty room and sucked him into a painting. His pulse quickened, the rhythm a steady drumming in his ears, but he held fast to his remaining sanity.
...What...do...you...want?
Do not inquire of me, Painter. You are here to fulfill a service. Nothing else matters. Obey, and be recompensed as the Imperial Throne was. Disobey, and become our Ink.
Adam felt his consciousness fade, as though he were too drunk to remain in this world. He refused to yield. ...What...service? His thoughts felt lagged, delayed, almost foreign. Who...
FORGET IT. Within minutes, you will not remember this conversation. No one will know what you are speaking of. Even your own memory will betray you in the end, Adam. Everything does.
¡°...My lord?¡± Solara asked. ¡°Are you feeling unwell? Need you rest?¡±
Adam rubbed his temples. His heart was beating faster, his pulse was accelerated, and there was cold sweat dripping from his forehead. It was like he had just woken up from a terrible nightmare, the kind that frightens you enormously but leaves you unable to even remember what it was. What had just happened?
¡°No, I...rather, yes, I am fine. Completely fine. Have never been better. Why do you ask?¡±
¡°My lord? Are you certain?¡± Solara insisted.
¡°Yes, yes...I just...maybe...¡± Adam shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m just tired. Long day, fighting you, taking care of Belmordo...maybe I do need a moment to rest.¡±
Even your own memory will betray you in the end, Adam. Everything does.
Suddenly, not caring how odd he must have seemed to Solara, Adam pulled his backpack from the floor and withdrew his tablet. Not everything betrays me, he thought, racing to open a specific file. Even if the world fucking hates me, this¡ªhe smiled gently at his old, shabby tablet¡ªthis thing won¡¯t let me down.
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Adam let out a breath of relief as he saved the file and put his tablet away. His memory was sure to completely fade in a few minutes, but he knew this would be enough for him to understand what had happened later. He also added an alarm and a brief explanation. By the time he was done, he already felt like he¡¯d forgotten most of what he wrote. At least he managed to finish it in time.
Considering how his tablet appeared like a canvas to everyone in this world, Solara must have thought Adam looked downright insane when he pulled out a canvas from his backpack mid-sentence, started painting, then stopped and put it back without even letting the paint dry.
Whatever. He was a Lord now. He¡¯d earned the right to look insane and not be questioned too strongly about it.
¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m probably tired. We have more than a day left until we get to Penumbria, I¡¯m going to go ahead and sleep.¡±
--
The rest of the journey back was uneventful. Adam half-expected misshapen monsters to come screaming out of the forest, but apparently, the wild beasts of this world knew enough to respect a caravan of armed guards. It was a welcome reprieve after the combat and backstabbing of the Ghost and Belmordo.
When they arrived at Penumbria, Adam immediately began psyching himself up. No time to waste. As soon as we get off this carriage, it¡¯s back to work. There were many things to be done, and limited time to do them.
First, he¡¯d have to talk to Vasco about exactly what terms they¡¯d earned from rescuing Solara. The Lord of Gama could probably make a case for being upset at Adam for the death of his brother ¨C even though the guy was the personification of treason ¨C but if Adam spoke first, he could frame it as an extra service instead. Could make him pay more, even. Then there¡¯s all the planning we need to get done before the Emperor hears about what happened. Gotta move fast and¡ª
¡°SOLARA!¡±
Vasco dashed towards them as the carriage doors swung open. He didn¡¯t run like a dignified lord, but rather, like a desperate father. His face was red, his voice was shaky, and relief was openly displayed on his features. ¡°You¡¯re ¨C you¡¯re outside. You¡¯re...fine.¡±
¡°I am, Father.¡± Solara tried to sound more dignified than Vasco, but her voice cracked at the end. ¡°It...took a while. Has the outside world always been this blue? It was hard to tell from my tower.¡±
She held up her hand for her father to help her step off the carriage. Instead, he seized her in a mighty hug, lifting her up and away from the platform, his grip growing ever tighter. At first this seemed to embarrass her, because she muttered, ¡°Father, please, I...¡± But when her words faded, she embraced him back and closed her eyes, uncaring of who else might be watching.
Adam opened his mouth, closed it again, then turned his back to the family. ¡°It¡¯s been a long trip,¡± he said loudly, as if speaking to the air. ¡°I need to get some rest. My servants will see to it that Lady Solara is accommodated properly.¡±
And with that, he left without saying another word.
But not before he heard Vasco mutter, ¡°Thank you, Lord Adam.¡±
I¡¯m not doing this for you, Adam answered in his head. He stomped angrily as he walked, trying to convince himself that it was true. I don¡¯t care if you are having a moment, okay? I just ¨C I¡¯m tired. There was no way he¡¯d do something like that! He just...yeah, he needed rest. And nothing was going to keep him from that, not even his duty.
Tenver seemed able to, as he was waiting for Adam by the manor¡¯s entrance, leaning his back against the large wooden double-doors. ¡°Quite an emotional reunion there,¡± he said, in a contemplative tone. ¡°Think the backdrop could be a bit better though.¡±
Adam frowned, turning around to glance back at them. ¡°The backdrop? What are you ¨C oh Tenver, what the fuck?¡±
Turns out he must have actually been tired, because Adam had apparently missed the large, tall wooden poles arranged near the gates. Atop them were the half-decomposed severed heads of several different people, the sharp wood going through their chin all the way through the top of their skull. None of them were immediately recognizable, but there was no doubt they were some of his old courtiers.
¡°I was gone for a few days, max. How many people did you kill?¡±
¡°Nine,¡± Tenver answered promptly. ¡°I have a written report of each execution awaiting you in your chambers, Lord Adam.¡± He glanced at the heads, then shook his own. ¡°You¡¯d think that the last set of executions would be enough to deter them, but the moment they heard you were away from the castle, there was some talk of treason yet again. Something about it being their best chance at bringing Penumbria back to the Empire.¡±
¡°Keep doing that and we¡¯re going to be out of courtiers,¡± Adam dryly noted. This murderous psycho... Then again, could he really say anything about that after murdering Belmordo in cold blood?
¡°Better that way,¡± Tenver continued. ¡°I also motioned to seize their assets upon their deaths ¨C it will help with our financial state, albeit temporarily. If any more of them rebel...well, that¡¯s less courtiers to feed, and more Orbs for our coffers.¡±
Adam had the terrifying notion that Tenver probably wasn¡¯t working as hard as he could to stop them. If anything, he might be encouraging them to be more treasonous so he¡¯d have an excuse to kill them. While it was true that Aspreay had been a bit overly lax, allowing rich courtiers to populate his court without taxing them appropriately...this was a bit much.
¡°Are you unhappy?¡± Tenver asked, his voice tensing up. ¡°I admit I might have decided too much by myself.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t mind you making decisions. Stopping a coup attempt is a good idea, you know? But the murder...¡±
¡°Forgive me, my lord.¡± Tenver held his back straight and maintained his eyes on the happy family surrounded by staked heads. ¡°News reached us earlier of Gama ¨C Belmordo¡¯s death was your doing, yes? I was under the impression that this meant you were fine with necessary killing. Am I mistaken?¡±
Adam glared at him sharply, but Tenver didn¡¯t meet his eyes, instead opting to keep looking ahead. The man was grinning now, though.
¡°News travels faster than me, it seems,¡± Adam said. I¡¯m fine with some violence if needed, but ideally I¡¯d prefer something closer to the forming of the Brazilian Republic than the French Revolution in terms of bloodshed. He also wished he could make that point aloud without sounding nonsensical to a native of this world.
¡°Details were sparse,¡± Tenver noted. ¡°Care to fill me in, my lord?¡±
¡°You know, I really did want to rest,¡± Adam complained. But though he shook his head, he grunted in agreement and raised his hand as he walked into the manor. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s talk inside.¡±
Chapter 14 (Part 2)
Adam had nearly gotten a mental plan prepared in his head. They would move to his room ¨C where they¡¯d held private talks like this in the past ¨C and go over what to do next. It was simple enough.
Except that Tenver seemed very, very intent on making sure nothing went quite as planned.
¡°Tenver,¡± Adam said, closing his eyes and vaguely gesturing at their surroundings. ¡°What happened to my room?¡±
¡°Your quarters?¡± The man raised an eyebrow, clearly feigning confusion, then smiled as if he¡¯d just realized what Adam meant. ¡°Ah, these used to be your quarters, didn¡¯t they?¡±
¡°Used to be?¡± Adam cried out. ¡°Did you move my things somewhere else?¡±
¡°Absolutely.¡± Tenver¡¯s smile remained bright and strong ¨C as if Adam wasn¡¯t currently staring daggers at him. ¡°It would look bad for our lord to live in what used to be a pseudo-prison. I had you moved to what used to be Aspreay¡¯s quarters.¡±
¡°And you think I¡¯ll enjoy being in that room?¡± Adam barked out. He winced at the thought of sleeping in the room of a man he¡¯d stolen everything from. ¡°You didn¡¯t think about asking me?¡±
¡°No.¡± Tenver¡¯s voice wasn¡¯t playful this time. ¡°This room is horrible to post guards in. An assassin would get caught, sure, but only after they got to you.¡±
He couldn¡¯t argue with that. For all that Tenver was playing up his eccentricities, the man seemed genuinely concerned with keeping his new Lord alive. He wants a better life for the common people, Adam reminded himself. It¡¯s not that he¡¯s doing all of this lightly. It¡¯s just that...he¡¯s not hesitating.
Adam felt like if he objected too harshly to that, he¡¯d be a bit of a hypocrite. So instead, he just drew a deep breath and opened his eyes. ¡°And what of this?¡± he asked, dryly. ¡°What happened to my old room?¡±
¡°While it¡¯s difficult to protect because of its layout, that also makes it hard for people to listen in. I assumed it would be a good place to hold private discussions until we are done purging the disloyal from your court. You saw the crossbow trap I set before we came, yes? That¡¯s the only way through here, and the bolts would kill anyone who walked in. Won¡¯t stop a group of dedicated assassins, but it¡¯s good against gossip.¡±
Purge? Did you just say purge? Goddamn, dude. ¡°I saw you set that trap, but...aren¡¯t you afraid of killing some innocent courtier?¡± Because if he wasn¡¯t, that would say a lot about what kind of man he was.
Thankfully, Tenver absently shook his head. ¡°I left a rather large written warning close by. You¡¯d have to be blind to miss it. Anyone walking in knows they¡¯ll be shot to death unless we disarm the trap from this side.¡±
¡°That¡¯s way too ¨C okay, whatever. Still doesn¡¯t answer my original question. The hell happened to this room?¡±
¡°Hm? Oh!¡± Tenver laughed, peering around with an affectation of surprised awe. . ¡°Wow! There¡¯s quite a few drinks here, aren¡¯t there?¡±
¡°This is more than a few!¡± Adam cried out. ¡°There¡¯s barrels, for fuck¡¯s sake. And bottles. And you took out the bed to fit more alcohol here! And you¨C¡±
Tenver held out a finger to interrupt him. ¡°I also prepared the room with painting supplies, my lord.¡±
Adam instantly walked off to study the supposed supplies. The canvases were pretty decent, and there was actually a surprising variation in the types of paint he¡¯d been given ¨C somehow more than Aspreay himself had offered when forcing Adam to create those infernal paintings. They were even sorted and stored in different transparent glasses for convenience¡¯s sake.
I really wish booze, food, and art supplies weren¡¯t so effective at bribing me. ¡°I guess I can forgive you,¡± Adam begrudgingly said.
¡°You are too kind, my lord,¡± Tenver said, once again pompously.
And once again, he did not bow. There was a polite nod, yet no one could have mistaken the gesture for subservient.
Well, this is as good of a time to ask as any. ¡°I¡¯ll fill you in on what happened in Gama, but you have to tell me, right now ¨C who exactly are you, Tenver?¡±
The man stood still, flickering candlelight casting a silhouette against empty walls. His smile faded, but he did not appear uncomfortable. Rather, it was as if he¡¯d judged the weight of Adam''s question, and concluded that it demanded a heavy response. His hands, which were usually in motion, often conducting the air around him like a symphony, fell to his sides. Never before had Adam felt so deafened by silence.
And then Tenver spoke.
¡°My father was once the Emperor,¡± he said, without guile or shame..
Silence fell again.
¡°Well,¡± Adam muttered slowly, ¡°that¡¯s somehow better than what I was expecting. Go on.¡±
¡°That¡¯s all the reaction I get out of you?¡± Tenver laughed. ¡°I was hoping you¡¯d stumble away from me in horror, shielding your eyes like the sun was too bright for you.¡±
Adam raised an eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m not that stupid. No one said anything openly, but your status has seemed pretty unusual since the day I arrived. You were exiled to Penumbria, I get that ¨C but even Aspreay seemed to hold you with some regard. There were whispers here and there, and I looked into some things...could definitely use the full explanation, though.¡±
¡°Not much to explain,¡± Tenver admitted. Nevertheless, he poured Adam and himself a drink before continuing. ¡°My father was the late Emperor ¨C he was, ah, not always popular. There were some circumstances behind his death, and I was soon banished here.¡±
¡°That seems vague.¡±
¡°It is what most people know, though,¡± Tenver pointed out. ¡°And what you would also know if you hadn¡¯t lost your memory. In a small, shit town like this, where entertainment and joy are nearly as rare as Orbs, everyone has heard my tale. The son of the Emperor who was exiled to distant Penumbria, deciding to work as a guard to protect the common folk ¨C instead of partying with Aspreay all day long. It gives them hope, you know? That maybe some people at the top still care for them.¡±
¡°Before I left, ¡°Adam began, ¡°you told me you weren¡¯t a son of the Emperor.¡± He knew what the counter would be, but he wanted to hear it straight from Tenver¡¯s mouth.
¡°I¡¯m not. The current Emperor and I share no blood relation.¡±
Yeah, figured as much. ¡°What¡¯s your official title?¡±
Tenver grinned. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me, my lord? That seems like your decision.¡±
¡°Aside from whatever title I give you.¡±
¡°None that I didn¡¯t cast away the moment I pledged by sword to you.¡±
Adam loudly sighed. ¡°Tenver. Cut the bullshit and answer.¡±
¡°Fine.¡± Tenver nodded, and when he spoke, it was in a more serious tone. ¡°None that matters. I was given a duchy that was already engulfed by Rot long before I knelt before the Emperor ¨C close enough to Penumbria to justify my ¡®banishment.¡¯ Officially, I am the Emperor¡¯s fourth heir. Practically speaking, I am nothing.¡±
¡°Ah...yeah, that¡¯s a bit on the troublesome side of things,¡± Adam said, after a pause. ¡°Maybe the Emperor will take my rebellion as a chance to get rid of you.¡±
¡°He could,¡± Tenver admitted. ¡°But mayhap he will hesitate instead. I am but a name, yet mighty enough a name holds more power than many blades.¡±
Adam tried to translate that in his head. ¡°You mean you have popular support?¡±
¡°In some places. Not in most,¡± Tenver frankly said. ¡°But enough that murdering me would be seen as...a bad political move. He¡¯ll do it if needed, but I imagine he¡¯d rather do it in a way that would give him plausible deniability.¡±
¡°That¡¯ll be tricky to navigate.¡±
¡°My apologies for not informing you sooner. I understand that this might have been useful to know before planning your rebellion.¡±
¡°Eh, not really. It was really obvious, and like you said, I would¡¯ve known about it if not for my memory being screwy. I already made my plans under the assumption you were some problematic fuck they¡¯d be happy to get rid of, so if anything, this works out in our favor.¡±
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And granted, when I made those plans I wasn¡¯t super sold on wanting to live. That had changed.
¡°Thank you,¡± Tenver said, sincerely. ¡°I know it was childish of me. Only...¡± He hesitated for a second before continuing. ¡°I...quite enjoyed being spoken to like you did. Not as the exiled once-prince, but as...¡±
¡°An arrogant, psychotic bastard?¡± Adam asked, in a harsh tone. But he smiled at the end, and Tenver smiled in return. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I don¡¯t plan on changing how I talk to you.¡±
¡°Again, thank you.¡± Tenver shook his head. ¡°Now, with that out of the way...enlighten me on the details, my lord. What happened in Gama?¡±
¡°Just call me Adam. Feels condescending for you to call me lord when I know your past.¡±
Tenver considered the point. ¡°As you wish...Adam.¡±
Adam began recounting his experiences from Gama, the sheer depth of his story resonating within that small room. Tenver tuned in closely to each word, his attention captured by the vivid narrative. At times, when Adam caught a glimpse of a twinkle in the knight¡¯s eye, he¡¯d think back to Solara and how she¡¯d told him of Vasco¡¯s past. Was his storytelling like hers? Most likely not. Still, it was hard not to be a little theatrical.
For the sake of time, he skipped over a few details here and there. Adam wasn¡¯t sure if he forgot to mention anything important ¨C outside of making his fight sound more dignified and hiding the details of his wagering ability ¨C but he got the important bits across. Vasco¡¯s past, the curse, and the like.
¡°I see,¡± Tenver said, when Adam finally finished. ¡°That explains a lot. It¡¯s a concern that the elf knows of your abilities, but considering how you¡¯ve painted her soul, it sounds like she was being honest.¡±
¡°You think she can be trusted?¡±
¡°That is not what I said.¡± Tenver shook his head. ¡°Doing business with elves...I don¡¯t like it, not one bit. But she was wronged by the Emperor, and her goals are pure enough.¡±
Adam put on a bitter smile. ¡°You¡¯re the only one who¡¯d call murder pure.¡±
¡°Purity isn¡¯t always good, I don¡¯t think. To me, purity refers to an element untainted by others. Her desire to murder comes from justice, and little else ¨C I¡¯d call that pure.¡±
Supportive words, but you still sound suspicious of her. Elves really aren¡¯t looked up to here, huh? There¡¯s no wise, ancient, one-with-the-nature types in this world.
Adam wanted to say all of this aloud, but bit his lip. It was better to avoid being that honest. ¡°So...what are our plans?¡±
¡°Long term? Murdering the Emperor does sound quite nice to me, if you are fine with that as well.¡±
¡°Something tells me there¡¯s more to your father¡¯s death than you let on.¡±
¡°Aye. There is.¡± He stared at Adam. ¡°What of it?¡±
Those were not the eyes of someone who was going to share that information freely. Whatever this was, it wasn¡¯t something most people were privy to. ¡°Nothing,¡± Adam said. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly opposed to it...but I can¡¯t say that the idea of getting involved to that degree appeals to me.¡±
¡°You¡¯re already involved,¡± Tenver pointed out. ¡°Pretending otherwise will not make it so. The Emperor won¡¯t allow you to live a quiet life if you shrink in a corner. You may as well bite back.¡±
¡°Well, you¡¯re not wrong there.¡± Truthfully, Adam was already convinced of the plan, but he¡¯d rather come across like he was reluctant. He might be able to force some concessions out of Tenver and Solara if they thought he wasn¡¯t too keen on the whole rebellion deal. ¡°Not like I can live with myself knowing there are dozens of Aspreays running around and abusing their people.. They aren¡¯t worthy of ruling over themselves, let alone the thousands who depend upon them for survival.¡±
¡°And you think you are?¡± Tenver¡¯s question was sharp, but not confrontational. He seemed nakedly curious about Adam¡¯s answer.
Adam sighed. ¡°Gonna be honest, haven¡¯t even stopped to consider that. I feel like I¡¯d be an egomaniac if I thought myself worthy, and a coward if I said I wasn¡¯t. I have the willingness and the capability to do better than them ¨C do I need anything else?¡±
¡°No.¡± Tenver¡¯s lips curled into an impish grin, his eyes narrowing in mischief. He allowed a chuckle, low and rumbling, to escape his lips. ¡°That is good enough for me. It¡¯s a better answer than I would have given.¡± That last bit added a touch of bitterness to his tone. ¡°You¡¯re certain about this, then?¡±
Just then, Adam¡¯s tablet started ringing. ¡°Sorry, just ¨C give me a second.¡±
¡°Is your...canvas singing?¡± Tenver asked, suspiciously.
Huh, so its disguise has a limit. Interesting. ¡°Yeah, just, one moment.¡±
¡°You going to explain the canvas-song?¡±
¡°You going to explain what¡¯s up with you and the current Emperor?¡±
¡°Point taken.¡±
Adam glanced at his tablet and turned off the alarm. He opened it to a page full of notes, frowning at what he saw. He had no recollection of writing this whatsoever.
Luckily, his past self answered his question for him.
Adam¡¯s Notes on the Painted World
YOU WILL NOT REMEMBER HAVING WRITTEN THIS.
¡ª I was brought here after being sucked through a painting in the old man¡¯s art shop.
¡ª Some weird voice, maybe some sort of god, spoke to me then and granted me my painting powers.
¡ª They spoke to me again when the ¡®Dark Sorcerer¡¯ was brought up.
¡ª The Painted Gods have something to do with the Emperor.
¡ª They try to erase my memory of them every time I hear their voice. If you can read these notes, it seems like they can¡¯t or won¡¯t erase written notes for whatever reason.
Adam studied the notes for a long moment. While he didn¡¯t have any evidence that he was the one who wrote it...there was this nagging thought in the corner of his mind, tiny but insistent, telling him that this really had happened. Like a faded dream the morning after.
¡°Yeah, I¡¯m definitely in,¡± Adam muttered quietly. ¡°What¡¯s our next step?¡±
¡°Well,¡± a new voice said, from outside the room. ¡°I¡¯d say the first step is to finalize the details of our alliance with my father tomorrow. Then, we should secure ourselves more support before the Emperor comes knocking.¡±
The two shared a glance for only a moment before leaping to their feet. Tenver¡¯s hand fell on his sword hilt, and he would have drawn if not for Adam¡¯s own hand falling on the knight¡¯s wrist. The Lord of Penumbria shook his head at him. ¡°Solara?¡± Adam asked, with poorly-disguised unease. ¡°Is that you?¡±
¡°Who else?¡± she asked, with completely undisguised impatience. ¡°Let me in. We have much to discuss before tomorrow.¡±
¡°It¡¯s open,¡± Adam said, at the same time as Tenver said, ¡°How did you get here? Did you get around the crossbow traps? Did it not fire? I was certain that¨C¡±
¡°Oh, no,¡± Solara clarified, as she opened the door and walked in. ¡°It fired.¡±
She stood at ease in the doorway, her form an uncanny display of resilient grace ¨C as if she didn¡¯t have a number of crossbow bolts protruding from her shoulders, stomach, and chest.
Huh. Adam blinked. I¡¯m beginning to think the simple, cheap dresses she wears are less a matter of humbleness and more that she just dies too damn often.
¡°The trap certainly killed me,¡± Solara said, pulling out the first bolt and wincing mildly. ¡°I just walked in here after that. Now, my lords, can we speak regarding our planning? The Imperial Hangman might yet come knocking. Do you have any strong objections against negotiating with Dragon Puppets?¡±
Chapter 15 (Part 1)
¡°I hold neither an objection nor a motive to engage with the Dragon Puppets,¡± Tenver said, in a surprisingly quiet voice. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±
Adam didn¡¯t immediately consider the question about the Puppets. Instead, he tried to wrack his brain to remember whether he¡¯d told Tenver about Solara¡¯s Talent of resurrection. He was pretty sure that her Talent was among the things he¡¯d skipped over in his explanation ¨C it made it easier to hide his own ability to wager Talents.
Dude, if you were anyone else, I¡¯d assume you knew way too much and had some weird plan going on. But because it¡¯s you...
He looked at Tenver¡¯s serene smile as the knight calmly watched Solara shut the door behind her, snap a couple more arrows off her body, and search for a spot to sit.
...I give it even odds that you¡¯re just impossible to shock. Alternatively, he was playing at some weird game. Adam was still trying to figure him out.
¡°Well,¡± Solara said, sitting down and looking up at the two as if she wasn¡¯t covered in her own blood. ¡°I should probably start by saying I had a quick conversation with my father earlier.¡±
¡°Do you not need to speak with him further?¡± Adam asked. They¡¯d spent a couple minutes setting Tenver¡¯s crossbow trap before coming here, but it couldn''t have been very long. ¡°I¡¯d understand if you need more time to catch up. We can wait until¨C¡±
¡°No need. My father and I have all the time in the world to speak to each other now...thanks to you, my lord.¡± Solara spoke calmly, a hint of a smile on her face. ¡°He wanted some time alone to speak to Aspreay, anyhow. Tell him how everything went. It¡¯s simply something he has to do.¡±
Aspreay¡¯s soulless husk was currently stashed away in a safe tower guarded by Adam¡¯s most loyal men. It wouldn¡¯t be easy for Vasco to force his way in there with strength alone ¨C but if he threw his authority around, the guards would be very, very hesitant to fight a lord.
Adam took a second to consider that. Another lord running around and doing as he pleases might reflect poorly on Adam¡¯s rule. Perhaps make him look a bit weak. However, after everything that had transpired with his daughter, Vasco was probably feeling more than a little emotional right now.
Eh...considering the circumstances...it sucks, but I should probably let it go. It¡¯s understandable.
Tenver leaped to his feet and drew his sword. ¡°This is not Vasco¡¯s castle. While he is an honored guest, he may not meet our prisoner without Lord Adam¡¯s word.¡± He unsheathed his sword and looked at Adam. ¡°My lord, your orders?¡±
¡°Halt!¡± Solara exclaimed. ¡°You can¡¯t mean ¨C my father has not wronged you! He gave me permission to negotiate terms with you in the meantime!¡±
Adam had to work incredibly hard to keep a blank expression on his face. Tenver, you goddamn murder puppy, slow the fuck down for one second, won¡¯t you? ¡°Go...and escort him to see Aspreay.¡± Adam said. ¡°With my permission.¡±
Tenver held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. ¡°If that is your decision...well, then I shall see it done.¡±
¡°Why wouldn¡¯t it be?¡± Adam said, smirking. ¡°Solara came here to request permission for that, didn¡¯t she?¡±
¡°Ah,¡± Solara replied, realization dawning on her, ¡°yes, my lord. That is why.¡±
¡°Then I will take my leave,¡± Tenver said. His grin didn¡¯t fade, his tone didn¡¯t shift, but his displeasure felt plain as day. ¡°Lord Adam, I left my report on our finances on your desk. Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me...¡±
Adam nodded. He was more than happy to let the matter end like this, even if Tenver was unhappy about the matter for some reason. No need to pry it out of him now and risk things getting more tense. Better to just¨C
¡°Is your hostility because of my ears, Lord Tenver? Do you resent my father for saving elves at the cost of spilling noble blood?¡± Solara asked sharply. ¡°I admit I expected more of the famed Lord Tenver. Are you the kind of simple man that considers elves to be monstrosities?¡±
Just five minutes. Can I have some peace for five freaking minutes?
Tenver stopped at the doorway. He remained still for a long moment, then turned around with a smile. ¡°Well, my lady, are you the kind of simple woman that thinks Dragon Puppets to be monstrosities?¡±
¡°That¡¯s an absurd comparison. We rode dragons; we weren¡¯t built by them like affronts to life itself.¡± Solara trembled at her own words as if the mental image repulsed her. ¡°Elves are nature¡¯s greatest champions, and the existence of Dragon Puppets is a sin against nature. You cannot compare me to those disgusting monsters.¡±
¡°Well, that answers it, doesn¡¯t it?¡±
¡°Wait!¡± Solara shouted. ¡°We aren¡¯t done¨C¡±
Tenver¡¯s grin merely widened as he walked out the door, closing it behind him without saying another word.
Solara sighed and put up her legs on the table between them. Her noble expression was gone, replaced by something between exasperation and pure annoyance, with just a touch of arrogant amusement in her smirk. ¡°What a weird fucking guy you¡¯ve got there,¡± she said, shifting her unbelieving gaze from the door to Adam. ¡°He¡¯s a bit off, isn¡¯t he?¡±
At that point, she pulled out another bolt from her torso.
I legitimately don¡¯t know if you¡¯re fucking with me or if you¡¯re that hypocritical.
She grabbed a glass, poured a drop of some sort of juice in it, and filled the rest with rum. Then, with the same motion, she put down the bottle, broke the crossbow bolt in two, and used the smaller side to mix her drink together. ¡°This mixture tastes quite good. Do you want to try it, my lord?¡±
Well, that answers that.
--
¡°¡®Mixture¡¯ sounds like a misnomer. Isn¡¯t that mostly alcohol?¡± Adam asked.
¡°Well, you don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±
¡°Hey, never said I wouldn¡¯t try it!¡± Adam protested, leaning forward and accepting a sip from the mischievous elf. I can¡¯t even taste the alcohol. Am I that tired, or is this juice something else? He handed the drink back to her, then said, ¡°That conversation with Tenver was getting tense at the end.¡±
Solara sipped at her drink and nodded slowly. ¡°Does my lord blame me?¡±
¡°You know, it feels almost patronizing when you call me ¡®my lord¡¯ and try to sound all regal while your feet are literally on the table.¡±
¡°Would you rather I was wholly formal?¡±
¡°Not at all,¡± he told her quickly. ¡°But maybe if you could pick either the formal talk or the more casual behavior and stick to it, that would be great.¡±
Adam didn¡¯t think anything he¡¯d said was particularly troublesome, but it was hard not to notice the immediate impact this had on Solara¡¯s mood. Her eyes widened for the second, and she held her gaze before suddenly appearing to find her empty wine glass very interesting.
¡°Picking one would be...nice,¡± she said, hesitantly. ¡°I wasn¡¯t raised as a noble until late in my childhood. Too late. This way of speech you take for granted does not come naturally to me.¡±
You think this shit is natural to me? Huh. Adam nodded gravely. ¡°I understand,¡± he lied. He didn¡¯t. Nobody who hadn¡¯t gone through what she had ever would, really. But he could try. ¡°You must work very hard for the sake of your father ¨C and your noble house.¡±
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¡°Aye, my lord. I do. And if you¡¯ll allow some arrogance, I¡¯m quite good at it. But sometimes...¡± Solara brought her glass to her lips and turned the bottom upside down. Then, after setting it down with a thunderous gesture, she said, ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s been a long couple of days¡ªweeks¡ªmonths¡ªso I just want to go ahead and say this: what the fuck is wrong with Tenver?¡±
¡°Wish I knew,¡± Adam muttered, bitterly and honestly. Knowing Tenver¡¯s background would help him make sense of the man¡¯s actions.
¡°Do you trust him?¡±
¡°About as much as I trust you.¡±
Solara smirked. ¡°Should I take that as a sign of the trust you placed in me, or of your mistrust in him?¡±
¡°Perhaps both.¡±
This wasn¡¯t entirely true, but the truth was too murky for Adam to even be certain of, let alone state clearly.
He knew Tenver far better than Solara. After all, the two of them spent months finding common ground in their dislike of Aspreay. And now, knowing his past...Tenver had even less reason to help me than I originally thought. He risked a lot.
The problem was that Adam didn¡¯t exactly know what the man¡¯s goals even were. Sure, Tenver had claimed that his intention was to help the common folk, but...well, that could easily be a lie. Meanwhile, although Adam barely knew Solara, he had also been able to paint her soul.
Adam didn¡¯t trust most things, but he did trust his Talent ¨C his art. Even if Eric had tried taking that away from him.
However, just because he¡¯d painted her soul, it didn¡¯t mean he should trust her implicitly. Yeah, he knew her goals ¨C so what? Adam knew she wanted to kill the Emperor, but that didn¡¯t mean she wouldn¡¯t stab him in the back at some point. Everyone betrays everyone if they need to. I have to remember that.
Still...being aware of her goals was definitely worth something. The only question was what he trusted more: his months of time spent with Tenver, or what he could glimpse of Solara with his Talent.
It only took him a moment to reach a decision. Of course it¡¯s my art, Adam thought, as if admonishing himself. I can be wrong, but my paintings can¡¯t. Which means Solara is more trustworthy by default.
No reason to tell her that, though. ¡°If you are here on Vasco¡¯s behalf,¡± he said, changing the subject, ¡°then let¡¯s talk business. Where does Gama stand regarding Penumbria?¡±
Solara sat up straighter. ¡°First, your rewards. As per my father¡¯s agreement, Penumbria will have free access to our port. We¡¯ll be light on the taxation, even.¡±
¡°How light?¡± Adam sharply asked.
¡°Enough that our own nobles won¡¯t overly complain. I imagine that their barking will be soft and quiet after witnessing what happened to Belmordo. Ah, and of course,¡± Solara said, snapping her fingers, ¡°the Orbs you were promised.¡±
With her gesture, a parade of red orbs phased out from within her body. They floated through the air, traveling in an arch towards Adam. When the Orbs entered his chest, he didn¡¯t feel a thing, as if watching a projection rather than a physical object. I¡¯m never gonna get used to this.
Adam withdrew his tablet and glanced at the number of Orbs he¡¯d just received.
Name: Adam
Talents and Rank:
Painter [Apprentice]
Stained Ink [Apprentice]
Lord [Baron]
Orbs: ?4,960,508
Lifetime Orbs: ?4,985,508
Unbelievable...a million Orbs just like that. Plus the 640,000 that came out of Belmordo''s personal pocket. Guess even a poor city like Gama still has so much more than Penumbria.
¡°I hope that is to your satisfaction, Lord Adam,¡± Solara said slyly. Her tone would¡¯ve seemed modest if her smirk didn¡¯t say she knew exactly how exorbitant of an ¡®advance¡¯ that was. ¡°This should see you through the rest of the year until you can set up your trade deals, yes?¡±
¡°Eh...¡± Adam frowned. ¡°Well, I mean...¡±
Solara¡¯s eyes widened in shock. ¡°You can¡¯t possibly mean your funds are that ¨C how badly did Aspreay screw up?¡±
Adam lifted up the report Tenver had left behind. It looked promising, but he knew better than to place his hopes too quickly. The nobles that the knight ¨C was it fine to call him that? ¨C had killed were no longer an expense for Penumbria to deal with, and their seized assets granted them an extra ?127,328 Orbs. I can¡¯t access those Orbs, so Tenver must have them. He better hand them over. Still, even accounting for those...
He''d been planning to save the ?640,124 Orbs he got from Belmordo for a special project. If he discounted those Orbs from his current total, he had ?4,320,384 to work with. And if the yearly cost of operating Penumbria was ?5,050,000, they¡¯d need...what, five more courtiers dead? One more, if he opted to dip into the Belmordo fund? I mean, we do have plenty of courtiers to spare.
Adam halted that thought in its tracks. It was too dark and too frighteningly logical for a joke. No matter how he personally felt about rich noble pricks, he wasn¡¯t going to execute innocent people for money.
Then again...could he even say that those bastards who¡¯d feasted every day while the common folk starved and froze to death were innocent? Maybe they hadn¡¯t done anything, per se, but that was exactly the problem.
Easy there, Che Guevara, he told himself. Better calm down before those thoughts took over. Fortunately, there was something else for him to focus his attention on. ¡°You seem surprised that Aspreay screwed up Penumbria¡¯s economy to this extent.¡±
Actually, he wouldn¡¯t be surprised if their estimated amount of needed Orbs was inaccurate. Aspreay was probably calculating it based on the bare minimum, and considering how he¡¯d run the city, that probably accounted for stiffing some people on their pay and kicking other things down the road to pay later. A 5 million cost for operating the city sounded...a bit too low. Hell, it wouldn¡¯t surprise Adam if Aspreay was artificially keeping the administration costs down for the sake of spending those Orbs elsewhere.
If he was going to be a corrupt official, couldn¡¯t he at least have been a competent one that hoarded orbs? Then they¡¯d be in my pocket right about now, and fixing the city would be way easier.
¡°Surprised?¡± Solara parroted. ¡°I mean, yes. How was he running a city with a deficit of over a million Orbs?¡±
¡°He wasn¡¯t, really. It¡¯s...complicated.¡± Adam made a mental note to have someone do a deep dive on their finances soon. ¡°But more importantly ¨C you came in here to talk about doing business with the Dragon Puppets, didn¡¯t you?¡±
Solara tilted her head. ¡°What of it?¡±
¡°Only that you very clearly hate them. So if you¡¯re willing to do business with them, it means that whatever you¡¯re worried about is an urgent matter. And since you clearly thought Penumbria would be covered by that million Orbs, the issue isn¡¯t a financial one.¡±
Adam lifted his chin in a quick snap to accentuate the point. ¡°So, gotta ask. Why are you pushing for trade with them?¡±
Chapter 15 (Part 2)
¡°Ah...that. Well.¡± Her tone grew displeased. Not at him, or at least not obviously so. This topic didn¡¯t seem to be her favorite, though. ¡°Getting rid of Belmordo was a fantastic move, but if we¡¯re being honest, we can¡¯t ignore the Hangman. Rumors travel fast. There¡¯s a good chance he¡¯ll soon come to Penumbria and investigate what happened to Aspreay.¡±
Adam had considered that possibility. While it wasn¡¯t his favorite plan, if he had to fight a Hangman, the only way he¡¯d stand any chance would be to start the fight in Penumbria where he could use his Lord Talent. Alternatively, he hoped to be able to talk his way out of it somehow. He already had half of a plan in mind for that.
¡°I¡¯ve considered spreading rumors that I¡¯m Aspreay¡¯s bastard son,¡± Adam said, slowly. ¡°It could make the takeover seem borderline legitimate ¨C and to anyone who doesn¡¯t know my Talent, it would explain why he allowed some random nobody to work in his court. If I can make my case, the Hangman might believe me.¡±
Solara chuckled lightly at first, then burst out laughing. ¡°I think the idea that Aspreay fathered a child may be a harder sell than you¡¯d think,¡± she said. ¡°It could work. Nevertheless, you¡¯ll need some time for the rumors to take effect, and the Hangman isn¡¯t going to lag behind us for long. There is no guarantee that he¡¯ll come here, but you should still prepare for the possibility.¡±
¡°And judging by the way you¡¯re smirking, you think the Dragon Puppets would help with that?¡±
¡°Frankly, my initial plan was to just get you out of here somehow. Even if they deem you a traitor, they won¡¯t run rampant in the city ¨C not if you aren¡¯t here.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Penumbria and Gama are already too linked for me to be uncaring of your fate. My priority is keeping you alive. But if we can keep you alive long enough for the Aspreay rumors to take effect...¡±
¡°Which brings us back to the Dragon Puppets. How come they¡¯ll keep me alive?¡±
Solara eyed him curiously. It was a look Adam had grown used to seeing since entering the painted world, but it had become rarer lately. The ¡®What the hell are you talking about, did you hit your head or something? This is obvious¡¯ look.
Adam really wasn¡¯t a fan of playing the amnesia card. Even if Solara had heard of it ¨C and he wasn¡¯t sure that was the case ¨C overusing that card just made him look vulnerable. Easy to betray. It was better to investigate in a manner that didn¡¯t admit ignorance.
Then, even if they find out I¡¯m full of shit, they¡¯ll just assume that my supposed amnesia was what I was actually hiding. Some people know about my supposed lost memories, but it¡¯s better if I treat it like something I¡¯m trying to hide, like a shameful open secret. Makes the whole lie more believable. Just gotta give the act a few more layers.
And one such layer was to cover up his ignorance with arrogance. ¡°Come now. Do you truly believe that the Hangman won¡¯t get through if I hide among the Dragon Puppets?¡± What should I add to make that sound believably myopic on my part...right! ¡°Last I checked, the Hangmen annihilated the Puppets. They annihilated them so thoroughly that we used the hole they blew through their mountain as a tunnel to cut the travel time between our cities.¡±
¡°And yet they couldn¡¯t completely eradicate the Puppets,¡± she fired back fiercely. ¡°Do you think the Emperor would have stopped short of that if he could? He can¡¯t get to the remaining underground settlements. Their Grandmasters have seen to that.¡±
Adam wasn¡¯t sure about much when it came to psychology but he knew one simple truth in life. If you act like you¡¯re uncertain about something, people will invariably suspect that you don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. They won¡¯t even bother correcting you, either.
But if you act like an asshole making broad claims, they will tell you what you want to know, in a ridiculous amount of detail, while not second-guessing your credentials at all ¨C just to prove you wrong.
¡°Oh? Are you sure of that?¡± Adam asked, stifling a laugh. Then, he leaned forward and said with a serious tone, ¡°You and I both know that if the Emperor really wanted to, he could kill them.¡±
Adam did not, in fact, know that. And just as he expected, Solara couldn¡¯t resist countering his argument. ¡°He could,¡± she began, ¡°but considering how far this region is from the capital and the people he¡¯d have to mobilize, the Orb cost of that campaign would be absurd. Do you have any idea what he¡¯d need to break through their protection?¡±
He feigned laziness, scratching the back of his head. ¡°Eh...let¡¯s see...¡±
This time, she was so impatient she didn¡¯t wait for him to finish speaking ¡°The Grandmaster of the Puppets has an Emperor-Ranked Talent. Blacksmithery may be of Silver, but that would still mean he¡¯d need, at the very least, someone with a Gold Talent of Prince to have a shot.¡±
Adam¡¯s mind raced through whatever inferences and theories he could glean from that. ¡°Well, there¡¯s some truth to that,¡± he said, as if he understood it.
Back at the tower, the Ghost had said that a Talent cannot overcome a stronger Talent. Yet, there appeared to be more to it than that. If I take both those claims at face value...I think that Talents have a hierarchy of sorts. They can compensate for a difference in Rank by simply having a better Talent...to a degree.
This logic held up, as far as Adam could consider. Otherwise, a baker might be able to bake bread so amazing that a swordsman of equal Rank was unable to slice through it. He then imagined a more extreme scenario, where an Emperor-Ranked baker made literal bread armor, impervious to weaker Talents entirely.
While funny, it probably didn¡¯t happen too often. People with weaker magical abilities were unlikely to get enough Orbs to upgrade themselves.
Don¡¯t know the exact hierarchy yet, but if Solara is confident in her assessment, so am I. He made a mental note to update his notes later.
Notes on the Painted World
¡ª Talents cannot beat Talents of a stronger Rank.
¡ª Addendum: the strength of the Talent also takes into account the type of Talent. Some Talents have a higher standing than others.
¡ª Talents of higher standing can compensate for a difference in Rank, but I don¡¯t know the precise amount of Ranks as of yet.
¡ª Maybe do some tests later?
¡ª Solara said that an Emperor-Ranked Silver Talent would need at least a Prince-Ranked Gold Talent to counter it. How many steps are there in that hierarchy?
¡ª However, Talent users can still be hurt indirectly.
That was probably the most he could guess in a short amount of time. There was no way for Adam to know how right or wrong he might be...which meant the only way through was forward. Unfortunately, he also knew the risk of making conjecture based on limited information. Crossing over that tightrope of logic grew more and more difficult every time he tried it. If he kept pushing his luck like this, he¡¯d phenomenally fuck up sooner or later.
But not now, hopefully. ¡°So you¡¯re saying that the Grandmaster of the Puppets covered their underground cavern with enough material that the Emperor wouldn¡¯t waste his manpower hunting them down?¡±
¡°At the very least, I can promise you that even a Hangman won¡¯t be able to get through that,¡± Solara said, sharply. ¡°And even if he could, there¡¯s no way he¡¯d start another war against the Puppets. Not without the Emperor¡¯s approval and support. Attacking them by himself ¨C when they are essentially violent recluses that rarely venture out of their dirt ¨C would be ludicrous.¡±
¡°And you want me to deal with them?¡± Adam asked, in an incredulous tone. ¡°Why would they do business with me?
He wanted to say, I don¡¯t know much, but I can guess they hate the Empire as much as you do. Instead, he said, ¡°Do you know of a way to get there safely?¡±
Solara hesitated at the question, but only briefly. ¡°I do.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t sound happy about it.¡±
¡°There is one merchant ship that sometimes stops in Gama. It often travels to the Puppet Mines. He appears to have formed some sort of relationship with them, and has performed services for Father in our stead.¡±
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Well, that explained why Vasco had been so confident about his ability to trade with the Dragon Puppets during their first negotiation. So that hadn¡¯t just been an empty bluff, huh?
¡°And you don¡¯t sound happy about it because...¡±
Solara allowed herself a deep sigh. She put her feet down, seeming to search for the right words before speaking. ¡°I¡¯ve only heard rumors,¡± the elf started, carefully. ¡°My spies sent me letters while I was in the tower, but...well...¡±
¡°Go on.¡±
¡°They¡¯ve noticed that the merchant has to replace his crew...quite often. Enough to be suspicious.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Anyhow, the Mines are safer than Penumbria, and you need to find a way to get more Orbs for your city, yes? So you don¡¯t have a choice!¡±
There was some logic ¨C key word being ¡®some¡¯ ¨C in her claims. Adam hadn¡¯t heard of the Dragon Puppet mines while studying the geography of the region, or else he¡¯d have planned for them much sooner. But if they were a powerful, Empire-hating group hiding underground, located close to Penumbria and Gama...
¡°Wait a minute,¡± Adam said suddenly, lifting up his gaze to meet Solara¡¯s. ¡°I was wondering why you were pushing so heavily for this. You want to recruit them to our side, don¡¯t you? Because you want the Emperor de¨C¡±
¡°Shh. The walls have ears.¡± Solara¡¯s eyes sparkled with naked ambition. There was a touch of mischief to her smirk, like a child caught stealing desert before dinner, rather than a noble harboring treasonous Emperor-slaying ambitions. ¡°Oh, no, you got me.¡±
And here I thought I was doing a decent job at tricking her...she¡¯s dangerous. Can¡¯t let my guard down for one second. ¡°You¡¯re something else.¡±
¡°I told you, didn¡¯t I?¡± There was no shame in her tone. Instead, there was pride in the elf¡¯s voice ¨C more so than in any actual nobleman Adam had met so far. ¡°I have a dream.¡±
She sounded optimistic, innocent, as if killing the fucking Emperor deserved the same gravitas as opening up a candy shop by a small town. Then again, given her past, he could see why.
¡°Well,¡± Adam said, after a sigh. ¡°Whatever your plans are...you still raise a solid point. This might be the best way to keep me alive.¡±
Adam couldn¡¯t trust her. Not yet. But he could trust that he¡¯d be of use to her dream. As long as the Emperor was his enemy, she¡¯d want him to stick around.
¡°The only thing left will be to convince Lord Tenver of the idea,¡± Solara said, with a shrug. ¡°He is your right hand man ¨C and a good reason why your claim to Penumbria has any legitimacy at all. It may not be best to go against his wishes, and he expressed distaste at the idea when I suggested it earlier.¡±
¡°You¡¯re not wrong about that.¡± Adam peered down at the report Tenver had prepared for him. ¡°Wonder how we should¨C¡±
Oh.
Solara leaned forward. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±
¡°You and Tenver,¡± he said, slowly, ¡°are rather difficult to handle.¡±
Between the notes on their economy, seized goods, and how the Rot had been advancing in the city, Adam¡¯s eyes wandered to a corner of the page where Tenver had left a few handwritten suggestions for their next actions.
HOW ABOUT THE DRAGON PUPPETS? THEY¡¯RE HARD TO REACH BUT I HAPPEN TO KNOW A SAFE AND FAST PASSAGE.
¡°Tenver,¡± Adam muttered. ¡°Buddy. You were just acting like that was a bad idea. Why are you ¨C what¡¯s your game?¡±
He heaved a heavy sigh. I need sleep. Goddamn it, I need sleep. Don¡¯t understand what Tenver is doing...can¡¯t trust Solara...but maybe I won¡¯t need to worry. If we hear reports that the Hangman turned back and isn¡¯t coming down to Penumbria, everything should be fine.
--
THE IMPERIAL CITY OF GAMA ¡ª THREE DAYS AFTER BELMORDO¡¯S DEATH
Gryphon the Hangman was having the time of his life.
¡°Hey you, waitress ¨C get me more wine!¡± he shouted, laughing drunkenly. When she bowed her head and left, he laughed again.
This was the best.
Not only did he get to kill some annoying fuckhead, he was also getting treated like a king in Gama. Their lord wasn¡¯t present, and he¡¯d just killed their acting leader, so the city was bending over backwards to serve him.
¡°I said more alcohol, goddamn it! Ah, that¡¯s fucking better, lady! There...there you go, thanks!¡± Dear god he was drunk. He hadn¡¯t been this drunk since, what, six or seven months ago? Best to enjoy it while he could.
Gryphon couldn¡¯t stay there forever, of course. While he had a lot of leeway with the Emperor, he was still the youngest of the Hangmen, and needed to do his duties lest the walrus-faced bastard unleash the other Hangmen on him for disobeying orders.
And that...now that, would just suck.
His current excuse for being here was that he was trying to find out how Belmordo got cursed. That way, he could explain everything to the Emperor when he returned. Whatever. Honestly, he probably wasn¡¯t going to find anything, and he wasn¡¯t looking particularly hard either. A few days of investigating would let him report back that he did look, though.
It wasn¡¯t all smooth sailing. The Gama lords kept bugging him to head to Penumbria and investigate some crazy dude. Apparently, he¡¯d killed the lord over there. I could not give less of a shit if I tried, he thought. They better stop asking me about that.. As far as he was concerned, good on the guy for murdering Aspreay. Not that Gryphon knew Aspreay, but the guy was probably a prick anyway.
Still, the local nobles were very insistent on trying to get him to listen.
¡°¡ªMaster Gryphon¡ª¡±
¡°¡ªPlease, Master¡ª¡±
¡°¡ªJust a moment of your time¡ª¡±
Shut the fuck up, will you? The constant interruptions were making it harder to enjoy the drinking, dancers, and partying. He¡¯d already killed some monsters for them as a bonus, so why couldn¡¯t they just leave him alone? Maybe I should head back to the capital already. These idiots will get worse every day that I don¡¯t listen to them.
¡°Look, I was here to kill the Cursed noble, and did. My job here is done. I need to report back to the Emperor and ¨C wait.¡± Gryphon suddenly stopped. He sat up in his chair, shoving away the dancer wrapped around his arm in order to grab the parchment from the noble¡¯s hand. ¡°Where did you get this?¡± the Hangman demanded. ¡°WHERE?¡±
The supplicant noble bowed his head. ¡°My lord, I...I apologize. This is the Lord of Penumbria¡¯s gift that was bestowed upon the late Belmordo. We¡¯ve been trying to tell you for days¨C¡±
¡°Silence.¡±
Gryphon studied the drawing carefully. It was a terrible portrait of Belmordo, so bad it almost seemed intentional, drawn with a single color ¨C black ink. In fact, the drawing was so bad that there wasn¡¯t much to make out of the style itself.
But there were other signs there.
Many, many signs. The way there was an even uglier outline of the sketch ¨C who else sketched a sketch? ¨C in one corner, the way the artist appeared to avoid the edges of the page...well, well, well...
The Hangman stood up, instantly feeling sober. ¡°I¡¯ll be heading to Penumbria,¡± he announced.
¡°Master, thank you! Please, as we¡¯ve been saying, Belmordo was the victim of¨C¡±
Gryphon wasn¡¯t listening anymore. He reached for his knapsack and withdrew his most precious object, placing it beside the page and comparing some old things with it to test his theory. Yeah...he was right. He had to be. I don¡¯t know how...or why...but I¡¯m right.
He slammed his fist at the table, his eyes fixated on the drawing.
¡°What are you doing in this world, Adam?¡±
Dancing, music, and celebration still echoed throughout the tavern, but they were of little consequence now. The nobles continued to pester him, and their voices might as well have been the wind for all he cared. Peasants sang along to the bards, off-tune, and he didn¡¯t even tell them to shut up. None of it mattered.
Beside the drawing, his tablet¡¯s screen shone bright.
Eric Gryphon
Viscount of Painting
Count of Hangmen
Chapter 16 (Part 1)
¡°We have three options if we want to reach the Dragon Puppets,¡± Adam began, settling into his chair. ¡°First, I can put my trust in your vague plan. Second, I can put my trust in Tenver¡¯s vague plan.¡±
Solara lifted an eyebrow. ¡°And the third option?¡±
¡°I can refuse to go meet with the Puppets at all,¡± Adam said, with a noncommittal shrug. ¡°Honestly, you and Tenver both trying to push me in that direction makes me want to take a detour towards literally anywhere else.¡±
¡°Are you serious?¡± Solara blinked a few times in stunned silence. ¡°You know what kind of danger you¡¯re in. There¡¯s no way you¡¯d be willing to risk your life just out of spite ¨C oh good heavens, you actually would, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±
Adam allowed himself to smirk at that. He probably shouldn¡¯t be proud of his stubborn streak, but it was one of the few things he¡¯d had in life for a very long time, and he liked to treasure his possessions. ¡°The possibility did come to mind, once or twice. Maybe three times. That said, I will admit that the Hangman is...a bit of a problem. If you have inroads with the Dragon Puppets, then retreating to their Mines sounds like a good enough suggestion.¡±
He leaned forward, searching her face for signs of duplicity. ¡°Except that most people don¡¯t seem to be fans of them. There¡¯s gotta be a reason for that.¡±
¡°They are undead monsters wearing false skin,¡± Solara said, in a surprisingly quiet voice. ¡°People liken them to us, as if elves were also unnatural creatures spawned by another. Dragon Puppets aren¡¯t even alive, let alone capable of the morality that designates man from beast. My lord, there is merit in meeting with them, I wouldn¡¯t have suggested this otherwise...but make no mistake: they are not to be trusted.¡±
No one is, Adam considered, although he managed to keep the thought from touching his lips. ¡°Solara, you mentioned before about not enjoying the fancy, overdone way of speaking that nobles use...so do you mind if I speak candidly with you for a moment?¡±
¡°By all means.¡± After a moment, her shoulders dropped slightly, and her smile became less respectful ¨C and more genuine. ¡°Go right ahead.¡±
¡°My problem is that I have no guarantee you aren¡¯t trying to kill me,¡± he said, in a forthright tone bereft of malice. ¡°You or Tenver, for that matter. Sure, both of you have good reasons to keep me alive, but reasons can change. People can change. All it would take is for one of you to decide that betraying me to the Emperor has more upsides than staying as an ally. Maybe I¡¯d feel different if I knew you better, but as it stands, I just can¡¯t tell what¡¯s going through your heads.¡±
Solara let out an amused chuckle. ¡°I suppose leading you into an underground city via shady means of transportation does look suspicious, doesn¡¯t it? Unfortunately, your alternative is to stay here and let the Hangman come knocking.¡±
¡°Maybe I should. Might beat him myself and save everyone the trouble.¡±
She didn¡¯t bother to dignify that with a response, which was fair. Adam drew a deep breath, centering himself. I can¡¯t fall into the trap of mistaking paranoia for wisdom. Second-guessing myself into doing nothing would be worse than making a wrong call and getting betrayed.
He knew that. He truly did. But still... ¡°Come on, Solara. Give me something to work with here. Tell me why I should trust you over Tenver.¡±
¡°Because you don¡¯t have a choice.¡±
¡°Really not helping here.¡±
¡°I mean it, though,¡± she insisted. ¡°Think about it. You haven¡¯t established an intelligence network yet. You have no way of double-checking if me or Tenver are being truthful. At the same time, inaction would get you killed. So, you have to pick one of us.¡±
That wasn¡¯t strictly true, but Adam decided to let it slide, for the moment. ¡°Okay ¨C then convince me to pick you over Tenver.¡±
¡°Well, to start...while you claim not to know me, you ¨C at the very least ¨C know what my naked soul looks like.¡± Solara let the word hang for a moment. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be trivial for you to take my soul as well, if I were to go against you?¡±
It would. Adam had already thought about keeping a finished painting of her saved within his tablet. At that point, he could steal her soul merely by flipping the screen around.
None of that is a guarantee, though. What if she killed me before I could show her the painting? What if she gouged her own eyes out so she couldn¡¯t see it? What if Vasco hired an invisible assassin to keep watch over me at all times?
Some of Adam¡¯s concerns were reasonable. Some, admittedly, were a little absurd. They all bothered him regardless. He wasn¡¯t perfect; eventually, he would miss something, and it would come back to bite him.
Like ¨C for example ¨C the reason why Solara had pointed out that he could paint her. He struggled to fathom why anyone would suggest that. It went beyond ¡®daring¡¯ and rocketed straight into abject recklessness. Was it really just because she wanted to get the Dragon Puppets on their side? Was her desire to kill the Emperor so strong that she was willing to gamble her very soul?
He needed to know.
¡°I¡¯m still tempted to stay here and face the Hangman,¡± Adam stubbornly said. Which was a lie, but playing coy might get her to offer up more info. ¡°And while meeting the Puppets isn¡¯t a bad idea, I can always do it on my terms. Send envoys. Get them talking.¡±
¡°Look, you don¡¯t have time to¨C¡±
With a muted growl, Solara cut her own complaint short. She rubbed her temples, as if massaging a brewing headache, and slowly exhaled. ¡°Listen to me. There are very few ways to get into the Mines. Even if you perform a personal investigation, you¡¯ll likely end up finding the same way I¡¯m thinking of. In fact, it wouldn¡¯t shock me if Tenver and I have similar methods.¡±
Adam fell quiet as he considered that. While Solara sounded truthful, she was still being vague on the details. Which was fine, but it also meant he would have to put in extra work to ensure that he could trust her. At least for now.
¡°We should stop here,¡± Adam said, through a sigh. ¡°There¡¯s a few things I¡¯d like to check out before we go ¨C if we go. Let¡¯s reconvene tomorrow, assuming we have time.¡±
¡°I have no objections.¡± Solara paused, her teeth clenching. ¡°Actually, I do have some objections.¡± With that, her voice gained some of its prior nobility, alongside a spark of legitimate annoyance that Adam hadn¡¯t heard before. ¡°The game of titles and nobles is a cruel one, to be certain...but do you really think I¡¯d be so low as to betray the person who just saved me from a curse to the bloody Emperor?¡±
What emotion was that on her face? Disgust? Anger? It was hard to parse. Adam hadn¡¯t ever been the most popular man in the world, but he wasn¡¯t used to having women look at him that way. Although...now that he thought about it, he was certain that he¡¯d seen that expression once before. But where, though?
And why are you so offended?
¡°Most likely not,¡± Adam conceded, albeit reluctantly. ¡°But my duel with your Ghost taught me I¡¯m actually more fond of living than I realized. If that¡¯s the case, then I can¡¯t afford to be reckless with my life.¡±
Besides. If I die, this entire city ¨C and everyone who lives in it ¨C is in serious trouble. It would be a real dick move to kick the bucket and leave them without a Lord. None of them had asked for Adam to seize the reins of Penumbria from Aspreay. He was intruding on them, really. And since he was forcing them to put up with his intrusion, becoming a good Lord was just the only decent thing to do, wasn¡¯t it?
¡°Lord Adam,¡± Solara began, slowly. ¡°Despite how I¡¯ve spent years locked away in a tower...I feel as if I still trust people more than you. What happened?¡±
¡°Not what.¡± Adam stood up and walked to the doorway. ¡°Who.¡±
--
He was prepared to leave the next day if needed, but for once, reality turned out to be slightly kinder than he¡¯d expected.
Solara and Tenver¡¯s spies both agreed that the Hangman was going to come knocking on their door soon enough ¨C yet not immediately. For whatever reason, the man had stayed in Gama for a few days without taking action, before abruptly sending ravens all over to ask for news on Penumbria. While it was unfortunate that they hadn¡¯t slipped his notice entirely, the Hangman at least seemed unwilling to attack without more information. It afforded them some time to gather their thoughts, albeit not much.
Adam had no intention of wasting that opportunity.
First up on his to-do list was assessing Penumbria¡¯s finances. To no surprise, Aspreay¡¯s documentation was woefully inadequate at best, and purposefully incomplete at worst. Too many loopholes, too many people not paying their taxes, some being forced to pay too much.
He needed to ensure that Penumbria would still have a stable economy ¨C or any economy, really ¨C when he returned.
Which was why he now stood in the throne room, alone except for the sole person he¡¯d summoned. He didn¡¯t want witnesses for this part.
¡°Greetings,¡± said Esteban the guard, in a wary voice. ¡°You...wished to see me?¡±
¡°Yeah.¡± Adam remained seated on Aspreay¡¯s throne ¨C no, his throne. He could tell from Esteban¡¯s eyes that the Imperial Guard felt uneasy about this meeting. That makes two of us. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since we spoke, hasn¡¯t it?¡±
¡°It has, my...lord.¡± Esteban¡¯s voice grew uneasy at the form of address. He immediately fell to one knee, his verbal utterance of Adam¡¯s title suddenly reminding him of proper etiquette. ¡°How can I serve you?¡±
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Adam watched him carefully. The guard failed to meet his gaze. ¡°Last time we met, I was your prisoner. You were quite rough with me, if I remember correctly.¡±
Esteban didn¡¯t lift his eyes, and his entire body shook slightly, as if struggling not to stand up and run away at the exact moment. ¡°My...my lord, at that time, I was merely doing my job. It is a long and difficult profession where I have dealt with many abominable people. Anyone else in my position would¡¯ve¨C¡±
¡°Tenver didn¡¯t,¡± Adam pointed out. ¡°He and you found me together, but only Tenver treated me with respect, even when he thought I was a criminal by Aspreay¡¯s laws. You were more than happy to push me around, remember?¡±
Until now, Esteban had been on one knee, with all the dignity that position allowed for. Now he pulled back his other leg and brought his hands to the ground, both knees touching the cold stone, like a supplicating petitioner without rank would have done.
¡°H¨Chave mercy, my lord.¡± Esteban¡¯s voice cracked. ¡°I have a family. People who need me.¡±
¡°Convenient, isn¡¯t it? Everyone who abuses their power should start having kids. They make for an excellent excuse to avoid punishment.¡±
Just then, Esteban raised his voice in response. ¡°I am not trying to avoid punishment! If you order it, my lord, I....¡±
The guard withdrew his sword and brought its edge to his throat. ¡°Promise me that my family will be taken care of, and I shall present you with my own head this very instant.¡±
Huh. He...actually sounds honest. Either that, or he was a phenomenal actor, but that seemed unlikely.
¡°Put your sword away,¡± Adam said, annoyed. ¡°Ugh. It¡¯s not satisfying if you have some redeeming qualities underneath. Guess Tenver was right about you after all.¡± Or at least partially right.
Esteban hesitantly lowered his sword, confusion apparent on his face. ¡°My lord?¡±
¡°I was poor before I became a lord,¡± Adam admitted. This part was why he¡¯d banished all guards from the room before inviting Esteban in ¨C he didn¡¯t want anyone else to hear it. ¡°Really poor. I know what it feels like to look at the roof over your head, and to not know how you¡¯ll keep it. To be terrified of the word ¡®tomorrow¡¯. Not that I approve of your actions, but...I understand the bitterness that comes with that...lifestyle.¡±
Adam grimaced. ¡°No, that feels wrong. Calling it a ¡®lifestyle¡¯ implies it¡¯s a choice, instead of a miserable, soul-sucking routine that the fuckers from above force on you. So...I get it. I know it, I hate it, and I get it.¡±
Esteban lifted his head, meeting Adam¡¯s eyes for the first time since the latter had become a lord. Perhaps for the first time ever. For a moment, neither man said a word.
¡°Tenver told me to trust you,¡± Adam eventually said.
¡°Do you, my lord?¡±
¡°I trust no one. Not you, not Tenver...¡± Not even myself. Heck, his own notes were enough to make him question his grasp on reality at times. It would be even worse ¨C or maybe better ¨C if he hadn¡¯t lost his memories of the godlike voice that summoned him to this world and gave him his talent. It was difficult to feel haunted by something he couldn¡¯t remember. ¡°However, I do trust you not to be entirely self-destructive.¡±
¡°What do you mean?¡±
¡°Only this: those courtiers Aspreay kept around? They have plenty of reasons to betray me. Disgraced lords and whatnot...maybe if they turn over this ¡®traitor¡¯ who stole land from the Emperor, they might be granted forgiveness or renown. Commoners, though?¡±
Adam paused. ¡°Hmm. Maybe you¡¯re secretly an insane lunatic with Imperial pride. Maybe you¡¯ll be dumb enough to believe that they¡¯ll grant you a title and land for being a ¡®hero¡¯ ¨C instead of being used and thrown away by the Emperor. I don¡¯t think you¡¯re that stupid, though.¡±
That caught Esteban¡¯s interest. ¡°Call me a scoundrel,¡± he said, ¡°and I will not dispute it. But I am no lackwit.¡±
That¡¯s why you¡¯re here. ¡°Gonna be honest. I can¡¯t fully let go of how you treated me before,¡± Adam admitted. ¡°I¡¯m actually quite the petty person. At the same time, lording over you because of my new status would just leave a bitter feeling in my mouth. Can¡¯t forgive you that easily, but...¡±
He trailed off. Do I really want to commit to this? He didn¡¯t trust Esteban. On the other hand, there wasn''t anyone he completely trusted in Penumbria. The few people he even half-trusted were being taken with him to see the Dragon Puppets. And if he just sat back and did nothing, the city¡¯s finances would never hold.
Better to take risks than to die through inaction.
¡°You knelt as Esteban, Imperial Guard. You will rise as Esteban, Penumbria¡¯s Knight of Coin.¡±
The former guard stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.
¡°I will assign you five men,¡± Adam continued, ¡°and give you authority to arrest nobles on charges of corruption. Don¡¯t execute them, however; only Tenver or myself can decide their fate. All of Penumbria¡¯s citizens, myself and my knights excepted, are under your authority.¡±
Adam would¡¯ve preferred that he was the only one passing judgement, but the precedent had already been set when Tenver executed so many nobles. ¡°If possible, limit arrests for now ¨C I don¡¯t want a civil war to start while I¡¯m gone. Additionally, I¡¯ll need you to go through all the books Aspreay left behind and find out what our actual income is, and what our actual expenses are. Demand cooperation from everyone to accomplish these tasks. Understood?¡±
¡°That...¡± Esteban¡¯s face went pale. ¡°That is quite a lot to take in at once, my lord.¡±
¡°It is. But Tenver assures me you know how to read, and that you¡¯re not a jackass. Know what¡¯s interesting?¡± Adam asked, smirking. ¡°He never said that about anyone else in this city.¡±
Esteban¡¯s features narrowed, as if unsure whether to smile or frown. ¡°Do you trust me?¡±
¡°No. But to be blunt, our economy needs fixing as fast as possible, and I won¡¯t be able to attend to it myself. If I need to delegate this to someone, you have better odds of not betraying me than noble courtiers who I can¡¯t get a read on.¡±
¡°And why is that?¡±
¡°Didn¡¯t you hear me earlier, Esteban? I know what it¡¯s like to not be part of the ruling class. If nothing else, I can trust that you don¡¯t like the nobles I¡¯m having you interrogate. This is your chance to get back at them.¡± Adam laughed, softly. ¡°And if you do try to betray me, well...you saw what I did to Aspreay. I can clean up the mess when I get back.¡±
The two remained in silence for a long while. Adam didn¡¯t think he was capable of trusting someone again ¨C but he did think he could trust his own judge of character.
Slowly, with rising confidence, Esteban nodded. ¡°It would be my honor, Lord Adam. Is there anything else you¡¯d like?¡±
Adam returned the man¡¯s nod with one of his own. ¡°Tell me about Tenver. As the sorta-exiled son of the former Emperor, what do you make of him?¡±
¡°My lord, I can tell you my personal impressions of the man, and rudimentary knowledge that most others know, but not much of substance.¡±
¡°That¡¯s fine. Give it to me all the same.¡±
Esteban bit his upper lip, then looked to the side in deep concentration, his features contorting with remembrance. ¡°No one really understands him, my lord. Lord Te¨C Tenver. Aspreay forced us to call him that, no titles, since the moment Tenver pledged himself into service. He wasn¡¯t especially popular around these parts. No one wanted him here.¡±
¡°Was his father unpopular?¡± Adam asked. Esteban was one of the few people aware of his ¡®memory loss¡¯, so he¡¯d rather cut to the chase this time. ¡°The former Emperor?¡±
¡°He was something between a saint and a devil,¡± Esteban wryly stated. Then, shaking his head, he quickly added, ¡°I don¡¯t mean to joke when I say that. Truly, Emperor Tavio was regarded as quite competent in keeping the Rot away from cities, and he kept infighting to a minimum. Only...¡±
¡°Only?¡±
Esteban hesitated. ¡°Don¡¯t take this the wrong way, my lord, considering your hosting of Lady Solara, but the late Emperor Tavio was very kind to elves.¡±
That didn¡¯t sound right. Tenver¡¯s attitude towards elves had been the same as how everyone else seemed to regard them ¨C mild annoyances at best, cursed pests at worst. It wouldn¡¯t be that strange for someone to hold beliefs that were different from his parents, but still...
You¡¯re a hard one to figure out, Tenver. Why do you have to make this so difficult?
¡°Do you know why he joined the Imperial Guard?¡± Adam asked. Tenver had told him the reason a while back, but at this point, he was willing to question everything he thought he knew.
¡°To protect the common people.¡± Esteban shook his head. ¡°Most people saw it as patronizing. Others saw him as a liability; a reason for Emperor Ciro to care even less about keeping Penumbria safe. And some...some might have seen him as a target for revenge against the nobility who deserted this city ¨C especially given his lack of protection by anyone important.¡±
Esteban¡¯s face twisted with guilt, and he fell into a momentary silence before speaking again. ¡°My lord, did he really say...about me...¡±
¡°He did.¡±
¡°Fucking idiot,¡± the former guard muttered. ¡°Why does he say things like that?¡±
The two of them shared a moment of profound confusion. On that much, at least, they could agree.
Chapter 16 (Part 2)
Shortly after his meeting with Esteban, Adam summoned Solara to what had once been his jail cell. It made for a stark contrast from the opulent glory of his throne room. Now that he thought about it, there was probably something insulting about meeting with a commoner in the throne room ¨C and then inviting the Heiress of Gama to a musty prison.
Solara didn¡¯t seem to mind. ¡°Lord Adam,¡± she said, with a smile. ¡°It¡¯s a pleasure to see you.¡±
It had been just over a day since they last met, yet she greeted him as if they hadn¡¯t seen each other in months. Proper etiquette, that. Adam wondered how much effort she¡¯d put into learning those courtly manners. More than me, definitely. ¡°I have to ask...how much are you willing to risk?¡±
¡°I beg your pardon?¡±
¡°You want me to trust you,¡± Adam began. Within the same breath, he placed a drinking glass beside a seat, gestured at her to sit down, then positioned himself behind his canvas. ¡°How much are you willing to risk for your claim of honesty?¡±
¡°My life,¡± Solara promptly answered. She idly swirled her wine glass, eyeing its contents with an uninterested gaze. ¡°You know my goals. I truly think that siding with you is the best course of action available to me.¡±
¡°Are you willing to be cursed by the Ghost again?¡±
Solara¡¯s face went pale, her grip around her cup grew tighter, and her mouth hung open, just for a moment. The very next second, her face was impassive once more, close to arrogant. It remained pale all the same. ¡°That depends. Would you get rid of it again?¡±
Quite the poker face you have there. Although the elf refused to show it, Adam could tell the idea terrified her. He couldn¡¯t imagine what it must have been like to live alone in that tower, isolated from her father, with only a malevolent curse for company. Its removal was akin to a miracle; something that never should have been possible. And here he was, asking her to be cursed anew, as if her escape from the tower was nothing more than the product of a delusional mind.
Feel like a scumbag for even asking...but I won¡¯t take it back. ¡°I swear I¡¯ll get rid of it,¡± Adam promised her.
¡°And that will make you trust me?¡±
¡°Yes.¡± Adam tilted his head. ¡°You know how my ability works ¨C how I really need to understand my target for the painting to succeed. So, first, I¡¯ll give you the Curse back. Then I¡¯ll try to make a new painting of you, and in that painting, I¡¯ll include the idea that you aren¡¯t going to betray me. If I¡¯m wrong about that, then your soul won¡¯t return to you.¡±
Solara laughed weakly. ¡°Ah...so this is what you mean about risking my life. If I stand by what I said, I should have nothing to fear, yes?¡±
¡°Correct.¡±
¡°Then do as you will,¡± she declared, lifting up her chin and smirking. ¡°I have told no lies.¡±
Out of courtesy, and as an apology for making her go through this once more, Adam didn¡¯t point out that he could see her fingers trembling slightly. If our positions were switched, I don¡¯t think I would¡¯ve kept as good of a poker face as you. ¡°Let¡¯s get started, then.¡±
Adam didn¡¯t take long. While he slowed down enough to give her time to mentally prepare, the first painting was intended to be bad ¨C he could¡¯ve doodled a couple stick figures and called it a day. Afterwards, he would call upon his Wager ability, risk the Stained Flames that the Ghost haunted, and fail.
Hmm. Maybe he shouldn¡¯t go with stick figures, then. Something more abstract. Something that he couldn¡¯t possibly get right by accident.
Solara...let¡¯s see...how do I get you wrong?
¡°Back when I first painted you,¡± Adam began, ¡°I thought of you as some lady in a tower. Trapped, desperate, and hopelessly hoping for death before her curse could trouble the city. Guess I really went for the most storybook version I could think of, eh? The beautiful, selfless woman who only wanted her curse to not hurt the people she cared about.¡±
¡°Very generous assumptions you had, my lord,¡± Solara said, smiling faintly. The thought seemed to distract her from what was to come. ¡°That was your best attempt?¡±
¡°Hey, I didn¡¯t have much to work with back then,¡± Adam complained, prompting the elf to laugh in response. ¡°But I was wrong. You aren¡¯t selfless. You¡¯re one of the greediest, most ambitious lunatics I¡¯ve ever met. At no point in that tower did you ever consider giving up, did you? The entire time you spent there, you were thinking of what you¡¯d do once you got out.¡±
¡°Careful,¡± Solara warned him, though her smile never left her lips. ¡°If you keep up like that, you¡¯ll paint me right.¡±
¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry ¨C I¡¯ve wagered on a painting of you as a fragile, kind soul that would pray every day for help, wouldn¡¯t hurt a fly, and is afraid of needles.¡±
¡°That will do it.¡±
¡°Let us hope.¡±
When Adam finished his parody of Solara, he allowed himself just a moment of hesitation. ¡°I promise it¡¯ll be quick,¡± he said, in a somber tone.
¡°Aye, my lord,¡± Solara nodded. ¡°It will be.¡± She hesitated. ¡°There is no question in my mind that the Curse will take over my body as soon as it enters. I will not have the power to fight it off. If it feels like the time I first received that Talent, then...¡±
¡°Don¡¯t worry. I can handle it.¡±
He flipped his canvas around.
The effect was immediate, and this time Adam was prepared for it. He watched the line of electricity form between the two of them, the Curse gradually transferring from him to the other. Solara flashed him a confident smile, or a facsimile of one, and the jolt hit them both at the same time.
Adam felt his knees weaken, nearly causing him to fall backward. Guess there¡¯s no getting used to this. He couldn¡¯t complain, though.
Not when Solara had it much worse.
¡°PAINTER,¡± the Ghost cried out. ¡°PAINTER!¡±
Solara¡¯s elven body didn¡¯t fully distort like last time. Monstrous veins swirled around her face, like an eel swimming right beneath the surface of a lake, twisting and turning, at times threatening to break into the outside world. Her eyes widened, and her hands turned into claws.
¡°You have....no idea...the feeling...being given the sweet Ink...only to have it taken away...worse...than...death...¡± The Ghost¡¯s voice had a reverb to it, as if many iterations of Solara¡¯s voice were layered on top of each other. ¡°You will pay...this time there will be...NO...ESCAPE...GIVE¡ªME¡ªYOUR¡ªINK!¡±
As it had in the past, the Ghost leaped at Adam. This time, however, it didn¡¯t appear interested in keeping him alive. The creature straightened its legs, bouncing off of the air itself to gain further speed, entering a ferocious lunge that was close to flight. Adam didn¡¯t move a single step. Otherworldly claws stretched out towards his throat¨C
¨Cand bounced right off.
The Ghost¡¯s reaction was so intense that it collapsed to the ground, holding its claw as if afraid the limb would run away in fear. ¡°What did you¨C¡±
¡°Have you forgotten, Ghost?¡± Adam looked down on the monster, coldly regarding it like he would an insect. ¡°Or maybe you don¡¯t know where you are. Recognize this room?¡± He opened his arms wide and gestured around them. ¡°Of course you wouldn¡¯t ¨C so let me fill you in. This used to be a jail. Naturally, it was built to be soundproof by a Talented builder. Do you know what that means?¡±
¡°Human¨Cwhat¨Care¨Cyou¨C?¡±
¡°It means that even if you cry to your gods for help, they won¡¯t hear.¡±
Adam flicked his wrist upward. A visible blue wind swirled around the room, once, then twice, before seizing the Ghost by its hands and forcing it upward. The motion didn¡¯t stop when the creature stood up ¨C not until its feet were no longer touching the floor. ¡°I think you forgot who I am. Understandable, considering how many times you¡¯ve died. Allow me to relieve you of your ignorance; let¡¯s speak of who and where.¡±
Adam curled two fingers inward to choke the monster. ¡°I am Lord Adam of Penumbria, and you are within my domain this time, you fucking bastard!¡±
He pushed the monster against the prison wall. Adam leisurely walked toward it, pressure building with every step. After just two, the Ghost choked, coughing up a dark blue substance that wasn¡¯t blood. Its eyes were full of fear, alternating between being unable to tear themselves away from Adam and desperately looking for anything else to fixate on. Finally, the monster¡¯s features twisted into a manic, nervous smile as it noticed the burning candle beside them, a nervous smile blooming on its face.
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¡°Have you forgotten, Painter? The flames are my domain!¡± It started to turn its body into a hazy, gaseous substance. ¡°I shall flee, and you will never see this woman¨C¡±
¡°Kneel,¡± Adam ordered.
Adam¡¯s lordly blue wind snuffed out the candle, forcibly turning every shred of hazy gas back into the creature as it solidified itself. ¡°You are in the presence of Penumbria¡¯s lord,¡± he stated. ¡°Do not stand before you are granted permission.¡±
¡°I¨C¡±
Adam¡¯s hand closed, and the Ghost¡¯s mouth closed shut as well. ¡°Don¡¯t speak until told to, either.¡± It was forced to the ground, both knees smashing against the hard stone, hissing in pain and frustration.
Unmatched power flowed through Adam¡¯s body, like a nostalgic resonance. Aspreay¡¯s soul is singing to me, he thought, absently. These motions, these moves..they all came naturally to him, as if he had always known how to be a lord.
¡°Be grateful,¡± he intoned, as the creature writhed. ¡°If you weren¡¯t in Solara¡¯s body, you¡¯d be much worse-off right now.¡± Adam still resented it for how their last fight had gone. Partially because of how badly it injured him, and partially how it made him consider using the Lord Talent ¨C sacrificing Panumbria¡¯s people ¨C to save himself.
And oh, did it feel positively exhilarating to be able to pay it back in kind. ¡°Get comfortable. You¡¯re going to shut your mouth, sit tight, and wait patiently as I finish this next painting.¡±
¡°W...wait! Are you...going to send me...back? NO! PAINTER! PLEASE! NO! NOT BACK THERE!¡±
Adam paid the Ghost no mind. He turned away from it, confident that it was pinned to the wall and couldn¡¯t move. With a satisfied smile, he sat down to resume his sketch, brimming with confidence. His pessimism faded as he dared to hope that, just maybe, Solara really was trustworthy.
¡°PLEASE, PAINTER! I BEG! I BEG!¡±
Well now...Solara¡¯s true soul. Let¡¯s paint it, once again. He peered at the Ghost. Its appearance was too demonic to use as a reference, but gazing at the creature made Adam remember what Solara looked like. He wanted to give her a portrait worthy of admiration; last time was too much of a rush job.
Solara was as beautiful as Tenver was handsome, and the latter was apparently well-known in the Empire for his looks. Would Solara be equally famous if not for her elven heritage?
¡°¨CKILL ME! DON¡¯T SEND ME BACK!¡±
More importantly, he wanted to portray her greed, her utter inability to settle for anything less than a spot at the top of the world. In truth, it was a trait that many would perceive as detrimental. Adam himself wasn¡¯t a very ambitious person; he could never quite nail the aura of those people whose eyes were set on the top of the mountain, how their gaze sparkled with fanatical confidence.
And as a result, ever since he could remember, he¡¯d admired those fanatical, self-confident, talented mavericks.
¡°¨CTHE GODS GAVE YOU A GIFT! BEING FROM THE WORLD OF INK, I BEG YOU¨C¡±
Sometimes it got him burned, like with Eric. Yet even now, he couldn¡¯t help but admire people like Solara, who seemed utterly disgusted at the idea of not ruling the world. The whims of fate had exterminated her kind, and its survivors were seen as beneath notice, like cockroaches reviled by all. Despite this, she still yearned for the top ¨C for the ability to rule upon the world.
Why?
¡°¨CPlease. PLEASE! PAINTER! I was human once too! Have mercy!¨C¡±
To protect her people from further injustice?
To gain everything she¡¯d been denied when younger?
Adam thought it was a bit of both.
That uncontrollable, burning desire to have everything...and her uncompromising sense of self.
¡°¨CThe Hangman punished me enough already!¡±
A woman who engaged with a Stained Talent out of her own free will would never betray someone to achieve her goals.
It¡¯s not that Solara is incapable of murder or betrayal. Her ambition would be enough to see her through that. It¡¯s that she thinks so highly of herself that she would refuse the idea...and see it as beneath her.
¡°¨CPLEASE!¡±
She had seemed sincerely offended when Adam suspected her of betraying him. At the time, he¡¯d thought it was due to her honor being called into question.
On second thought, though, it wasn¡¯t her honor that she minded being questioned ¨C it was her skill. Yesterday, what she had really said was: ¡®Do you truly think I¡¯m so weak that I¡¯d need to betray you to the Emperor?¡¯
Yeah.
That looked right.
¡°I¡¯m finished.¡±
¡°NO! DON¡¯T¨CSEND¨CME! KILL ME! SEND ME BACK TO THE PRISM INSTEAD! SEND ME¨C¡± The Ghost¡¯s rambling panic reached its peak when Adam started approaching it, tablet in-hand. ¡°STAY¨CAWAY!¡±
The Ghost fainted before Adam could reach it.
He didn¡¯t pay it too much mind. Adam named the painting and walked up to the unconscious monster. ¡°Sorry, Solara. I hope this isn¡¯t rude.¡± He placed the tablet before her closed eyes, then lifted up her eyelids to force her unconscious body to look at it. ¡°Hopefully this counts ¨C would rather not have to wait until you wake up.¡±
Her vacant eyes gazed at the digital painting Adam had finished over three short hours.
The Elf Who Wanted the World
Quickly, an otherworldly line of electricity formed between the two once again, the Stained Talent returning into his tablet. Adam held Solara gently in his arms, and did not forcibly wake her up as he¡¯d done last time.
It was nearly two hours later that she awoke. When her eyelids slowly opened, she took note of Adam¡¯s face, then of his arms. Her mouth widened into a satisfied smile, and she curled closer to his arms, letting out a deep breath. ¡°How long did it take?¡±
¡°About five hours. Three to paint, two for you to wake up.¡± Adam waited until after she¡¯d nodded sleepily before asking, ¡°Do you feel okay?¡±
¡°Mostly.¡± She yawned. ¡°I died just now, you know?¡±
¡°Ah. Was I too harsh during the fight?¡±
¡°No, it was when the Curse entered my body. I was warned before by the Dark Sorcerer that most people have a high chance of death when receiving a new Talent.¡± Solara let out another yawn. ¡°What a wretch of a day.¡±
¡°Guess that means I can¡¯t use this method to test how honest other people are,¡± Adam muttered. ¡°I did think it was a possibility...that¡¯s why I waited a day until trying this. That said, could I try to kill someone by giving them Talents on purpose? No, the survival risk is too high, and at that point¨C¡±
¡°Lord Adam,¡± Solara interrupted. ¡°Do you trust me now?¡±
¡°I do,¡± he said. For now, at least. He wished he could trust her more than that after putting her through so much, but the lingering scars within were still telling him to keep his guard up. ¡°And you can call me Adam.¡±
¡°Adam, then.¡± Solara¡¯s smile wavered as she shivered. Despite her bravado, the curse seemed to have taken a toll on her. ¡°May I be direct in case I lose consciousness?¡±
¡°Of course.¡±
¡°Very well. In that case...I believe Lord Tenver and I have the same contact. It¡¯s a man with an airship that can dive underwater, allowing safe passage into the Puppet Mines. I suggest you speak to Lord Tenver, but don¡¯t tell him that you¡¯re aware of what his secret route is. Use that to¨C¡±
She stopped. It was so sudden that Adam grew concerned until he saw the heaving of her breath. You were so tired...but you still wanted to make plans with the little consciousness you had left in you. Even in that condition, your mind was still set on your goals, huh?
¡°Solara...¡± Adam shook his head, laughing quietly so as not to disturb her well-deserved sleep. ¡°You really are crazy.¡±
He couldn¡¯t help but smile at her.
Chapter 17 (Part 1)
Two things left to do before leaving to meet with the Dragon Puppets.
Adam wasn¡¯t sure if he trusted Solara or if he trusted his paintings ¨C but either way, the result was the same: he¡¯d confirmed her support. She was, for the moment, extremely unlikely to betray him. It was a solid piece of information to base future decisions on.
However, Solara¡¯s support wasn¡¯t the only factor that mattered. Even if she was on board with everything, her father was still the Lord of Gama, at least for now.
Time to see where he stands. That night, after seeing Solara to her chambers ¨C and brushing off the occasional servant who wondered why she seemed out of sorts ¨C Adam set off in search of Lord Vasco.
Unsurprisingly, he found him atop the secluded tower where Aspreay¡¯s soulless husk had been stored. In the brief time they¡¯d spent since arriving from Gama, the lord seemed to be there more often than not, only leaving to eat and spend time with his daughter.
¡°You intend to leave tomorrow night?¡± Vasco asked.
¡°If not sooner. Our reports say that the Hangman has started making preparations to ride down here.¡± If their last raven was to be believed, the man was traveling with a luxurious caravan, causing unnecessary but well-appreciated delays. Odd choice for someone with such a time-sensitive job. ¡°You¡¯ll return to Gama soon?¡±
¡°As soon as I meet with the Hangman on your behalf.¡± Vasco sighed. ¡°Hangmen are terrible business. If you ask me, when all is right in the world, you should never see one outside the capital. But even they aren¡¯t insane. So long as they have the word of someone who hasn¡¯t officially sided with you, they won¡¯t run rampant. They¡¯ll wait until you return before bringing down hellfire, at least.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± Adam said, sincerely. ¡°That makes things much easier for me.¡±
¡°Lord Adam, if there¡¯s one thing I have learned with age...it¡¯s that there are some debts in life that can never be fully repaid.¡± He didn¡¯t turn to look at Adam, his gaze permanently fixated on Aspreay¡¯s unconscious body. ¡°My debt to you for saving my daughter¡¯s life is one such example.¡± He breathed out a long, deep sigh. ¡°My debt to the elves for not stopping my father is another.¡±
Adam considered how to respond. ¡°It¡¯s not my place to forgive you or absolve your sins,¡± he said, honestly.
¡°I know.¡± Vasco let out a laugh that was laced with decades of regret.. ¡°But that is why...¡± He hesitated. ¡°My daughter and I spoke. She never asked for much, you know? You¡¯d think someone in her position would want the world, to be so spoiled that they¡¯d forget the atrocities they lived through. Not her, though. She only ever asked me for one thing. And even if I could give it to her, it still wouldn¡¯t be enough to apologize for what I couldn¡¯t stop back then.¡±
He didn¡¯t need to say it aloud. They both knew what Solara wanted ¨C the Emperor¡¯s head on a plate.
¡°So I give my blessing for her to accompany you on this trip,¡± Vasco continued. ¡°And if her desires align with yours, then so do Gama¡¯s.¡±
You¡¯re willing to put your city in danger for your daughter¡¯s sake, Adam thought, but didn¡¯t say. He wanted to admonish Vasco for that, yet he also knew that the man¡¯s reckless love worked in Penumbria¡¯s benefit. And most of all...Adam couldn¡¯t say for sure that he would¡¯ve acted any differently. What would I do if I were in his shoes?
After a brief silence, Adam nodded. ¡°Again, thank you. Is there anything you wish for before I leave?¡±
¡°Only that my daughter returns alive.¡± Vasco loudly harrumphed, a sudden question coming to him. ¡°In truth, there is one thing I¡¯d like to know.¡±
¡°Name it.¡±
¡°Can you return souls that you have stolen?¡±
That wasn¡¯t the question Adam had expected, and it also wasn¡¯t one he had a perfect answer for.
When he gave away the Stained Flames, he also gave Belmordo the curse that came with it. At the time it seemed like a decent bet ¨C Solara was given the Talent together with the curse, so the two were likely linked in some way. He didn¡¯t know if it applied to other Talents. Would he give away Aspreay¡¯s soul if he needed it?
Maybe.
But more importantly...
¡°Are you suggesting that Aspreay should get his soul back?¡± Adam couldn¡¯t keep the cutting sharpness out of his words. Nor did he want to. ¡°I already have enough problems in my city.¡±
¡°So you do. I understand.¡± Vasco leaned over and brushed the hair off Aspreays¡¯ face. ¡°It is just as I said earlier. Some debts can never be fully repaid. Often I wonder...had I not been such a coward, had I admitted it all to him...would he have turned out like this?¡±
¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Adam flatly stated. ¡°Everyone has reasons for acting the way they do ¨C for doing what they do. If that was enough of an excuse, then no one would ever have to bear responsibility for anything. Aspreay¡¯s sins are his own, and you can¡¯t absolve him of them.¡±
¡°Agreed,¡± Vasco acknowledged, letting out a low, bitter chuckle. ¡°His sins are his own...as are mine. If only you could take away our crimes with that brush of yours, but unfortunately, the world is not so simple or forgiving. I failed Aspreay, and that truth shall remain a black mark on my soul for the rest of my days.¡±
A response leapt to Adam¡¯s throat. Look, it¡¯s his fault, and he¡¯s a prick whose mistakes killed people. In the end, though, he couldn¡¯t say it. He would never forgive Aspreay, that much he was certain of ¨C but Adam understood Vasco¡¯s regrets.
Because sometimes, he wondered if he was to blame for Eric.
¡°I don¡¯t know if I can restore Aspreay¡¯s soul,¡± Adam honestly said. ¡°And even if I could, I wouldn¡¯t.¡±
Vasco nodded with an air of somber finality. ¡°Aye. I understand.¡±
--
Just one thing left to do before leaving. He¡¯d saved the ¡®best¡¯ for last.
I have to speak with Tenver.
It would be tricky. The knight was still acting secretive about his way to get to the Puppet Mines, pushing for Adam to follow along without inquiring too closely. Although if Solara¡¯s guess was correct ¨C which Adam felt decently confident in ¨C then they already knew what his big plan was. Tenver¡¯s contact likely had access to an airship that could dive underwater, allowing them to travel directly to the Mines.
There just weren¡¯t many other options.
Which made it even more difficult to understand the man¡¯s behavior. Why would he be so cagey about something that benefited everyone involved? Adam thought back to their first meeting, when the knight saved him from Esteban. He thought about his six months of painting portraits for Aspreay, when Tenver¡¯s company was the only thing keeping him sane. And finally, he thought about every murder Tenver had committed since Aspreay¡¯s fall.
When put all together, it just didn¡¯t add up. Like a puzzle with ill-fitting pieces. Your actions are borderline insane, and you don¡¯t seem to care who you hurt or push away...but you didn¡¯t used to be this way. What changed? And when?
And would he explain if asked? Speaking with him was easy enough, but getting anything useful out of him? Now that was something else altogether.
Still, Adam had to try.
¡°I presume this meeting is about the secret route I mentioned?¡± Tenver asked, as he joined Adam on the balcony. ¡°I¡¯ll repeat what I¡¯ve said before ¨C it is imperative that people remain unaware of the specifics. I cannot divulge more than that too soon.¡±
He doesn¡¯t know that I know. Adam could¡¯ve laid his cards on the table right then, but doing so would have defeated the purpose. He wasn¡¯t attempting to figure out Tenver¡¯s game plan; he was attempting to figure out Tenver, the person.
So instead, he merely shook his head. ¡°You do know I could have you executed, right?¡±
¡°Aye, you can. But you won¡¯t.¡± Tenver drew a deep breath and looked up at the boundless night sky. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you summon me to our special meeting quarters? I went through so much trouble to refurbish the damned place. If this is about our travel plans, fear not ¨C I¡¯ve already arranged them.¡±
¡°It¡¯s not about the travel plans. Not exactly, anyway. As for why we¡¯re here rather than my old cell?¡± Adam gestured at the star-filled skies above. ¡°It¡¯s a nice night out. Felt like a waste to stay indoors. Besides; I can¡¯t say I have too many fond memories about the time I spent in that room.¡±
And Tenver didn¡¯t need to see the damage Solara caused to the room when the Ghost briefly took over her body.
¡°Does that mean you have some fond memories from there?¡± Tenver¡¯s question was casual, but the way he suddenly aimed his gaze at Adam made the words sound sharp.
¡°You know I do,¡± Adam sighed. His painting-a-day death march had been a nightmare, but the few nights he was ahead of schedule and managed to laugh about life with Tenver had been...nice. Things were different now, though. ¡°If I thought you were actually going to tell me something important, I¡¯d have gone there. Less chance of being overheard and all. But I doubt you¡¯re gonna tell me anything I want to know.¡±
¡°Then...why did you summon me here, Adam?¡±
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¡°Because I just want you to know that I don¡¯t buy your bullshit,¡± Adam said, simply. ¡°Keep your secrets if you want, keep up your act if you must, but most of all, keep in mind that your act doesn¡¯t work on me. We spent six months talking nearly every day ¨C I don¡¯t know you that well, but I know you better than that, at least.¡±
At first there was silence. Then, a loud laughter began echoing throughout the night. Tenver¡¯s smile was one of undisguised mirth, as if he¡¯d been told a joke he simply couldn¡¯t get enough of. ¡°If you¡¯re going to accuse me of some sort of farce, I¡¯d appreciate it if you''d narrow it down first.¡±
Adam gestured with two fingers down the balcony, toward the pikes whereupon the head of Aspreay¡¯s former courtiers stood. ¡°You talk as if murder doesn¡¯t bother you. Like you¡¯re almost happy to do it. And to be completely honest, it doesn¡¯t really track with the person I¡¯ve known for the last couple months.¡±
Tenver nodded slowly. ¡°People are often hard to understand. You can¡¯t know what they¡¯re thinking just based on their actions and words. At best, you end up with a general idea of who they are. I¡¯ve always been like this, Adam.¡±
Don¡¯t I know it, Adam thought bitterly. ¡°Like I said, I don¡¯t buy it. Besides...you made a critical mistake.¡±
¡°Truly?¡± Tenver asked, smiling. ¡°Then please, go on, my lord.¡±
¡°You knew more about Solara than you let on.¡± Adam was certain that he¡¯d neglected to mention the details of her Talent when catching Tenver up on the Gama trip. He was also certain that, in the past, Tenver had stated he barely knew anything of Solara at all. ¡°At no point did you tell me she was an elf.¡±
Tenver¡¯s expression tightened. ¡°And? It seemed of little importance at the time. I assumed you¡¯d have known about it already.¡±
¡°No, you wouldn¡¯t. You¡¯re the only one who knows exactly how bad my memory is. Instead, you made a point to send me off with a vaguely disparaging comment about elves.¡±
¡®Vasco is the Butcher of Greenisle,¡± Tenver had muttered back then. ¡°I care not to believe every complaint that came from Lord Aspreay, but that much is known to everyone. A man like that ought to be in the gallows, not in our ranks. Even the elves didn¡¯t deserve that.¡¯
¡°You went out of your way to add ¡®even the elves.¡¯ It wasn¡¯t bad enough for me to question at the time, but it feels odd in hindsight after learning the full story from Solara. And earlier, you didn¡¯t deny her accusations that you didn¡¯t like elves very much.¡±
¡°That accusation would hardly make me unique. Have you seen how people look at Lady Solara, despite her being of nobler rank than them? Elves are hardly popular around here. Their kin consorted with dragons. My attitude may be despicable, but it is quite normal, I assure you.¡±
Except that Tenver¡¯s father was notably kind to elves. Adam considered bringing up that point here, but decided to hold onto the card for now. Instead, he merely shook his head. ¡°If only that were true. Do you know what I think, Tenver? I think you¡¯ve been trying to make yourself unlikable.¡±
The knight frowned. ¡°What benefit would having my lord mislike me bring? I¡¯ve killed too many of Aspreay¡¯s courtiers. My fate is tied to yours...and every murder was necessary.¡±
¡°Oh, I believe that the executions were necessary. But your theatrics, the smile you wear on your face, refusing to inform me of the travel route you¡¯re planning...it all just seems like a bit much.¡±
The Painted World was a harsh place where death was dealt swiftly and quickly. Adam knew that. Even by their standards, however, Tenver came across as unnerving. It was more than his willingness to kill; it was the way he did it. They¡¯d known each other for six months, and while that wasn¡¯t the longest of times, it was long enough for him to question Tenver¡¯s sudden behavioral change.
¡°In fact,¡± Adam continued. ¡°If I account for how you hid information on Solara, my best guess is that you knew I wouldn¡¯t give a shit she was an elf, but that I would think back to what you said and then draw vague conclusions about you hating elves.¡±
¡°Again, why would I do all of that?¡±
¡°Who knows?¡± Adam shrugged. ¡°I can think of a few reasons. The main one though...¡± He drew a deep breath. While it was important to let Tenver know he wasn¡¯t being fooled by his bullshit, Adam didn¡¯t want to volunteer information about himself. Was it reckless to say it outright?
Maybe. But there¡¯s no way Tenver didn¡¯t notice it by now...and if he hasn¡¯t, then he¡¯s too dumb to make use of this info.
¡°The main one,¡± Adam repeated, ¡°is self-defense.¡±
He paused meaningfully and watched Tenver¡¯s reaction. At first, the knight kept his face blank, their pause stretching on into silence. A swirling breeze swept through the balcony. Finally, Tenver sighed, holding up both arms in resignation. ¡°Can¡¯t get much past you, can I?¡± He laughed. ¡°And just what do you think I¡¯m doing, precisely?¡±
¡°You¡¯re not getting any free info out of me. Be direct about what you know.¡±
¡°I know very little,¡± Tenver began, hesitantly. ¡°But I can still guess your ability¡¯s requirements. I was with you for a long time ¨C I saw what captured your interest back then.¡±
There was no need to elaborate further, especially not if someone happened to be listening in. Tenver had watched Adam research everything he could about Aspreay, and had even looked into a few matters for him. Not to mention he was present when Adam captured the fallen lord¡¯s soul.
I was sleep-deprived and practically delirious back then, he recalled, but I still said too much. There was no need to lecture Aspreay to his face before capturing his soul ¨C I just had to show him the painting. As fun as it was, that display of showmanship had become a vital clue for Tenver to extrapolate from.
The results were apparent. Tenver knew how Adam¡¯s skill functioned, and he was altering his behavior the same way a knight clad themselves in armor, purposefully acting odd to ensure that Adam never got an accurate read on him.
To protect his soul and Talent from being stolen.
When Adam spoke next, it was in a measured, quiet voice. ¡°I thought you mentioned trusting me."
¡°And I do!¡± Tenver grinned. ¡°But do you recall what you told me back then?¡±
Adam needed a moment, then cursed the memory when it came to him.
¡°I won¡¯t prod into your past, but if one thing is clear, it¡¯s that you have good reason for not wanting to put your faith in someone so easily. You don¡¯t trust me, do you?¡±
¡°No.¡± Adam¡¯s answer came promptly. He didn¡¯t regret saying it, although he certainly felt guilty upon seeing a flash of hurt pass over Tenver¡¯s face.
¡°Adam, if you look me in the eye right now and say you trust me, I will tell you everything you want. My plans, my secrets...¡± Tenver gestured at the pikes down the balcony. ¡°And if you wish, how I truly feel about those executions. But if not, you can hardly expect me to open my heart when doing so means dropping my shield. Even if I trust you, Adam, I can still think you fallible enough to make a mistake that, for me, would be lethal.¡±
You did open your heart to me before, Adam thought. Back when I was just a prisoner and you were a guard. Was that all bullshit too? Or was he honest back then because he didn¡¯t have any reason to be afraid of Adam? It was hard to tell.
Either way, this was easily fixable. All he had to do was lie and say he trusted him. Then Tenver would tell him everything: his past, his plans, what he was hiding.
It would only take three short words.
¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Adam muttered. ¡°I can¡¯t. A part of me wishes I could. It keeps whispering that I¡¯ve known you for half a year, and that you were the first person to treat me well since...since I can remember. But I can¡¯t.¡±
¡°No. Thank you, Adam.¡± Tenver closed his eyes and let out a low laugh. Then, with a casual gait, he started to walk away. ¡°The fact that you didn¡¯t lie to me just now means you want to trust me. Perhaps you will, one day.¡±
His footsteps grew distant. Adam continued to watch the night sky, the stars urging him to not let things end there. When he heard the door swing open, he forced himself to say, ¡°Hey, Tenver?¡±
There was a delay before the response came. ¡°Yeah?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t trust you right now,¡± Adam admitted. ¡°And we¡¯re both keeping a lot of secrets from each other.¡± How was he ever supposed to tell someone he was from another world? ¡°Just so you know, though...that¡¯s not the reason I¡¯m bringing you to see the Puppets with me. Even if I didn¡¯t need your ¡®secret way¡¯ into the Puppet Mines, I¡¯d still want to take you with me.¡±
¡°Oh? If not for that, then for what reason?¡±
¡°I need someone to drink with me,¡± Adam muttered. His voice was nearly a whisper, and a sudden gust of wind threatened to drown out his words. ¡°I can¡¯t trust people easily. I¡¯m sorry. But you¡¯re still my friend.¡±
The wind produced a low, echoing melody across the balcony.
¡°Then I¡¯ll make sure to bring some good alcohol,¡± Tenver joyfully replied, closing the door behind him.
Chapter 17 (Part 2)
The following night, Adam left Penumbria with Solara and Tenver, traveling to secluded outskirts where no one could see them.
Adam and Solara had privately agreed to let Tenver lead this little dance, even if they were already aware of his plan. The knight was clever, but not omnipotent ¨C his spies hadn¡¯t been able to uncover that Vasco also did business with that very same airship. Keeping Tenver in the dark about that would make him feel more trusted. Solara also believed that the airship¡¯s captain was trustworthy, so overall, this plan was...probably safe.
While it pained Adam to leave the city nearly unguarded against a coup, Vasco would stay for long enough, and Esteban was at least unlikely to side with the nobles if it came to that. Plus, much as he loathed to admit it, Tenver¡¯s executions and heads-on-pikes had proven quite effective at cowing them into submission. It should be fine. And if things go wrong, I¡¯ll just fix it when we get back.
Adam turned to face Tenver, intending to ask him a few questions about the Puppet Mines. Solara beat him to the punch. ¡°Lord Tenver,¡± she began, ¡°why have you asked us not to bring horses? Surely you don¡¯t mean we should walk all the way to¨C¡±
¡°Of course not.¡± Tenver held up a medallion in his right hand. ¡°If you¡¯ll allow me a degree of brazenness, I feel like going to Gama would take too long, and risk us running into the Hangman along the way. Thus, I have arranged for another method of travel to the Mines. The merchant who brought my father and I there gave me this, you see ¨C said to use it if I needed another trip.¡±
Adam coughed. ¡°There¡¯s...a lot to unpack in what you just said.¡±
¡°Your father?¡± Solara questioned. ¡°The former Emperor? What was he doing in the Puppet Mines?¡±
¡°Being a better father than I deserved,¡± Tenver said, stretching his arms above his head. Solara seemed about to press him for more details, but before she could, he gestured at the sky. ¡°Look ¨C our good old captain is here.¡±
The wind seemed to shift into something else. A large object suddenly appeared in front of them, but not as if it had moved there. Rather, it was like the object had been slowly approaching for a while now, and only now decided to show itself.
Adam¡¯s initial reaction wasn¡¯t one of shock. To him, a flying ship was no more strange than the monsters and magic he¡¯d witnessed since coming to the Painted World. Instead, his first reaction was to peer around and see how Solara was behaving. Are flying ships common here? Should I be acting like this is normal? Or...
To his surprise, it seemed like this was unusual, even for this world. Though hard to tell with only moonlight illuminating them, Solara¡¯s expression looked like a mixture of shock and annoyance, her eyebrows twitching in a sort of disbelieving fury.
She was a damn good actress.
¡°Tenver,¡± the elf hissed. ¡°When you said you¡¯d handled our travel plans, I thought that meant you¡¯d designed a route where we wouldn¡¯t run into the Hangman ¨C some hidden mountain path, at best.¡±
¡°I would if necessary,¡± Tenver told her, with a vague shrug. ¡°But why do so when I had this available? It¡¯s silent, easier to move at night, and payment was already arranged a decade and a half ago. Not to mention we can head in the opposite direction of the Hangman, avoiding him entirely.¡±
Solara wasted no time prodding him for answers. ¡°Lord Tenver ¨C is that the rumored Imperial Airship? Have you spoken to the current Emperor?¡±
¡°I haven¡¯t, nor do I know if they¡¯re still trying to make these. Too expensive, and the man with the Talent to create them died. In any case, no, that is not an Imperial Airship.¡±
Tenver paused, tilted his head to one side, and then the other. ¡°Well, not anymore. The captain defected ¨C with my father¡¯s unofficial blessing ¨C after he decided that an illicit trade route with the Dragon Puppets was too profitable to pass up on. In exchange, he¡¯s expected to lend his aid when called, and understands that he will not receive the same aid in return.¡±
In other words, the late Emperor wanted access to their goods and technology, but didn¡¯t want to open diplomatic channels, Adam thought. Wait, hang on! That¡¯s not the point!
¡°Tenver,¡± Adam sternly said, ¡°what are you hiding?¡±
The knight grinned. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear the three magic words.¡±
¡°Go to hell.¡±
Tenver appeared to consider this. ¡°Not the three words I had in mind, but I was admittedly unclear.¡±
It was at this point that Adam had an important, yet disturbing realization. Yes, there was a large element of truth to what they¡¯d discussed the night before. Tenver feared Adam¡¯s ability. Being unpredictable was a matter of self-preservation.
But what Adam hadn¡¯t quite rationalized until then, at least not to this degree, was that Tenver enjoyed acting strangely. Their reactions were a treasured form of enjoyment for him.
¡°Your Imperial Highness!¡± said a new voice from aboard the ship. ¡°The medallion alerted me to your request yesterday. I came here as soon as I was able.¡±
Adam could scarcely make out the visage of a white-bearded man aboard the ship. He was far away, barely an outline in that dark night, the ship itself shadowing some of the faint starlight above. Yet even from a distance, it was easy to detect the nervousness in his face and tone.
¡°Took you long enough,¡± Tenver said, grinning. ¡°Allow us in. Show us that beautiful staircase.¡±
¡°Of course, Your Highness. Only...because it was so short notice, I ¨C there are other passengers. Please forgive me.¡±
Tenver shook his head and shrugged. ¡°Ah, well. Not much we can do about that. Extend the stairs.¡±
At first Adam thought the knight had meant a ladder or something of the sort. Turns out there was no mistake; Tenver meant exactly what he said.
The white-bearded man made a gesture with his hands. While the details of his motion were difficult to see in the darkness, their effects were immediate. An ephemeral, almost translucent set of steps began cascading down from the ship¡¯s deck all the way to the ground. It snapped together silently and quickly, producing a gust of wind when it stopped just before the three of them.
Tenver stepped forward, testing his boot against the first step a couple times, as if ensuring it was solid enough. Satisfied, he pointed towards the staircase. ¡°Come on now, you two. Let¡¯s get going.¡±
Adam gaped at him open-mouthed, so many objections running through his mind that he wasn¡¯t sure which one to pick. Solara had no problem voicing her own. ¡°Really now,¡± she said, her tone dripping with undisguised suspicion. ¡°And how do we know that you aren¡¯t simply going to take us straight to the Emperor the moment we board that ship?¡±
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¡°Because of my lord¡¯s presence, of course.¡± Tenver nodded at Adam. ¡°If it came down to a matter of life or death, I wouldn¡¯t put it past him to take down Penumbria¡¯s walls and use his Lord Talent. At that point...why, I would be quite dead, wouldn¡¯t I?¡±
¡°What if you have someone with a stronger Talent than Lord Adam waiting up there?¡± Solara shouted. ¡°It would be easy for you to kill us! Lord Adam, we¡¯ve entertained this lunacy for long enough ¨C let us return to Penumbria, grab a pair of horses, and make our way to my contact.¡±
Adam wasn¡¯t sure if she was still acting or not, but he took a moment to consider the point regardless. While he was fairly confident in Solara¡¯s information, the possibility remained that she¡¯d been outmaneuvered somehow. Nothing was ever guaranteed. This could always be a trap.
Although, if this is a trap, maybe it¡¯s one I wouldn¡¯t mind walking straight into. It would just give him a morals-free excuse to steal the airship ¨C an asset he would make very good use of.
Still, his gut feeling of ¡®I can take anyone¡¯ wasn¡¯t good enough for him to bet his life on. He was Penumbria¡¯s lord now; his life held great importance to the people who followed him. Let¡¯s see...are there any more last-minute guarantees I can think of?
To his surprise, there actually was one. He reached for his backpack.
¡°Lord Adam,¡± Solara hesitantly said, as he pulled out his tablet. ¡°With all due respect, are you trying to paint the airship?¡±
He shook his head. ¡°Not at all. Just bear with me for a second.¡±
While he¡¯d put his abilities to the test in many ways, there was one aspect he hadn¡¯t been utilizing much until now. His tablet could tell him the name, title, Talent, and Orbs of anyone he was looking at. He¡¯d used it on Tenver and Esteban when they first met. The ship captain was a little far away, but maybe he was still within range.
If it doesn¡¯t work, no harm done. But if it DOES work, my decision will get a lot easier. Tenver said this man was a deserter...any chance this will confirm that?
To his surprise, it did.
Baltsar, Ex-Captain of the Empire
Talent: Ship Captain
Orbs: ~972,873
Would you look at that, Adam mused. The captain really was a deserter of the Empire. It wasn¡¯t enough to completely remove all doubt, though. For example, he could be attempting to get back in the Empire¡¯s good graces by using Adam as a bargaining chip. Those odds were significantly lower than the odds of running into the Hangman on Solara¡¯s route, though, so when faced with riding a sketchy airship or blundering into an early meeting with that monster...the choice was obvious.
¡°We¡¯re heading aboard,¡± Adam declared. ¡°There¡¯s no perfect decision, so I¡¯ll have to settle for this.¡±
He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Then, he walked onto the translucent staircase, feeling as though each step could be his last. He didn''t need to look back at Solara to feel a glare more pointed than her ears on his back. Hey, I''m going along with our plan, remember? Adam thought, as if she could hear him. Don¡¯t get upset at me just because it sounds like I¡¯m ordering you around. We planned this together.
Tenver followed, falling back to keep pace with Adam, a wide smirk on his face. After several pensive moments, Solara stomped after them.
Despite its translucent nature, the staircase felt surprisingly solid. Vaguely, in the corner of Adam¡¯s mind, the sight of pale moonlight hitting the stairs reminded him of something he¡¯d seen in an art installation. The rest of his mind was dominated by the insistent notion that he shouldn¡¯t look down.
He suppressed a sigh of relief when he finally reached the top. Rather than an open deck, the staircase led to an enclosed ¨C yet sizable ¨C room. Adam¡¯s first impression upon entering was that it seemed closer to a living room than a ship cabin, with numerous couches, tables, and drinks set everywhere. There were two doors aside from the one they¡¯d taken to enter; one leading to what Adam assumed was the open deck, and another leading deeper into the airship.
¡°My Prince!¡± the white-bearded man said, falling to his knees. ¡°It is my greatest joy to finally fulfill the oath I made to your late father, the true Emperor. Why, I¨C¡±
Adam tuned out the captain¡¯s groveling. Instead, he looked around the cabin, taking note of the three individuals within, each seated in a corner as far away from each other as possible. The ship captain appeared to notice this, because he bowed once more to Tenver, then hurried to Adam. ¡°My lord, mayhap introductions are in order?¡±
¡°I can agree with that.¡± Adam kept his gaze fixed on the other occupants in the room, his hand still gripping at his tablet. Trust nothing. ¡°I am Adam, Lord of Penumbria.¡±
Solara stepped up. ¡°And I am Solara, First Heir of Gama.¡±
There was no reaction from either declaration. Really now? No interest in the mysterious lord who usurped Aspreay¡¯s throne or the elven heir to Gama? It was almost enough to appease concerns. If this was a trap, they would¡¯ve made an effort to give a ¡®natural¡¯ reaction. And judging from the glance he exchanged with Solara, she shared his assumptions.
Adam lifted up his tablet as the ship captain gestured rapidly.
¡°This swordsman is Ferrero Acero,¡± the captain said, gesturing at a man no older than Adam himself, and draped in a heavy cloak.
Ferrero Acero
Talent: Duelist
Orbs: ~734,834
¡°And this wise lady, master of communication between distant lands...¡± The captain gestured at someone so covered by cloaks and fabric that Adam wouldn¡¯t have been able to tell she was a woman if not for the announcement. ¡°...is Serena Concorda.¡±
Serena Concorda
Talent: Communications
Orbs: ~1,239,403
¡°And finally, let us speak of this fine scholar.¡± He gestured at the last occupant in the cabin. Unlike the others, she wasn¡¯t covered in heavy cloaks, instead dressed similarly ¨C if not more extravagantly ¨C to Adam¡¯s traveling party. The woman had long golden hair, and was the only one of the three to acknowledge their presence. She stood up, walked towards them, and bowed respectfully. ¡°This is Lady Valeria, daughter of Lord Edmundo, and a traveling scholar.¡±
Valeria Araja
Talent: Detective
Orbs: ~2,192
Adam refused to let his surprise show on his face. One of those...is not like the others.
Chapter 18
Detective.
That single word was enough to momentarily send Adam into a state of shock, although only just for a moment. So what if she¡¯s lying about her profession? he reasoned. I didn¡¯t come here on a casual visit ¨C I came here expecting tricks, treachery, and backstabbing. This is par for the course.
With that in mind, there was still a chance the woman actually was a scholar of some kind. A person with a Detective Talent didn¡¯t necessarily need to become a detective. She may have simply chosen to use that Talent to aid in her true passions.
Either way, he meant to find out.
¡°I haven¡¯t had the pleasure of meeting many scholars before.¡± Adam smiled at the woman ¨C at Valeria. He approached slowly, adopting the noble, self-assured countenance that he¡¯d often seen in Aspreay¡¯s court. ¡°Talents of that nature rarely bless us in Penumbria.¡±
As he spoke, Adam watched the room for reactions. In a scenario like this, aboard an isolated ship with unknown passengers, exchanging words was just as much of a battle as using Stained Ink against the Ghost. Even his seemingly innocuous greeting had been carefully-phrased to ferret out information while masking his own lack of knowledge. Was Valeria pretending to have a literal Scholar Talent ¨C assuming it existed ¨C or had she just chosen a job that was ¡®close enough¡¯ to her natural abilities?
It wasn¡¯t impossible for the latter to be true. For example, Tenver possessed an Archery ability, but he was currently a knight who practiced swordsmanship. Adam had never seen him use a bow at all. Then again, Tenver was a weirdo who could easily be the exception to any number of rules. It was hard to tell for sure, and Adam refused to let anyone know how ignorant he was, lest he seem weak in their eyes.
Maybe it¡¯s unfair, but everything here is untrustworthy just by virtue of being here in the first place. Even Solara admitted that going to the Mines was risky, and she pushed for this plan. Anyone insane enough to meet with the Puppets HAS to be up to something. Figuring out who¡¯s a threat is how I¡¯ll stay alive.
The thought gave him pause. It sounded too prudent; almost bordering on cowardice. Especially when Adam had already forsaken the notion of survival for survival¡¯s sake.
Figuring out who¡¯s a threat is how I¡¯m going to win.
That felt better.
¡°Unfortunately,¡± Valeria began, in a courteous tone, ¡°scholarly Talents are rarely granted patrons, my lord.¡± She was tall, Adam realized, nearly six feet when standing. However, she¡¯d hunched her back and lowered her shoulders to reflect their disparity in rank. ¡°Your predecessor had a disdainful opinion of my kind.¡±
Ah, so you¡¯re pretending your Talent is ¡®Scholar¡¯. Interesting. Most people can¡¯t call you out on that. ¡°Lord Aspreay lacked appreciation for many things.¡± It was mostly that he¡¯d lacked the Orbs, honestly, but it was better for Adam to highlight the differences between him and Penumbria¡¯s former lord. ¡°My city¡¯s policies have since changed. If you are interested in acquiring patronage for your studies, then I¡¯d be glad to discuss the matter further.¡±
Immediately, Adam noticed Valeria¡¯s expression tighten ever so slightly, as if she was putting up her guard. He searched her eyes, finding no excitement over the prospect of patronage. Her voice, however, was easier to fake. ¡°Oh, my lord, do you mean it?¡± she asked, with an inflection that was low-pitched and excited.
¡°It would depend on the topic of your studies,¡± Adam said, widening his smile. ¡°But I am always in need of skillful scholars.¡±
¡°Oh, my lord, your words are too kind.¡±
Valeria¡¯s pause, and the way her eyes met Adam¡¯s were clear as day; she¡¯d picked up that he was doubting her. While he hadn¡¯t said anything particularly incriminating ¨C at least not that he thought ¨C her Talent was Detective, so he wasn¡¯t too surprised. Should I back down? Maybe if I play it off like I¡¯m dumb, she¡¯ll just assume I¡¯m just an idiot. There¡¯s advantages to that. He gave the option due consideration.
And rejected it.
He wanted to press forward.
¡°There is no kindness intended, only truth.¡± Adam¡¯s smile didn¡¯t fade, but he narrowed his eyes at the woman by a fraction. ¡°I am not merely filling the air with empty words. My proposal is quite genuine. Penumbria could use more scholars ¨C as its Lord, I know that better than anyone.¡±
Though his words sounded joyful, what they actually meant was: I have power, and I can tell you¡¯re bullshitting me. Do you want to admit to it in private?
Valeria, it seemed, did not intend on backing down from a fight either. ¡°In that case, mayhap we should discuss this privately once you¡¯ve settled into the airship?¡± Her voice was the perfect picture of excited innocence, as if the idea of gaining proper funding was a dream come true. ¡®Fine¡¯, her unspoken implication practically yelled at him. ¡®I want to figure out who you are too, strange lord.¡¯
¡°Great! Well then, it¡¯s been a pleasure meeting you, Lady Valeria.¡± Adam took her hand and kissed it. While it was a common introductory gesture in this world, and certainly polite, none would have blamed him for not doing so to a commoner. By both calling her ¡®Lady¡¯ and going through with this form of noble etiquette, he¡¯d indicated that he was treating Valeria with more respect than her rank demanded.
Which was why it was so shocking when she refused the greeting, pulling her hand away in a panic.
Well now, Adam thought, suppressing a smirk. Usually I¡¯m the one to violate etiquette.
He paid close attention to everyone¡¯s reactions. Valeria seemed both scared and contrite, which was expected. The ship captain, Baltsar, appeared confused and somewhat apologetic for his passenger, though he said little outside of a vague mumble. Tenver¡¯s gaze turned sharp, but he too stayed quiet. Solara appeared visibly annoyed at the woman, enough so that it seemed like only a matter of time until she found the right words to voice her outrage.
Nothing out of the ordinary. The remaining two passengers were of more interest.
Ferrerro Acero, the duelist, seemed to be almost staggered by the exchange, as if he¡¯d been hit by a sudden attack. He leaned forward, and though his arms were hidden beneath a thick, heavy coat, his stance left Adam wondering if the man was reaching for his sword.
Serena Concorda, the ¡®master of communications,¡¯ was marginally more discreet. She was so covered by coats and fabric that Adam couldn¡¯t even make out her face, yet he still noticed how she tensed up at Valeria¡¯s faux pas.
Adam chose to pretend he hasn¡¯t seen any of that, keeping up with the noble air he¡¯d been projecting until now. ¡°Does my greeting offend you, my fair lady?¡±
¡°It had better not,¡± Solara interjected. She stepped forward, positioning herself closer to Valeria than Adam was. ¡°Lord Adam has graciously hosted me in his city, and so I find myself motivated to say what his honor will not allow him. A commoner ought to know better than to disrespect a Lord and refuse his greeting in such a manner.¡±
¡°My ¨C my apologies,¡± Valeria stuttered. She massaged the hand that Adam had briefly touched, as if nursing a wound. For a scant moment, she glared at Solara¡¯s elven features, her gaze turning as sharp as the woman¡¯s ears.
Then it was gone, and she was a meek scholar once more. ¡°I...I cannot explain, but I¡¯m sensitive to...¡±
She trailed off. The prudent, logical thing to do would have been to push her to continue. That was the best way to gather information ¨C especially since Adam was certain her reaction went beyond mere boundaries or personal sensitivities. It was likely closely related to her need for subterfuge.
But...
¡°You don¡¯t have to explain anything,¡± Adam said, stepping forward and gently bowing with a hand to his chest. His other hand was extended between Solara and Valeria, as if saying: ¡®Let it go. Don¡¯t press her any further.¡¯ ¡°I understand this greeting may have been uncomfortable for you, and I take no offense to it.¡±
Solara huffed in annoyance. ¡°My lord, a peasant rejecting your kindness¨C¡±
¡°Breaches etiquette?¡± Adam asked. ¡°Makes me look weak?¡± Judging from Solara¡¯s reaction, he appeared to have hit bullseye. ¡°If you ask me, there¡¯s more strength in discarding needless tradition that forces a woman to accept a kiss. Forgive me, Lady Valeria.¡±
Although he was putting on regal airs, deep inside, Adam¡¯s Earth sensibilities were screaming so loudly that he was having trouble even putting the feeling into words. Regardless of tradition, the act of forcing a woman to accept a kiss on any part of her body, simply because he was rich and important...it was just too disgusting for him to abide. He hated scumbags who abused power and money to compel people to do things, and being on a different world didn¡¯t mean he was going to forget that part of himself.
And I definitely didn¡¯t get rid of Aspreay to become a carbon copy replacement.
His declaration left Valeria at a loss for how to proceed. ¡°No, there¡¯s nothing to forgive, I...rather, thank you ¨C I¡¯m sorry ¨C ah...¡±
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Mercifully, Tenver came to rescue everyone from the awkward moment that was about to ensue. ¡°Baltsar, my friend,¡± he began, addressing the captain in an overly loud voice. ¡°May I assume that the same cabin I had last time is still available?¡±
¡°Of course!¡± Baltsar bowed so low that his hat nearly fell off. ¡°Your Imperial Highness shall have anything he requests.¡±
Adam noticed that Baltsar was openly referring to Tenver by a title that he ¨C by all rights ¨C no longer possessed. It meant that everyone aboard this ship was, if not outright anti-Empire, then at least not loyal enough to bother enforcing its authority. Yet everyone freaked out when Valeria breached etiquette...weird world, this one.
¡°The west wing is currently filled by those three fine guests,¡± Baltsar said, again gesturing at the other passengers. ¡°The east wing¡¯s cabins are currently free.¡± He pointed at a staircase. ¡°If anyone needs me, my quarters are also where I control the ship, so...if you don¡¯t mind...¡±
The man sounded awkward and apologetic. ¡°I need a moment so we can continue towards our destination. We took a brief detour to come here, you understand.¡±
¡°One moment, captain,¡± Tenver said. He nodded towards the last door. ¡°What¡¯s over there?¡±
Baltsar smiled. ¡°O¨Coh, that...that leads to the lower levels. Where the commoners are.¡±
¡°Commoners?¡± Adam couldn¡¯t let that slide. ¡°What business do commoners have with the Puppet Mines?¡± And how can they afford to? No way you¡¯re running this clandestine operation for cheap.
Baltsar¡¯s smirk faded. ¡°These...are desperate folk, my lord. Some have lost limbs to the Rot, others to war. Some of ¡®em just are just out of hope; they don¡¯t believe they can live with dignity, considering their Talents. So...they go to the Mines. Get made into Hybrids.¡±
Adam was halfway through a nod when Solara intervened, her voice taut. ¡°You are sentencing them to lose their souls.¡±
¡°They don¡¯t lose their souls when they become Hybrids, my lady,¡± Baltsar quickly said. ¡°They just, well, get new limbs.¡±
¡°Do not liken their transformation to a sailor with a peg leg,¡± Solara snapped. ¡°Hybrids can survive even when their head is cut off. Only a living abomination is capable of such a feat. Be they Hybrids or Nexus, they¡¯re all monsters.
¡°Um, it depends on each Hybrid...I mean...if their core is placed in their head, then Hybrids still die if...¡± He faced Adam with a nervous, pleading stare. ¡°Does...does my lord object to this?¡±
Adam wasn¡¯t sure why the question was being posed to him of all people. Then he realized that the Airship was still relatively close to Penumbria, barely outside the range of his Domain. If Adam so chose, he could activate his Lord Talent, undo the walls, crush this vessel and its occupants, then return home and rebuild the walls at minimal risk to the city proper. He would have enough time to fix everything before monsters attacked.
Not to mention that most nobles would probably be fine with an ¡®acceptable¡¯ amount of lives lost, Adam mused. He studied Baltsar¡¯s anxious expression. This guy may owe a debt to Tenver¡¯s father...but I don¡¯t think he would¡¯ve come here if he¡®d known a Lord was going to be among his passengers. It¡¯s like ferrying an entitled nuke. Then again, he could be bound by a curse like Belmordo¡¯s ¨C or just by plain old leverage.
In the end, it didn¡¯t really matter. What Adam needed to focus on was how to reply to the captain. Dragon Puppets were hardly loved in this world, but this was a ship bound for the Mines. What was the proper response to give here?
Adam considered every possibility, what would benefit him the most, and then damned them all to hell with a clench of his fist. It didn¡¯t feel right to lie about this. He wanted to play the game, but he wanted to play it his way. Even if being honest was a sub-optimal strategy, that was fine. All he had to do was win anyway.
I¡¯m painting my first draft right now, he thought dryly, so for now, I feel like a genius. Brimming with confidence. But when I look back on this later...I¡¯m going to think I¡¯m an idiot. That trait artists carried, the one Adam himself was happy to embody, came at a heavy cost in social situations like these.
The rule was to be a delusional genius when planning, and the devil himself when reevaluating whatever monstrosity he¡¯d conjured up into the world. His future-self would be kicking himself, but...so be it.
Better to impose his will on the world than bend the knee to cruelty masquerading as tradition.
¡°I know very little of the Dragon Puppets,¡± Adam admitted. ¡°Information on them, their people and society ¨C as opposed to what military engagements they¡¯ve had with the Empire ¨C is rather scarce. Even so...I won¡¯t critique anyone who would submit themselves to become a Hybrid. Whether they want to or need to, I have no reason to condemn them.¡±
Adam paused. No, that didn¡¯t sound right. ¡°Forget reason; I have no right to think anything of it. Whatever they do is their decision. Not mine.¡±
There was a general murmur of agreement in the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Adam could see both the duelist and the communications woman nodding along. Both of them, especially Ferrerro, seemed visibly more relaxed at his answer.
If only the same could be said about Solara, who looked openly upset at him ¨C which legitimately he appreciated. Life would be much easier if everyone was that honest.
¡°As you say, my lord.¡± Solara¡¯s tone was polite enough, yet her flat stare showed that she spoke against her will. ¡°Consider this, however: it might be their choice, but is it truly a choice if they are given no options? Can you really say that when their only recourse is to illegally board a dubious ship ¨C no offense, captain ¨C and have their body rebuilt, because they will die if they cannot earn enough Orbs otherwise? Do you not blame the ones responsible for forcing this perversion of their souls?¡±
¡°Of course I blame them,¡± Adam snapped back. His tone was still vaguely lordlike, but enough real bitterness had crept into it. ¡°But the ones at fault aren¡¯t these people. Nor is the captain guilty for helping them in his own way. Even the Puppets aren¡¯t guilty of a damn thing here ¨C if anything, they¡¯re giving the people here a choice. Do you know who I really blame for this?¡±
Solara¡¯s anger faded slightly, and after a moment of thought, faded further until it was completely gone. A long moment passed as she held her chin thoughtfully. Eventually, she lifted her eyes to meet Adam, who nodded in return.
¡°Aye, my lord, I believe I do.¡± With a smirk, she turned to face each person in the room, then said in a melodic tone, almost as if singing, ¡°Fuck the Emperor.¡±
It was hard to tell if the astonishment that enveloped the room was due to the improperness of Solara¡¯s words, or the words themselves. Either way, that shocked silence lasted until it was shattered by a new voice.
¡°I can drink to that,¡± said Ferrero the duelist. He retrieved a glass bottle from beneath his cloak, the drink bearing a label Adam couldn¡¯t identify, and held it up in a gloved hand. ¡°Fuck the Emperor. Kinslaying bastard.¡±
Serena, the quiet master of communications sequestered in the corner, didn¡¯t hesitate to speak up next. ¡°Fuck the Emperor,¡± she said, amused. ¡°May he feed the worms better than he feeds his people.¡±
Suddenly, Tenver dropped to the ground. He brought his open hand to the wooden floor, slamming it incredibly hard. The sound that resulted was thunderous enough that, for a second, Adam thought he¡¯d punched a hole straight through. Then, cupping his mouth and aiming his scream at the floor, Tenver bellowed out: ¡°FUCK THE EMPEROR!¡±
At once, the ship started to shake. Adam¡¯s first thought was that they were being attacked ¨C until he started to hear booming cries emanating from underneath. It was a chorus that joined the merry call, numerous voices chanting in unison.
¡±FUCK THE EMPEROR!¡±
Tenver stood up without a care, as if that had been a completely normal thing for someone of his status to do. The only elaboration he offered was a handsome, winning smile.
Does this dude seriously think he can get away with crap because of pretty privilege? Adam glanced at Solara and was met with a disbelieving stare, almost like she hadn¡¯t just acted extremely harshly a moment ago. In fact, her puzzled look when Adam raised an eyebrow indicated that she believed there was nothing to apologize for at all. And does this girl think she can pretty privilege her way out of¨C
Adam¡¯s internal grumbling was interrupted when, still amidst the chanting from the lower deck of the ship, Tenver threw his arm over his shoulder like a drunken ¨C yet friendly ¨C partygoer. ¡°From their cheers, sounds like at least ten people,¡± the knight whispered. ¡°Probably more that weren¡¯t directly underneath us. Maybe a few that didn¡¯t join in the chanting. Might be useful information.¡±
¡°There had to be a better way of checking,¡± Adam whispered back.
¡°None would have been as fun,¡± Tenver grinned.
Chapter 19
¡°How much of that was an act back there?¡± Adam asked Solara once they were alone in their cabin. ¡°The constant insulting of Dragon Puppets, I mean.¡±
Solara didn¡¯t immediately respond. Instead, she closed the latch of their door, then began to walk around the cabin, seemingly checking for any abnormalities on the wooden walls.
Her investigative march only paused twice. Once at the sole window in the room, a large panel behind the bed that occasionally showed the night sky behind them, but now only showed the inside of a cloud. Then, at the second door ¨C the one connecting it to another room at the center of the east wing.
¡°There¡¯s another door behind this one,¡± Solara mused out loud. ¡°This should connect this cabin to Tenver¡¯s room.¡±
¡°Makes sense,¡± Adam said vaguely. It looked like the same setup he¡¯d find in hotels back on Earth. Two connected rooms, but both sides had to unlock the passage for it to open. Not that the architecture of the ship felt even remotely like an Earthly ship. ¡°My question from before stands.¡±
Solara didn¡¯t stop measuring the room, as if she was still sure there was something to find. ¡°Partially. I did want to give you the opportunity to sound righteous, but I also didn¡¯t have to exaggerate much.¡± She placed her ears against the wall, then moved on to the next panel, and repeated the process.
If she¡¯s not careful, Adam wondered, could she accidentally poke a hole through the wall with those ears? How sharp are they?
¡°I¡¯m no fan of the Puppets,¡± Solara continued. ¡°My people were nearly slaughtered because of a hazy link to the dragons of old, who the Puppets were actually created by. If someone has to be subjected to scorn, it might as well be¨C¡±
¡°¨CWell, is it really necessary for someone to be treated like that?¡± Adam cut her off.
¡°You sound like my father,¡± Solara said, through a bitter smile.
¡°Can¡¯t say I ever want to hear that from a woman,¡± Adam joked. He felt momentarily concerned it had been inappropriate, and was relieved when Solara chuckled. ¡°You went really hard on Valeria about not following etiquette back there. Would have thought you of all people wouldn¡¯t like that.¡±
Solara paused her investigation of the room to look back at Adam. ¡°Etiquette has always been somewhat of a cursed shield for me. Too many people ridiculed me ¨C ridiculed father ¨C when I broke it in my earlier years.¡±
She grit her teeth at her own mention of Vasco. ¡°At father¡¯s court, they were quick to use my failings or etiquette to force me to obey them. It was a way to swing a dull blade at me and call it sport, rather than an attack, if you catch my meaning.¡±
You¡¯re more upset at how it reflected on him than how it affected you. ¡°So you got pretty good at it, eh?¡± Adam asked, in a deliberately casual tone. ¡°To keep them from judging you too harshly?¡±
¡°So that I could judge them. I might be an elf, and the Emperor might have once ordered the massacre of my people ¨C but so long as I am Vasco¡¯s daughter, my rank allowed me to tell them to...¡±
Suddenly, her bitter expression softened, as if just now noticing Adam¡¯s tone. More casually, she said, ¡°To tell them to fuck off. There¡¯s a method to it, though. Like a magic spell.¡±
¡°Oh really?¡± Adam laughed. ¡°I should learn it too. Can¡¯t say I trained much for this.¡± Or at all. Not unless hanging around theater kids counted as training for conversing like a pompous, quasi-medieval lord.
Which, in truth, it probably did.
¡°You¡¯re doing quite well so far, although I could offer some pointers here and there.¡± Solara sighed, yet didn¡¯t wipe her smile off her face. ¡°Sometimes, etiquette strangles me. Sometimes, however, it is my only defense. If I drop it, people like them ¨C anyone, really, can say whatever they want about me.¡±
¡°You mind elaborating?¡±
¡°If we all agree to follow the invisible rules of etiquette, then I am deserving of at least a little respect. If I am not, then there¡¯s nothing stopping people from...¡±
She trailed off, but Adam could fill in the blanks. He hadn¡¯t considered her perspective in that way. While his reaction was still fair, he could¡¯ve chosen his words better, at least. Sometimes, Solara sounds like she¡¯s ready to snap at everything...but I should remember she damn well has a reason for it.
¡°Sorry about putting you on the spot back there,¡± Adam said, awkwardly. ¡°I hadn¡¯t considered how that could affect¨C¡±
¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Solara said, and sounded like she meant it. ¡°I would have wanted you to respond like that, anyhow. Everyone aboard this ship is, to a degree, a Puppet sympathizer. Might as well turn me into the villain to make you more admirable.¡±
¡°Can¡¯t be easy playing the villain though,¡± Adam offered. ¡°No reason to pretend it doesn¡¯t bother you.¡±
To his surprise, she laughed. ¡°Of course it¡¯s not easy, my lord. But I¡¯m willing to do much worse to my reputation if that¡¯s what it takes to achieve my dream.¡± Solara gestured at the room around them. ¡°For example, take a look.¡±
He followed her gesture and found nothing of importance. ¡°What about it?¡±
¡°There are three free rooms in the East Wing. We could have had separate rooms. There¡¯s another one connected to Lord Tenver¡¯s, even, on the opposite side. Why do you think I publicly asked to share a room with you?¡±
Adam drew the memory in his mind. He¡¯d only vaguely paid attention then, having been almost entirely focused on scrutinizing the interior of the airship. From what he could recall, Solara had loudly asked the captain for them to share a room. She hadn¡¯t quite yelled it out, but everyone must¡¯ve heard it.
¡°Don¡¯t tell me,¡± Solara began, with a teasing tone, ¡°that you thought I was making a romantic advance on you.¡±
¡°No,¡± Adam frankly said. ¡°I just figured that, after all the time you spent in an isolated tower, you wouldn¡¯t be a huge fan of being alone if you could avoid it.¡± And to be honest, I don¡¯t really care. I¡¯m not fourteen; it isn¡¯t a big deal to share a room.
¡°That¡¯s not¨C¡±
Solara cut herself short, her realization just slightly slower than her own speech. She glanced thoughtfully to the side, and then looked back at Adam. ¡°Well, mayhap there¡¯s truth in that,¡± she remarked, as if this was new to her as well. ¡°But I¡¯d much rather that everyone else thinks we are romantically attached.¡±
Adam raised an eyebrow, then nodded. ¡°You think rumors of us would benefit you?¡±
¡°It¡¯s already scandalous enough that I¡¯m an elven heir.¡± Solara sat down on the bed. ¡°Many people are sure that the Emperor would stop me from succeeding Father when the time comes. It¡¯s why so many upstart nobles act above their station with me sometimes. And to be honest, that possibility does concern me as well.¡±
¡°Ah, I see your point. If they hear you¡¯re engaged with a Lord of a different city...¡±
¡°They might think I have more power, yes.¡± Solara seemed quite proud of herself. ¡°In addition, such rumors make it harder for you to cast me aside when you no longer need Gama.¡±
That gave him pause. Adam had spent so long considering why he should trust Solara that he hadn¡¯t stopped to consider that maybe she didn¡¯t trust him. Not completely, anyway.
Just how goddamn arrogant am I? Sure, he¡¯d saved her from the curse, but that was a mutually beneficial arrangement. It was reasonable for her to be worried that he wouldn¡¯t keep her around if she became a liability ¨C and her elven heritage made her somewhat of a political risk almost by nature.
¡°I don¡¯t have an army at my disposal,¡± Solara said, as if admitting a weakness. ¡°Father controls it still. But even with my meager funds, I do have enough to hire out a number of bards and send them around the Empire. By now, taverns across the land should be hearing songs and tales of a romantic bastard who took down his father, then rescued the Heiress of Gama from a curse placed on her by the Emperor.¡±
Adam rubbed his temples to digest the information. ¡°That...doesn¡¯t sound like an accurate retelling.¡±
¡°Because it isn¡¯t. But it makes the Emperor look cruel ¨C and pretending you¡¯re Aspreay¡¯s bastard son might give your takeover of the city some legitimacy. That latter part was your idea, no? Father told me so.¡±
How fast did you have this arranged? That was the night before we left! ¡°Yes, but¨C¡± Adam sighed. ¡°I guess your idea is to gather enough public support that if I were to betray you, I would be inconvenienced with enough...let¡¯s say ¡®complaints¡¯, that it would cost me less to keep you around.¡±
¡°Am I wrong?¡±
She probably wasn¡¯t. Adam knew people weren¡¯t overly fond of elves, but they could put aside their prejudice if they didn¡¯t have to interact with the elf ¨C when she was just an exotic element in a story. Plus, if Solara¡¯s bards were good enough, they¡¯d likely drum up some public support on their ¡®side¡¯ because of the romanticism inherent in propaganda. Not to mention it served the dual purpose of making people hate the Emperor for supposedly cursing Solara.
The thing was, Adam had never planned on getting rid of her to begin with.
¡°I went through that curse twice,¡± Solara quietly muttered. There was a bit of defensiveness in her tone. Adam stopped rubbing his forehead to meet her eyes, but when he did, he found her averting her gaze. ¡°The second time just to make sure you could trust me.¡±
A pang of guilt stabbed at him. I put her through that for nothing. My painting told me she could be trusted. But he wouldn¡¯t have known that if he hadn¡¯t done it.
¡°You¡¯re saying we should call it even?¡± Adam asked, slowly.
¡°If you wouldn¡¯t mind,¡± she said. The casualness of Solara¡¯s voice, and her sudden smile when she looked up at him, made it hard not to laugh.
¡°Sure,¡± Adam smirked. ¡°This works out for me, too. It makes me even more sure I can trust you.¡±
¡°It does tie our fate, doesn¡¯t it?¡±
Adam¡¯s face turned dark. ¡°Better than how Tenver did it.¡± He still had the occasional nightmare of seeing Tenver pull out heads one after another from a blood-soaked bag.
¡°Do you trust Lord Tenver?¡± Solara asked suddenly. ¡°I don¡¯t know where you stand with him.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know either. Guy¡¯s a difficult man to understand.¡± Adam sighed. ¡°Not too long ago, he made a disturbingly good argument about how murdering my political opponents was a way of showing his trustworthiness...and considering his background, it doesn¡¯t sound like very fond of the Emperor. Still, I can¡¯t ever tell what is going through his head, and he¡¯s been acting weird since I became Lord of Penumbria.¡±
¡°Do you think that maybe¡ª¡±
There was a knock on the door.
Adam and Solara exchanged a look. When he saw the knowing smile on her face, he finally understood her unspoken other reason for insisting on sharing a room. I said that the detective woman should speak to me about funding her ¡®scholarly¡¯ activities...and Solara wanted an excuse to be present for that.
The thought sent a brief chill down his spine. Not because there was anything particularly concerning about the action itself, but because it reminded him that the elf wasn¡¯t going to let much slip by her.
¡°Come in,¡± Adam announced.
There was a small movement from the door, but it clashed against the pulled latch. ¡°Forgive me,¡± Valeria said, from outside. ¡°The door is locked. Could you let me in?¡±
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Solara raised an eyebrow at Adam, who responded with a shrug. He¡¯d wanted to test if the latch actually kept the room closed. It was an old, probably useless habit he¡¯d retained from visiting...questionable hotels back on Earth. Not that he had been able to afford any trips for a long time. Even if Eric insisted otherwise.
¡°Give me a minute,¡± he answered. After unlocking the door, Valeria entered, closing it behind her. At a glance, it was already apparent that something was different about her. Earlier, she¡¯d worn the expression of an awestruck individual; a scholar who felt dazzled by the wonders of the world around here.
No longer.
Now, there was hardly a speck of innocence on her face.
Even her clothes had changed, from an extravagant dress to an attire not very dissimilar from Adam¡¯s. She was sporting a man¡¯s jacket over a red shirt, white pants, and ¨C most notably of all ¨C a bitter smile.
¡°Lord Adam.¡± Valeria¡¯s salutation was profound and theatrical, like that of a gentleman. She placed a hand over her chest, and extended the other to the side as she bowed. Then, without lifting her head, she said, ¡°I trust that Lady Solara¡¯s presence is of no problem?¡±
¡°None,¡± Adam said.
¡°You trust her?¡±
¡°As much as I trust anyone.¡±
He caught a glimpse of a brief smirk on Valeria¡¯s face before she suddenly whirled herself into a standing position, one hand behind her back, and the other holding her chin in a thoughtful pose. ¡°Very well. I dare not guess how, but you appear to have surmised something of me.¡±
¡°That¡¯s correct. Didn¡¯t expect you to reveal your true self so easily, though ¨C I barely showed you any proof.¡±
¡°Who says this is my true self, oh Lord Painter?¡± Valeria asked, wryly. It made Adam feel like she was acting out a one-woman satirical play, although her subject of parody was one he wasn¡¯t familiar with. ¡°Besides ¨C you may not have revealed much back there, but I can gather much from very little.¡±
He nodded. ¡°Right. I should expect that from someone who bears the Talent of a Detective.¡±
Adam enjoyed the immediate effect this had on both of them. Valeria¡¯s face tightened immediately, and Solara glared at him as if hoping he¡¯d disclose how he knew. Stare at me all you want, I¡¯m not confessing to anything more than I have to. He¡¯d only called out her Talent to speed things up ¨C and more importantly, to make the point that he was someone the detective should be careful around.
Because even if he thought he could come out on top against just about anyone...he¡¯d rather not have to bother. If he kept gambling forever, eventually, he was bound to lose.
Valeria tried prodding one last time. ¡°Lord Penumbria, do you wish to elaborate?¡±
¡°No.¡±
The detective laughed. ¡°Very well, then. If you will not elucidate that particular mystery for me, mayhap your gentlemanly soul will induce you to unravel a different truth?¡±
Adam took a moment before responding. Partially because he wanted to consider what to say, and partially because he wanted to make sure he¡¯d understood the woman correctly. While her way of speaking had been mostly easy to comprehend so far, her phrasing ¨C and especially her delivery ¨C felt more pompous than even Aspreay. ¡°I did mention the possibility of working together,¡± he remarked.
¡°You did, my lord!¡± Valeria moved her hand away from her chin, and into a dramatic pointing gesture, as if Adam had just said something brilliant. It would¡¯ve come across as condescending if not for the sheer enthusiasm she exhibited. ¡°What must we do to make it a reality?¡±
¡°I¡¯m not one for hidden daggers,¡± Adam said. He could swear he heard Solara chuckle at that, but he didn¡¯t dare to look away from the detective. ¡°Our purpose for going there is not a secret. Penumbria wants to deal with the Puppets ¨C trade, military alliances, whatever they are willing to discuss.¡±
Whatever Valeria¡¯s thoughts about this were, she didn¡¯t allow them to show on her face. The theatrical smirk was still on full display. ¡°Oh, I see. A most difficult mission, that one. And what could this poor scholar have to offer you?¡±
¡°You¡¯re a detective heading into the Puppet Mines. There¡¯s no way you don¡¯t have contacts, information, or something of the sort.¡±
¡°Good point, good point!¡± Valeria exclaimed, so excitedly that Adam was really struggling not to feel patronized. ¡°That would make sense. I suppose the next step would be to make clear what I¡¯m hiding, yes?¡±
Solara cleared her throat. ¡°Believe it or not, wasting time is not one of my favored hobbies.¡±
¡°Truly?¡± Valeria tilted her head in puzzlement. ¡°Then why did you waste nearly a year of your life locked inside a tower?¡±
How does she know¨C
Adam¡¯s thought was blown aside by the sound of Solara stepping forward. Her foot slammed against the floor hard enough to create a thunderous threat, and her hand fell inside her coat to reach for what seemed like a knife. Valeria moved away, but kept smirking all the while, only raising her hands in a declaration of harmlessness. ¡°Hey, hey ¨C no need to make this violent. Please, have mercy, I am but a weak detective.¡±
Yet there was not a trace of fear in her voice.
¡°Okay,¡± Adam began, trying to calm things down. ¡°How about telling us what you want, Valeria?¡±
As if changing characters in a play, Valeria whirled around and began pacing about the room, one hand on her chin, and the other holding her elbow. ¡°Ah, but of course. Let us not waste time with idle distractions.¡±
¡°You¡¯re the one who¨C¡± Solara angrily started, before curbing her own outrage by drawing deep breaths. ¡°Very well. Go on.¡±
¡°My apologies. I must be naturally talented at angering you, my elven lady, because I have not put any effort into doing so.¡± Without waiting for a response, Valeria turned around on the ball of one foot in an exaggerated fashion, almost like a dancer, then took two long steps toward Adam. ¡°My lord, let us rectify the offense that created Lady Solara¡¯s initial dislike of me.¡±
She offered the back of her hand to him.
¡°Are you sure?¡± Adam asked warily. ¡°There is no need to push yourself on account of old customs.¡±
¡°I was not concerned by the act ¨C it was your reaction I feared. The captain is ignorant of this little detail.¡± Valeria shook her extended hand as if to hurry him. ¡°Fear not, my lord.¡±
Something about her reminds me of Tenver, Adam thought. It¡¯s probably the way I feel exhausted after exchanging just a few words. But tired or not, he had to go ahead with it ¨C no point in complaining. At least he was used to this show of etiquette by now.
Adam curved his back into a bow, took her hand, and kissed it gently. After that, he was supposed to either release her hand, or slowly move it back towards the lady before dropping it.
He did neither.
Instead, he dropped all etiquette, widened his eyes, and used both hands to bring the woman¡¯s arm closer to him.
There was probably a gentler way of accomplishing this, but Adam was too preoccupied with what he now saw. He made a mental note to apologize later. With the way he¡¯d grabbed her wrist, he could¡¯ve pulled her shoulder out of its socket.
That is, if she had a shoulder socket to begin with.
¡°If you¡¯ll excuse my language ¨C what the hell is this?¡± Adam exclaimed in wonder. ¡°You have an extra joint on each of your fingers. And your skin...it feels like skin, but it¡¯s like...what¡¯s this beneath it? That¡¯s not muscle. It¡¯s more like...wood?¡±
Adam didn¡¯t even realize that Solara had drawn her knife until he caught a glimpse of steel pointed at Valeria from the edge of his peripheral vision. He should have wondered why she was doing that, and then attempted to defuse what was fast becoming a delicate situation.What he actually thought was: Can¡¯t this wait? I want to try sketching her hand. Haven¡¯t done a study like this before. Live anatomy of otherworldly creatures ¨C could be fun. Hmm. How many joints are there?
¡°Lord Adam, let go of her hand,¡± Solara gravely said. ¡°This woman is a Dragon Puppet. She cannot be trusted.¡±
¡°Guilty!¡± Valeria exclaimed, appearing unbothered by the sharp steel nearly touching her eyes. ¡°On both counts. And I come aboard the ship on behalf of our Grandmaster. Surely you can guess why, Heiress of Gama.¡±
Solara said nothing, but Adam recalled something she¡¯d mentioned a couple of days ago. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say there was something odd about this ship?¡±
The elven woman hesitated. ¡°I...suppose I did.¡±
¡°But you don¡¯t know,¡± Valeria joyfully began, ¡°exactly what the issue is, do you? Of course you wouldn¡¯t. Missing cargo ¨C or rather, the lack thereof ¨C is only discovered and verified upon arriving at the Mines, and people who travel there rarely ever come back. The most you¡¯d be aware of is vague rumors, eh?¡±
To her credit, Solara drew a deep breath, seeming to regain her composure. ¡°Adam,¡± she said, quietly. ¡°Will you please let go of her hand?¡±
¡°But¨C¡±
¡°At least until we know what she wants?¡±
¡°Fine.¡± He let go. ¡°Although I really would like to sketch your hands later, if you don¡¯t mind. There are very few written records about your kind in Penumbria, and absolutely no details on your anatomy aside from vague mentions of wood and string.¡±
Valeria smiled. ¡°Of course. It would be my pleasure to answer all your questions regarding Dragon Puppets, and even to vouch for your noble character to the Grandmaster...if you can fulfill your part of the deal.¡±
Adam adopted a more serious tone. ¡°What do you want?¡±
¡°The missing cargo,¡± Valeria directly stated, as if the topic had already been discussed at length. ¡°I am here to find out what makes it go missing.¡±
Solara raised an eyebrow. ¡°And you expect us to believe that you aren¡¯t stealing the cargo, then claiming it went missing to obscure your crimes?¡±
¡°I do. Because that¡¯s just the issue ¨C the cargo disappears before the ship lands. Captain Baltsar himself can attest to that. And we¡¯ve been paying him in full for years, even when the occasional discrepancy arose. It has been getting worse lately, however. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here.¡±
All at once, Adam¡¯s focus went from dreams of anatomy and composition to a more practical, if concerning thought. He recalled what the captain had said earlier and bit his lip. Shit. Don¡¯t tell me... ¡°This cargo you¡¯re speaking of ¨C do you mean the passengers?¡±
¡°Correct!¡± Valeria exclaimed happily. ¡°On many occasions, for years now, people have gone missing during voyages headed by Captain Baltsar. They leave for the Puppet Mines and never complete their journey. Remember, this is a state of the art airship! There¡¯s a barrier preventing anyone from jumping off the deck, willingly or otherwise.¡±
She didn¡¯t need to explain further. Adam immediately understood the implications. There was someone ¨C or something ¨C responsible for this. ¡°Have you ever found...corpses?¡±
¡°No!¡± Valeria exclaimed, a genuine smile widening across her face. ¡°That¡¯s the beautiful thing! There¡¯s no way for corpses to be removed from the Airship in the middle of a voyage. And yet, there¡¯s no mistaking the amount of people who board the airship, either. So, Lord Adam...what do you think happened?¡±
The Stained Ink inside of him stirred like a sudden chill.
Chapter 20
¡°You¡¯re the detective,¡± Adam said, after a long pause. ¡°You tell me. What do you think happened to those missing people?¡±
Valeria tapped her lips with her index finger, then looked upwards in a parody of deep thought. ¡°My lord, my lord...how could a humble peasant such as myself know what you do not?¡±
¡°Skip the dance, Puppet,¡± Solara cut in. She crossed her arms and let out a disdainful sound. ¡°Unless you want us to believe you¡¯re dumb enough to reveal yourself, prattle for minutes on end, and then give us no reason not to scrap you..¡±
¡°Not all of us fear death, elf.¡± Valeria flashed a smirk. ¡°Some of us have died once already.¡±
Adam shifted his gaze away from their argument and towards his own hand, turning it over and studying it carefully. I wonder if that applies to me too. He hadn¡¯t died when entering the painted world, he didn¡¯t think, but what difference did it make? There was no way to return to Earth, no one waiting for him, and nothing left undone ¨C except maybe one person he hadn¡¯t punched. Most people wouldn¡¯t even notice that he was gone.
He might as well have died.
Solara smirked back at the Puppet. ¡°You talk plenty, yet say so little. Whenever you¡¯re done feeling superior for wasting time on flowery words, feel free to speak up with something of actual value. In the meantime, I¡¯ll be sleeping with my eyes open.¡±
¡°Fine, fine,¡± Valeria said, holding up both arms, as if surrendering on a battlefield. She let out an amused chuckle. ¡°If you insist, I shall be honest.¡±
The elf and the painter shared a look, nodded, and then both leaned forward. ¡°Okay,¡± Adam began. ¡°What do you think happened to those missing people?¡±
¡°I genuinely don¡¯t have the slightest clue,¡± Valeria immediately replied.
Adam didn¡¯t even need to look at Solara in order to reach out and grab her wrist. To his surprise, he managed to stop her before she could draw her knife once more. He wasn¡¯t sure his reflexes and strength would be enough.
¡°My lord¡ªAdam, she¡ª¡±
¡°I know,¡± he replied, in a somewhat regretful tone, ¡°I know. But just bear with it, please.¡±
Valeria continued on without reacting, as if blind to the elf who openly wanted to inflict violence upon her. ¡°I do know, however, that the first reported incident happened five years ago. It might have started earlier, but that¡¯s as far as our records go.¡±
¡°Any suspects?¡± Adam cut in. ¡°Let¡¯s be quick.¡±
¡°Only three people have been present in every trip where someone went missing.¡± Valeria closed her eyes. ¡°The ship captain, Baltsar, is one. The other two are frequent travelers ¨C Ferrero the duelist, and Serena, the Master of Communications.¡±
She slammed a fist onto her open palm as if suddenly remembering something. ¡°Ah! And the missing person is always from the cabins below, where the poorer, less important people travel.¡±
¡°How do we know we can trust you?¡± Solara insisted. ¡°We can¡¯t verify that information.¡±
¡°Because I¡¯m the detective.¡± Valeria withdrew her sword. Her flippancy vanished in an instant, replaced by the countenance of a soldier going to war.¡°And this truth of mine bleeds red.
I am not allowed to murder, for the detective may not be the culprit.¡±
Even though Solara couldn¡¯t tell the exact inner workings of the ability, she appeared dazzled by the display, as if enraptured by one of the theater performances she loved so dearly.. Adam, meanwhile, had already sought his tablet to confirm it.
Ability: The Bloody Truth
The Detective may declare something with certainty. If it is a lie, they will pay with their own body and blood. Once gone, a body part cannot be used as payment again, even if replaced. If the statement is proven correct or comes to pass, the detective¡¯s sword becomes embodied with proportional power to the truth. The amount of blood and flesh needed to declare a truth is proportional to the importance of the truth.
¡°If this truth borne from my very blood becomes a lie, I shall pay with my own body,¡± Valeria said, quietly. ¡°Do you believe me?¡±
Solara seemed about to deny her when she caught sight of Adam¡¯s eyes. The elf raised both eyebrows in surprise at him, then shifted her gaze back at Valeria. ¡°I suppose so,¡± she admitted, reluctantly. ¡°But hear me out ¨C you¡¯re a Puppet! Your body parts matter very little when you can replace them.¡±
¡°We can, but not as well as you¡¯d think.¡± Valeria tapped at the arm Adam had been studying before. ¡°This is a replacement of my original arm. A thin layer of skin over simple wood, strung together into my nerves. It is the only real prosthetic we can manage on a living person. The rest of my body is not too dissimilar from your own, my lady elf. However, the method that gave me my new body only works when a Puppet is first reborn, so I cannot bet my arm again.¡±
¡°If you call rebirth the act of stealing a corpse, then performing abominable¨C¡±
¡°Enough,¡± Adam sighed. So far, he was having trouble understanding Valeria, and he doubted she would help him in that regard. Which was fine by him. Adam¡¯s art was a product of careful observation ¨C he may not be a detective, but he wouldn¡¯t lose when it came to understanding people.
No reason to trust her, but I also don¡¯t want anyone to die, so I¡¯ll play along for now. ¡°What do you want us to do?¡±
¡°Speak with the suspects,¡± Valeria said, ¡°and use your authority as a lord to compel that stubborn captain to enforce better security measures. Here¡¯s what I propose...¡±
--
As it turned out, there wasn¡¯t a need for much of that planning ¨C the first suspect came straight to him. It happened the next day, as Adam was sitting in a lounge chair in the common area, his tablet out as he drew lazy sketches. Ferrero Acero, the duelist, took that moment to saunter up and peer over his shoulder.
¡°Ahoy there.¡± Ferrero examined the tablet. ¡°Ah, right, right! You¡¯re the Lord Painter, yeah?¡±
Adam hesitated. Normally this would have been a welcome fortune, but he¡¯d just found a really interesting animal to paint ¨C an actual fish, flying just outside the window! The burdens of responsibility know no bounds.
He glanced at Ferrero. The duelist seemed intrigued by the tablet, but not overly surprised or confused. People really do see my tablet as a canvas, huh? Although I guess I must still look really weird from their perspective. Half-laying down on a couch, with a canvas propped up on my chest, and probably getting paint all over myself.
¡°Lord Painter...¡± He lowered his tablet. ¡°Is that what I¡¯m known as?¡±
¡°Not really.¡± Ferrero shrugged. ¡°But I don¡¯t remember the names of lords much. Not like it matters to me.¡± He tapped at Adam¡¯s shoulder, then gestured at Solara, who was sipping tea and reading a book in another corner. ¡°I remember her father as ¡®the one with the elven daughter.¡¯ Gods be damned if I know what he¡¯s truly called, though. Likewise, you¡¯re the Lord Who Paints.¡±
Against his own wishes, Adam found himself smirking. ¡°There are worse things to be known as. I wouldn¡¯t mind if you remembered my real name, though.¡±
That was when he made the terrible mistake of sitting up ¨C which Ferrero interpreted as an invitation to take a seat. The man looked as though he''d just ambled down from a mountain blanketed in snow and ice, wearing an overcoat so hefty it hid virtually all details of his underlying garb. The only definite thing Adam could discern was that the man''s arm was enveloped in a long-sleeved shirt, ornately accented with leather, and complete with matching gloves.
¡°I might remember you one day,¡± Ferrero said, with a jovial tone. He nodded at Adam¡¯s tablet. In that same moment, he opened the window and tried reaching outside ¨C only to be repelled by the ship¡¯s barrier. Appearing mildly annoyed, he put it back in place. ¡°Oh well. So, what are you painting?¡±
¡°What the hell did you just try to do?¡± Adam lifted an eyebrow. ¡°Are you interested in art?"
¡°In truth, I think flying fish taste rather wonderful. Wanted to catch that one.¡± He gestured vaguely at the fish Adam had been drawing. ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like it¡¯s possible, though. And of course I¡¯m interested in art.¡± Ferrero tapped at his sword and lifted an eyebrow in return, as if curious. ¡°I am a duelist, after all.¡±
A long second passed. Just one second. Yet, so many thoughts went through Adam¡¯s mind that it may as well have been a small eternity.
Are duels related to art in this world?
Is this guy just weird?
Maybe he¡¯s fucking with me?
Did I mishear him?
How is that in any way connected with what I just said?
In the end, Adam settled on a simpler thought.
No need to overthink it. Just smile and nod. It won¡¯t come off as strange so long as I ask it the right way. ¡°You mean your dueling is art?¡±
¡°Of course. It¡¯s an expression of emotion and creativity, spawned upon the world through a mountain of effort. How is it not?¡±
Occasionally, there are things inside a person¡¯s heart that strongly disagree with what they¡¯ve just heard; feelings so unconscious and ingrained that it¡¯s a struggle to express them into actual words. For Adam, this was one of those times.
¡°You...¡± He knew dueling was a sport here, and that people enjoyed it as such. Not too different from medieval Earth ¨C hell, not too different from modern Earth. ¡°You fight for victory and glory. An artist does not.¡±
¡°Ah, interesting, interesting.¡± Ferrero nodded along and sank deeper into the couch, as if he¡¯d been invited to stay for a long conversation. Adam tried to politely point out he was busy with a painting, but the swordsman appeared wilfully ignorant. ¡°Are you saying that an artist who learns the trade solely to make money is no artist at all?¡±
Adam wanted to tell the duelist to shut up and let him draw, but the question stopped him short. ¡°There are some artists who would agree with that,¡± he admitted.
Ferrero caught on to his hesitation. ¡°Not you?¡±
¡°Not me,¡± Adam relented. ¡°If someone draws a masterpiece for the sake of becoming a millionaire, and ends up making someone¡¯s heart stir ¨C well, it doesn¡¯t become ¡®less art¡¯ just because I know the intentions of the person behind it.¡±
¡°Then how is that different from dueling?¡±
Adam forced himself to smile politely. Oftentimes, in this Painted World with its own history and culture, he found himself choosing words carefully because he didn¡¯t understand a topic very well. This time, he was silent because he understood things too well, and was trying to find a way to voice his disagreement without losing his lordly conduct.
¡°How is it the same?¡± Adam asked, unable to keep some pointedness out of his comments. ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll concede that people can get emotionally invested in the result of a sports match. Their hearts will race, their breath will catch, and they¡¯ll scream in excitement or cry in despair at the result. I get that. But that¡¯s the limit of the kind of emotions that sports can express.¡±
¡°Interesting,¡± Ferrero replied, ¡°I thought you¡¯d criticize that we aren¡¯t creating something like a painter is. It¡¯s not like a duelist will leave behind a canvas.¡±
Adam smiled. ¡°If I did that, I¡¯d also be dismissing a lot of other art forms. Dancing, theater...there are tons of artistic performances that don¡¯t leave behind proof that they existed. But sports ¨C dueling, well, you can¡¯t exactly evoke a range of emotions like those forms can. It¡¯s a competition, evoking emotion isn¡¯t your primary concern, it¡¯s ¨C look, can you say that someone¡¯s life can change from witnessing a duel?¡±
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¡°Yes,¡± Ferrero responded immediately. ¡°Mine did.¡±
Adam wasn¡¯t convinced. ¡°How so?¡±
¡°Had I not witnessed a duel, I would have killed myself.¡±
The two held each other¡¯s gazes in silence. Ferrero wore a smile, although not a heavy one. It wasn¡¯t the kind of smile someone put on to hide sadness. Rather, it belied a man with a storied past, yet who was not chained by it. For a second, Adam studied the duelist inquisitively, and then gave up.
On his painting, that is. Not on understanding him.
¡°I am sorry to hear that,¡± Adam said, giving Ferrero his undivided attention.
¡°Forgive me for my bluntness ¨C I didn¡¯t mean to bring the mood down with uninvited sadness, but the topic was related.¡±
Adam shook his head. ¡°Nah, nah. If you don¡¯t want to speak about uninvited sadness, then here you go!¡± He theatrically swirled his hands in the air. ¡°The sadness is invited. You may now speak, you odd person.¡±
And if I need to turn you into a painting...this might help. ¡°Come on ¨C it¡¯s a crime to keep an artist¡¯s origins a mystery. Speak to me.¡±
Ferrero let out a boisterous laugh. ¡°If my Lord of Paintings insists, then I will be brief.¡± His smile turned nostalgic as he looked out the window. ¡°There was a time when I truly did not know who I was, nor had I any hint of what I wanted to be. Not much of a family, barely much of a life...death seemed amenable to me.¡± He spoke distantly, as if the story belonged to another version of him, nearly another person. ¡°Then I saw him duel.¡±
¡°Vagueness is permitted for brevity, but not for style,¡± Adam cut in. ¡°What was his name?¡±
¡°Merrivale,¡± Ferrero answered. ¡°He was up against Sousa, who at the time was one of the Empire¡¯s greatest swordsmen. Merrivale was far weaker. Technique, speed, strength...he was sorely lacking in all of them. But sword fights are not as the bards tell them ¨C they are wars, where strategy can overcome mightier armies than you can field. I watched Merrivale prolong his match for hours, doing all he could to stay in it. He couldn¡¯t win, but he could keep himself from losing for as long as possible.¡±
Adam nodded, picturing the duel in his mind. ¡°Did he mean to outlast Sousa, then? Was he superior in stamina?¡±
¡°No. The longer the duel went, the greater the disparity between the two became. Sousa was superior in every way.¡±
Adam blinked slowly, in deep thought. ¡°Then how...?¡±
Ferrero grinned. ¡°As I said ¨C sword fights are not like bards would have you believe. There is no secret move learned from a dragon or trained beneath a waterfall that may cut any suit of armor, go through any parry, or win every fight. Every move has a probability of success, and that calculation depends on both the effort you¡¯ve put into honing that move, as well as your opponent¡¯s ability to defend against it. Sometimes, overusing or underusing a move will also change your likelihood of making the attack land. Following me so far?¡±
Adam nodded. He could understand it if it was being explained like this. ¡°Go on.¡±
¡°When your muscles tire, your throat dries up, and your heart races...you start doubting yourself. You tense up. Your moves become a fraction of a second slower, your decisions are delayed, and your strikes are less certain. This happens to everyone; even the greatest of us. When their duel reached that point, they fell back on their best moves. Merrivale was a master of the direct fleche. Do you understand?¡±
¡°Not in the slightest,¡± Adam said, ¡°but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s relevant.¡±
¡°Unlike Merrivale, Sousa didn¡¯t have a move he would call his favorite. He was rather well-rounded in most parries and attacks, rather.¡±
Adam snapped his fingers. ¡°I see ¨C so his best move was better than Sousa¡¯s average moves, is that it? And when they were tired, they relied on those, and Merrivale came ahead?¡±
¡°Not quite.¡±
¡°Oh. Okay.¡± Adam drew a deep breath. ¡°I really don¡¯t get your point then.¡±
¡°Sousa¡¯s talent was so overwhelming that, frankly speaking, his most average move was far better than Merrivale¡¯ best. Even as an ignorant child, it seemed cruel to me. I could tell that Merrivale had given his life to create a blade only half as sharp as the one Sousa half-heartedly wielded.¡±
Suddenly, Ferrero chuckled. ¡°And that is what made all the difference.¡±
Adam stared at the duelist, who only widened his grin. ¡°You see, Lord Painter, when exhaustion was catching up to both men...when their skills were being tested...Merrivale was still relentlessly attacking with the move he¡¯d dedicated his life to. He put his entire soul behind every strike. His efforts, his practice, his resolve, and his passion...they all guided his steel. Sousa, meanwhile, deflected the blows coldly, methodically, his overwhelming talent telling him only to wait for the chance to deliver the finishing blow.¡±
The duelist paused, his eyes sparkling with remembrance. ¡°It was at that point that I looked at both their faces.¡±
Adam said nothing. He merely waited for Ferrero to continue. The man lifted his hand, then held open his gloved palm.
¡°Merrivale had no such hesitation. He knew he was inferior, but his constant practice granted him confidence. Mismatched as he was, he knew his hard work would not betray him, and so he attacked without fear. His blood, sweat, and tears shielded him from the demon known as exhaustion ¨C a demon which affected his body, yet not his mind. The more talented Sousa, who deflected without passion, using techniques he took no time to master, was winning every exchange...but upon seeing the confidence with which Merrivale struck, allowed a single intrusive thought to enter his mind.¡±
At this, the duelist closed his palm with a thunderous gesture. ¡°¡®Am I going to lose,¡¯ Sousa wondered?¡¯¡±
¡°And he would. He was doomed to lose the moment he allowed that thought to enter him. A momentary hesitation afflicted the mind of the superior duelist, one that the weaker was shielded from by virtue of his own scars. It shifted the momentum of the duel. At that moment, I saw it all too plainly ¨C everything in Merrivale¡¯s dueling spoke of who he was. His manic grin, his pained but confident expression, the moves he insisted on using, the ones he insisted on refusing...they told the story of a person who¡¯d forged his body every day for one singular purpose.¡±
Ferrero laughed. ¡°That was when, Lord of Painting, that I decided dying could wait. I wanted to be just like him. I too wanted to stand on the duelist piste, be swallowed by the roar of the crowd, and show them who I was. Mayhap I thought it possible to discover myself in my duels.¡±
¡°Did you?¡±
¡°I did.¡±
¡°Is that why you travel to the Mines so often?¡± Adam asked, sharply.
¡°It is. There are strong duelists there. The strongest, even.¡±
Adam quietly nodded, sinking into contemplation. Was there anything in that story that would give Ferrero a reason to ''disappear'' so many people? Aside from his hero worship of Merrivale. Perhaps if Merrivale wanted it to happen, for some reason, then maybe...
He reeled his thoughts back. No, that¡¯s pushing it. Not enough info to go down that line of thinking. Still, something about his story feels a bit...off. This is the romantic, exciting part, so he¡¯s obviously happy to tell me about it. What about the part that isn¡¯t fun? How did he end up like that hopeless kid he described himself as? There¡¯s too much left unsaid.
¡°As a duelist, I yearn for victory, glory, and orbs, yes,¡± Ferrero said. ¡°But those are not why I am a duelist.¡±
¡°I can somewhat understand that.¡± Adam didn¡¯t think he could agree with the man entirely, but he could tell that the sport meant a lot to him, and it would¡¯ve been needlessly petty to disagree. And maybe there was some merit to the argument. ¡°You¡¯re making a little more sense now.¡±
That¡¯s enough information, Adam thought, eyeing an exit. I should leave and speak to the next¨C
¡°What about you, Lord Painter?¡± Ferrero casually asked. ¡°What made you into an artist?¡±
Adam stopped. He¡¯d insisted that Ferrero elaborate on his origins by using artistry as an excuse. After all that, hiding his own origin would¡¯ve been more than rude ¨C it would¡¯ve been downright suspicious.
He bit his lip. It wasn¡¯t a secret, nor would it reveal any weakness of his...but somehow, honesty felt akin to nakedness in that moment, and he was feeling rather modest.
I suppose I can take off my jacket, at least. ¡°It¡¯s not too different from your story,¡± Adam began. ¡°There¡¯s this guy I admired¨C¡±
¡°Vagueness is permitted for brevity, but not for style,¡± Ferrero cut in. ¡°What was his name?¡±
Adam exhaled loudly, but allowed himself a smile. He could appreciate the irony. ¡°Eric,¡± he said. ¡°He was something like...a brother to me. Maybe ¡®idol¡¯ would be a better word. He was always taking care of me, and I wanted to be just like him. When he took up painting, we were just kids. I had no interest in it, to be honest. But I didn¡¯t want him to leave me behind, you know? So I chased after him. Got into the same hobbies and dedicated myself to painting.¡±
He was painfully aware of how odd this sounded in the Painted World, where a Talent was such a huge part of someone¡¯s life. Not a point he chose to care about, though. Let Ferrero think he was insane.
It wasn¡¯t like attending an expensive art school to follow his friend was much more sane on Earth, anyway.
¡°But I had trouble even keeping up with him,¡± Adam continued, some bitterness unexpectedly slipping into his tone. ¡°To be honest, dedicating yourself to a passion when you¡¯re only doing it for someone else¡¯s approval is...hard.¡±
¡°Aye,¡± Ferrero said, in a measured tone. He too bore the same bitterness as Adam. ¡°I can understand the feeling.¡±
¡°But at some point, I think I started to enjoy painting. Not just because of Eric, but because of...well, painting itself. No deeper reason. Sometimes...¡±
He laughed at the memory. ¡°Sometimes Eric himself would say I liked art more than he did. It made me happy, you know? Made me feel like maybe my stolen passion actually belonged to me.¡±
Ferrero nodded. ¡°Did it?¡±
¡°I like to think so.¡±
¡°Good. What happened to your friend? Is he a lord too?¡±
¡°I doubt it,¡± Adam laughed. Friend, he says... Not a word he would use. But Eric, much like Earth itself, belonged in his memories now.
Maybe he could choose to only remember the good ones.
--
From below, a young Hangman watched an airship soar. The vessel was moving fast. It would be difficult to keep up with it, even for an Imperial Hangman.
Not for him, though.
He tapped at his tablet, watching the wings sprout on his boots. Fortunately, the Emperor didn¡¯t care if he stole souls so long as he killed the body after. One of the perks of the job. He wasn¡¯t used to the Talent of Wings, but he could trail behind the airship for a little bit.
¡°Adam...are you really there?¡± the Gryphon asked to the silent sky.
Chapter 21
Not long after speaking with Ferrero, Adam got his chance to talk with Serena, the master of communications. However, this conversation was far more brusque and rushed than the previous one. It started when the heavily-cloaked woman suddenly approached him, holding one arm to the side as if brandishing a powerful weapon.
With a crow atop her shoulder.
¡°My lord, a moment?¡± Serena¡¯s voice was raspy, low, and cracked intermittently as she spoke. He still couldn¡¯t see her face, but Adam felt more convinced than ever that she was quite old. ¡°May I show you a message I received earlier?¡±
¡°Of course,¡± Adam said. ¡°What is it?¡±
He looked between her and the raven, unsure where the message was hidden. To his surprise, neither animal nor woman produced any parchment. Instead, the bird spread its wings wide and raised its dark eyes to meet Adam¡¯s.
That...is not a normal raven, he thought, despite never having imagined what a raven¡¯s eyes looked like before. It was more of a feeling than a consideration ¨C albeit a correct one, as just a moment later, the creature began to speak.
¡®There is a Hangman following this ship. He is flying after you, in pursuit, and appears to hold some sort of Winged Talent. Be vigilant.¡¯
Adam stared at the talking raven with a blank expression. While part of him wanted to shout and wave his arms in cartoonish shock, he was somewhat numb to surprises by now ¨C not to mention that he knew it was better to keep his composure in times like this. ¡°Ah, yes,¡± he slowly said. ¡°You are the Master of Communications...I suppose that¡¯s what this means?¡±
¡°Letters get lost easily, and even when they arrive safely, words can only carry across so much meaning. My birds need not even land and convey exact phrases. Simply by being close to another bird, they may...¡± She shook her head. ¡°The matter at hand, my lord. The Hangman is coming.¡±
His first instinct was to ask how she knew of the Hangman, but he stopped himself; the fact that her Talent was Communications likely served as its own explanation. ¡°I suppose he is.¡±
It was a little surprising that the Hangman was this dedicated to chasing after him. Adam had really thought they¡¯d have more of a lead ¨C and that the ship wouldn¡¯t be so easy to track. ¡°He should lose us once we reach the Mines, though. Even a Hangman can¡¯t get in there.¡±
Serena examined him, then continued speaking in that hoarse voice of hers. ¡°Do you not regret attracting a Hangman to a ship where innocents hope to find refuge from the Empire?¡±
¡°No. I¡¯ll make up for that inconvenience by capturing the monster that¡¯s been killing passengers.¡±
¡°Ah...yes, yes...you wish to stop that?¡± Serena sounded amused, yet pleased. Adam noted that she wasn¡¯t making any effort to hide her knowledge of the disappearances. ¡°I welcome you to try, my lord. But remember that there are monsters our kind cannot hope to defeat with mere truth.¡±
Adam felt the Stained Ink within him swirl once more, a sudden jet of ice that coursed through his veins.
The coldness remained long after the woman had left.
--
The last person Adam needed to speak to was the easiest to find ¨C being easy to locate was an intrinsic byproduct of his job. Still, considering how much they were imposing on the man by boarding his ship and making him a target for the Hangman, it would probably be awkward to bring up the misfortunes happening aboard. If nothing else, it would¡¯ve been a bit rude.
¡°Captain Baltsar,¡± Adam began, ¡°passengers are disappearing from your ship. Why haven¡¯t you done anything to stop it?¡±
Rudeness was allowed when people were dying.
¡°My lord, it...it¡¯s not as easy as you think.¡± The captain diverted his gaze. ¡°Consider my position. I may be a man of the Empire, but my fealty is not to the man who wears the crown.¡±
¡°Speak plainly.¡±
¡°I¡¯m a wanted man, my lord. Even without accounting for my trips to the Puppet Mines, this ship...well, it might¡¯ve been a gift from the late Emperor, but he died before he could, uh, officially note it as such.¡±
Adam doubted that the captain was being completely truthful and accurate. Still, the fine details didn¡¯t really concern him ¨C at least at this moment. ¡°Is that your excuse for letting people die?¡± Adam insisted. ¡°Because you couldn¡¯t get help from anyone?¡±
¡°No excuse, no my lord, only plain facts! What else could I have done?¡±
¡°Mercenaries,¡± Adam said promptly. ¡°You could¡¯ve hired additional security. A couple extra sets of eyes to watch over the people you¡¯re ferrying across.¡±
¡°That would¡¯ve been just as dangerous ¨C if not worse!¡± Baltsar¡¯s plea was too high-pitched for a man of his age and size. ¡°Can you imagine how difficult it¡¯d be to find mercenaries that are comfortable working with Puppets? Especially to the point of escorting people directly to the Mines.¡±
¡°Orbs could convince them.¡±
¡°But the past says differently!¡± Baltsar corrected. ¡°While I don¡¯t dare presume to remind my lord of Imperial happenings...surely the incidents with the Esperan?a and the Avi?o de Fogo should give you pause. Hired mercenaries slaughtered their crews and burned the bodies to the last, all to prevent people from having the chance to become Puppets. Now I¡¯m the only captain left who dares transport anyone to the Mines!¡±
This was one of those moments where Adam forced himself to pause and remain outwardly arrogant ¨C while internally considering that perhaps, in his deliberate artistic haste, he might¡¯ve fucked up just a tad.
Although Baltsar spoke of those incidents like they were common knowledge, Adam, naturally, had never heard of them before. If people despised Puppets so much that they¡¯d commit massacres to prevent the creation of more of their kind...maybe the captain¡¯s logic actually held up.
Didn¡¯t mean Adam could admit that, though. ¡°So you can use reason after all,¡± the painter wryly said, acting as if he¡¯d known the whole time. ¡°Tell me, then. Did you think of any other ways to protect these innocents?¡±
¡°I, I did! Give me but a moment!¡±
Captain Baltsar quickly produced a set of old parchments from his pocket. Even before he unfurled them, Adam could tell there was something strangely familiar about them. Where had he seen ¨C ah! They look just like what Aspreay used to confirm my Talent, he thought, recalling the parchment from before.
¡°Here, my lord,¡± the captain said, holding the papers up as if they were shields to protect himself from Adam¡¯s wrath. ¡°Please, look, the proof of my efforts!¡±
Antonio Baltsar ¡ª Ship Captain
The Talented may navigate a ship toward its destination by only touching the wheel, without any more manual control. They are also aware of this ship¡¯s damages, capabilities, and the like. The Talented may also move this ship towards their Captain¡¯s Badge.
Cursed Door
This door can only be unlocked by its matching key. Breaking the door or removing it will cause the key to disintegrate. The Cursed, Antonio Baltsar, will lose a limb should the key or door be destroyed. This key can only be held by humans. Puppets, Stained Creatures, or those affected by Rot are unable to grab or use the key in any way.
The ¡®Azul Brilliante¡¯
¡ª Captain: Antonio Baltsar
Unless allowed by its captain, no living being may enter or leave the ship while it is in motion. The surrounding barrier is nearly as strong as a Lord¡¯s Domain. The corpse of a creature that entered the ship while alive is subjected to the same rules.
Adam read it all dispassionately, but carefully. This was far more detailed than what Aspreay had managed to glean of his Painter Talent, that was for sure. Back then, Aspreay mentioned that Talent-detecting parchment was on the expensive side, so a version that was more advanced would likely have to be even more expensive.
Or it¡¯s a fake. Fortunately, checking that was easy enough.
Without bothering to explain himself, Adam withdrew his tablet and held it near each of the major points of interest: the key in the captain¡¯s hand, Baltsar himself, and the very ship they were aboard. The results exceeded his expectations. As it turned out, Captain Baltsar¡¯s parchment was a match for the information displayed on his tablet.
An exact match. Down to the letter.
Who¡¯s writing these instructions? Adam wondered. The thought had come to him once or twice in the past, yet never stayed for more than a fleeting moment. Now, though...seeing identical wording on both his tablet and Baltsar¡¯s parchment was curious. It felt as if an actual person had written them; like a magic system codified into text.
What came first ¨C the magic or the text? Did they both spawn into existence at the same time? And most importantly, who was responsible for these writings?
Just then, his Stained Ink stirred once again, a sort of swirling feeling as though there was an ocean inside of him. Invisible waves crashed against rocks that never were, and Adam felt a chill creep up his spine.
Do not peer further, Painter.
Adam didn¡¯t hear the voice so much as felt it. Words without a voice, they echoed with an aura of overwhelming superiority, to the point where they became less of a threat and more of a warning. Like a grandmaster cautioning a beginner not to make a mistake and lose the game before it had even begun.
Sorry. I¡¯m the kind of guy who learns by experience. Fearing for his memory, he wrote down¡ª
Adam¡¯s Notes on the Painted World
¡ª Someone is responsible for the descriptions of the magic system, and how it is used.
¡ª The being that brought me to this world does not want me to investigate further.
This would do for now.
¡°My lord?¡± Baltsar asked. ¡°You¡¯ve been looking at the evidence I provided for, um, quite a while now. Does it satisfy you?¡±
¡°It satisfies that you have been attempting to reduce the number of casualties,¡± Adam conceded. ¡°Not much else. Does that key mean anything in specific?¡±
¡°Every missing person thus far has come from the lower deck, my lord. Far be it from me to suspect my most frequent passengers, but...¡± Baltsar trailed off with a meaningful pause. ¡°Do you understand?¡±
¡°I do.¡± Adam studied the papers once more. ¡°So you really have been trying to prevent deaths in your own way, huh?¡±
Baltsar laughed sadly. ¡°My lord, to be blunt ¨C if I cannot be described as a dashing rogue, it is only because my good looks have gone with my youth, if they were ever there. When his Highness Prince Tenver names me as an Imperial man, he is being too kind. I was born a pirate, and will die as one. My time serving the Empire was but a brief distraction from my time flaunting its laws.¡±
Adam raised an eyebrow at Baltsar¡¯s deathly-serious tone. ¡°And that should convince me of your intentions?¡±
¡°I tell you this, my lord, so that you know I put on no airs when saying this: I wish not for a single death to occur. No family should ever bear to lose their child. My son...¡± He hesitated, his voice catching in his throat. ¡°He is no longer with us.¡±
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¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that.¡±
Baltsar shook his head. ¡°It is the way of the world sometimes, my lord. Even the Imperial family isn¡¯t immune to tragedies, so why would I be?¡± he laughed. ¡°And so I sail this river of blood, because it is the most that a dastardly pirate like myself can do. Can I save the world? Nay, my lord, nay. Yet I can ferry twenty people per trip to the Puppet Mines. Sometimes, one of them must die, and this heart of mine breaks a little more.¡±
He clenched his fists. ¡°But if not for these dangerous travels of ours, they would die in the Empire regardless! What is a single man to do?¡±
¡°More,¡± Adam said, firmly. He turned around. ¡°Whenever you don¡¯t feel quite right...do more. Whatever it is. Until you¡¯re content with who you are.¡±
The captain was silent as the painter walked away. With his hand on the doorknob, Adam stopped, adding one last thing. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth...I believe you don¡¯t want any more deaths to happen. That much, I¡¯m sure of.¡±
He left without looking to see Baltsar¡¯s reaction.
--
Adam drew in a deep breath as he opened the door to his cabin, holding it instead of exhaling. There was always the chance that someone was hiding around the corner, and he¡¯d rather not look like he was exhausted. Mostly because he actually was pretty tired ¨C the worst thing you could do when surrounded by hidden enemies is to appear weak. He would only grant himself the luxury of a heavy sigh when was safely away from prying eyes.
When Adam stepped inside his room, though, he found his exhale turning into a drawn-out, quizzical, ¡°Huuuuuuh.¡± He hadn¡¯t known what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn¡¯t this.
Solara had taken over the lone desk in the bedroom, placing a number of tools and figures atop almost every inch. She was hunched over a set of them, eyeing one figure in particular with intense concentration, appearing to deliberate between two spots on the table to position it. The figures themselves varied in shape and form. Some looked humanoid enough, but others looked closer to monsters, nearly as big as houses.
Is she...wargaming? Adam¡¯s immediate thought was that he shouldn¡¯t have been so surprised. Solara talked often about killing the Emperor; it made sense that she¡¯d prepare for a potential war.
His next thought, however, came when he recognized some of the other tools she¡¯d gathered. Rulers, paintbrushes, and ink bottles. Wait, is this some kind of game?
¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked. ¡°Are you painting those?¡¯
Solara whirled around in surprise, nearly knocking over one of the bottles. She frantically glanced to her sides, realizing exactly how much Adam could see, and then looked at him with a faint blush on her cheeks and ice in her eyes. Her fierce stare seemed almost to say, ¡®How dare you see me like this?¡¯, as if placing the blame entirely on him.
That lasted just a short few seconds. Afterwards, her shoulders sank, and she shrugged, graciously accepting her defeat in their unspoken argument. ¡°Everyone needs something to do beyond merely existing, Lord Adam.¡± she said, diverting her gaze. ¡°Espada-de-Guerra is the sort of game that steals far too much of your time. Painting these figures is...it takes more than a few moments.¡±
¡°Trust me,¡± Adam muttered, ¡°I know.¡±
¡°You do?¡± Solara looked up. ¡°Have you played it?¡±
¡°No, but some friends have asked me to paint things for them before.¡± One of his best side-hustles in college had been to paint figures for acquaintances who played Warhammer and other games like it. While he¡¯d occasionally charged them for it, mostly he was content with them buying the paints and letting him keep the extras. So many acrylics. Adam himself wasn¡¯t remotely rich enough to actually play the thing. ¡°Would you like some help?¡±
Solara eyed him, suspiciously at first, then hesitantly, and finally with a fatalistic half-smirk. ¡°Ah, why not? Sit down.¡± She pulled up a chair that he didn¡¯t remember being in their room before. ¡°You don¡¯t mind, my lord?¡±
¡°I probably said this already, but you¡¯re free to call me Adam.¡± He sat down. ¡°It¡¯s exhausting to be called lord all the time, and I¡¯ve seen how you speak when you¡¯re stressed.¡±
¡°No less exhausting than it is to call someone by titles all the time,¡± Solara dryly stated. She studied one of her figures, but did not paint it, instead turning it over a few times. ¡°Yet as I¡¯ve said before, etiquette does not come naturally to me. If I start dropping it in private, I fear the same might happen in public.¡±
¡°Suit yourself.¡± Adam turned his own attention to the figures. They¡¯d been meticulously carved out of wood, each of them looking more detailed and precise than anything he¡¯d seen people 3D print back in college. How expensive was all this? ¡°If you ask me though, you should let some of yourself out of that bottle. Means you¡¯re less likely to overflow in public by accident.¡±
¡°Mayhap there¡¯s some truth to that.¡± Solara put on a bitter smirk. When she spoke again, the words came out casually, but not naturally. ¡°Careful with those. Getting paint off of them is a pain.¡±
¡°I bet,¡± Adam remarked, turning over one of her finished figures. ¡°Do you need a knife or something?¡± Don¡¯t think you¡¯d have a dremel or its equivalent here. ¡°Maybe some acetone ¨C I mean, some liquid to remove the ¨C wait no, this is wood. Do you even use primers with wood figures?¡±
¡°My way of repainting it is to not screw up in the first place,¡± Solara harshly said, although she smiled at the end. ¡°Make sure to add a base layer coat first, it helps with the¡ª¡±
¡°¡ªVaguely watercolor look? Yeah, no worries. Been there.¡±
The two painted in near silence for a time. While they did speak often enough, it was mostly about their work, only occasionally making a small joke or two to lessen the awkwardness of the experience. Painting figures was a solitary activity for most people, and Solara was no exception.
Adam also couldn¡¯t help but think about how little he really knew her. I know her dreams and tragedies, he thought, glancing at her. I know the unspeakable massacre she witnessed as a child. I also know what she hopes to accomplish in life. It¡¯s sufficient to give me the idea of who she is as a person.
But not everything. There was more to a person than their morality; that was a lesson Aspreay had taught him.
Although it was common to hear that people had shades of gray to them, Adam found that even this was simplifying things too much. People had more colors to them than just their sense of good and evil. Things like passions and hobbies were usually ignored in favor of discussing what ideology someone stood for. Most people, however, spent more of their lives doing what they loved ¨C not killing and dying for what they believed in.
Those colors mattered a lot.
As Adam looked at Solara idly painting her figures, he couldn¡¯t help but remember what that otherworldly voice had asked him when he entered the Painted World.
¡®What color is your soul?¡¯
Even right now, Adam didn¡¯t really know. If he was being honest, the closest thing to an answer he could give was that his soul was still unpainted. Yet lately, with everything that had happened on this odd journey of his...he thought he would start doing some coloring. Whether he wanted to or not.
Wonder if that¡¯s why I can¡¯t understand Tenver. I keep asking what¡¯s black, white, and gray ¨C but I don¡¯t know what color his walls are. What does he do when he¡¯s not murdering people and playing political games?
¡°I needed a way to stave off insanity,¡± Solara said, after a few hours. ¡°Some way to pass the time while locked in my tower. This game is the perfect time sink.¡±
Adam tried extremely hard not to ask whether this was the main thing she¡¯d brought with her. They¡¯d traveled light, carrying only what each could bring on their backs. Then again, he had brought painting supplies over more practical concerns, so he wasn¡¯t in a position to judge. ¡°You played often?¡±
¡°No, I mostly just painted figures and read books on its lore.¡± Solara shook her head, then continued in a quiet, nostalgic voice. ¡°Father played with me a couple times, even if he never quite understood the rules.¡±
¡°No one else was interested?¡±
¡°Believe it or not, socializing with an elf wasn¡¯t high up on the courtiers¡¯ list of favorite activities.¡± Surprisingly, Solara didn¡¯t sound bitter when she said that.
Adam pondered that for a moment. ¡°What about the other elves? I thought Vasco made Gama somewhat of a haven for them.¡±
¡°Socializing with me wasn¡¯t high up on their list either.¡± This time, she did sound bitter. ¡°They are thankful to Father for what he did, but at the same time, they resent him for his family¡¯s actions that day. They resent most humans. To them, I am so tainted by humanity I may as well not pray to the forest with them...not that they¡¯ll say it to my face.¡±
He nodded, understanding a bit better how she hadn¡¯t gone insane being locked in that tower for so long. Solara had grown accustomed to loneliness long before then. Adam could relate to that, even if he used to have Eric around. Little good that did me.
Spouting a platitude like ¡®I understand¡¯ wouldn¡¯t help, though. There was no amount of comfort or empathy he could show her that would make her past sting less. But there were things he could say to make the present more enjoyable. ¡°I¡¯d be willing to learn the rules,¡± he said, slowly. ¡°If you¡¯re willing to teach.¡±
She lifted an eyebrow at him. ¡°There¡¯s the disappearances of the passengers to discuss. Should we not focus on that?¡±
He considered the point, then shook his head. ¡°While I do enjoy black and white, I also want more color to my paintings than that,¡± he said, chuckling softly to himself. ¡°Otherwise, I¡¯d crash hard if I kept at it for too long. Need a distraction now and then. We can work tomorrow. Not like there¡¯s anything else we can do right now.¡±
Solara hesitated for just a moment. When she spoke, it was in a more excited tone than what he¡¯d heard her use up until then. ¡°Very well. My lord, Adam¡ªlisten, first you need to measure the distance between...¡±
--
Adam would be proven right the very next day.
No, even sooner ¨C he was proven right that very night, after they¡¯d all gone to sleep. Moments earlier, he¡¯d been happily learning more about Solara¡¯s game, listening to her babble on about why it was played using a ruler. Now he was blissfully sleeping, having not thought about noble duties, murders, and monsters for the first time in a long while. Perhaps for the first time since he arrived in the Painted World.
It didn¡¯t last long.
In his dreams, he was visited by a Stained Voice.
¡°Good dusk, Painter. I have already killed who I needed to. If you agree not to pursue me, I will not murder again until you have left. Do you agree to these terms?¡±
Chapter 22
Inside his dream, Adam was awake.
The mysterious voice jolted him to awareness. A second later, he located its source ¨C a strange gentleman, standing tall and seemingly unbothered by the heavy downpour falling on him. It¡¯s raining, Adam noted absently, studying his hand. Water fell on him, so persistent that they were less like raindrops and more of a greasy mist. The liquid crawled around his skin, twisting, turning, then flickering out of existence as if painted over by another layer of reality. My skin isn¡¯t wet, he realized, in spite of the clouds dousing him from above.
Only, there were no clouds.
Or ground.
While Adam could feel his feet planted against something, in every direction he looked, he could find only pure white, illuminated evenly and unnaturally.
There aren¡¯t any shadows here. Not from me, not from the rain, and not from¨C
Suddenly, the strange gentleman was standing in front of him.
Taller and thinner than any man Adam had ever seen, arms crossed and back turned, he stood so sharply against the storm that his very presence seemed like an attack on the clouds above.
Many questions came to Adam¡¯s mind. His whereabouts, the reason for him being here, and whether his life was currently at risk. Yet in that dreamlike haze, his thoughts were still clear enough to focus on something far more important: responding to the gentleman¡¯s question.
¡°You¡¯re asking for a license to murder,¡± Adam boldly declared. While his nerves were fraught with anxiety, in the end, he was the Lord of Penumbria. His pride did not belong to him, but to his people. It would be weak ¨C no, cowardly to steal that title then betray his people by acting meek in this moment. ¡°Aspreay and I didn¡¯t see eye-to-eye very much, but even that self-absorbed bastard punished murderers. Don¡¯t ask me to stoop below his level; limbo isn¡¯t among my favorite dances.¡±
¡°I ask you not to favor me any more than you favor the dance, my lord. Nay, Painter, I ask for nothing!¡± The figure raised its chin, its face still shadowed. ¡°And you have yet to answer me.¡±
¡°Do you think any lord would grant a request like that?¡± Adam said, in a sharp tone. He stepped forward. ¡°Or do you take me for a weak fool? Are you somehow unaware of how a lord should act?¡±
I don¡¯t care what you are, or what this place is. You will not intimidate me.
¡°On the contrary, Lord of Paint. Mayhap you are the one who misunderstands.¡± The figure laughed heartily, yet only his neck and head appeared to move. His ¨C its ¨C back remained frozen in place. ¡°What you hear is not a beggar¡¯s plea. Those, you should ignore.¡±
¡°Those I would pay more mind than your demands,¡± Adam corrected. ¡°It¡¯s not how thick their wallets are, but how absurd the request is that matters to me.¡±
¡°What you hear,¡± the gentleman repeated, ¡°are the demands of an army that has you besieged.¡±
Time stopped. For a second, Adam wasn¡¯t sure if he was still breathing. Was this the man¡¯s ability...or was he merely nervous? My hand can move, he tested. I¡¯m not paralyzed. The hazylike atmosphere, and the gentleman¡¯s presence, were all that had stolen his movement. There was no magic in that.
¡°I assume you don¡¯t mean literally,¡± Adam dryly told him, after a moment. His throat closed up, and nausea roiled in his gut, but he didn¡¯t allow the feeling to touch his expression, which he kept hard and with a measure of disdain. ¡°Penumbria is safe. You could not enter its walls.¡±
¡°But of course! Your lordship¡¯s Talent keeps most invaders away. And yet...if you were to die, their lives would perish as well.¡±
The gentleman spoke politely, almost too much so. Yet at that last word, ¡®perish,¡¯ a note of amusement entered his tone, sending a chill through Adam¡¯s body. ¡°You will die here, if you insist on stopping me. As will all aboard this ship. As will your city, once your Talent fades. That is the siege, my lord.¡±
¡°And your terms,¡± Adam said coldly, ¡°are to let you murder unconditionally?¡±
¡°Unconditionally, but only occasionally. I need not many lives to sustain myself. You know how many passengers have gone missing in the last short while ¨C it¡¯s hardly a large number. Surely the lives of a negligible amount of people, most not even from your domain, are a fair price for arriving at your destination unbothered.¡±
¡°No.¡± Adam¡¯s voice was cold, and his heart was burning. He smiled in the most amiable fashion he could muster, clenching his fist hard enough that fingernails pressed against his skin. ¡°I won¡¯t place a number on the value of human lives.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t bother with such an uncouth action, my lord.¡± The tall gentleman bowed. It was an unnerving, unnatural motion, like seeing a tree splitting its trunk halfway, then returning to its upright position as if nothing had happened. ¡°It is I who assigns them value. Your duty is only to accept the bargain.¡±
¡°I need only to catch you and have you arrested,¡± Adam thundered. ¡°That¡¯s my duty as lord!¡±
He realized how foolish that sounded as soon as the words were out of his mouth. This creature wasn¡¯t human, elven, or anything of the sort ¨C it was closer to a monster. It reminded him, oddly enough, of the Ghost who¡¯d haunted Solara. Prison wouldn¡¯t hold a creature like this.
His paintings would.
The thought coursed through Adam¡¯s body like a lightning bolt. At once, he felt more alert, more focused. Disparate thoughts coalesced together.
Had the creature given him any clues? A few. But most notably¨C
¡®I need not many lives to sustain myself.¡¯
That implied motive. It wasn¡¯t simply that the gentleman had a taste for murder, but rather that he needed to kill people for some reason. Adam¡¯s thoughts wandered back to the Ghost, and how it had possessed Solara. He considered directly asking the man ¨C the thing ¨C if that was the case, but decided otherwise. His query would just have been met with a mysterious shrug.
Instead, he chose to press onward as if he already knew the truth.
¡°You seem different from the Ghost of Flames,¡± Adam calmly stated. ¡°More composed. More rational.¡±
¡°Ah, but of course!¡± The gentleman sounded pleased. ¡°My younger brother, you see, was far too inefficient with his approach. How could he expect to sustain his Self that way? Foolishness, I say!¡± He laughed. ¡°And I suppose that is why he ended up in that sorry state over there, don¡¯t you agree?¡±
The gentleman turned his neck without moving a single other muscle in his body. It was an abnormal, stilted motion, like watching a switch flip, except superimposed on the facsimile of a human body. Hesitantly, Adam followed his gaze towards what he was certain had been pure nothingness until a moment ago.
Now, there were three beings laying there in a state of vague unconsciousness.
First was a mutated lion, writhing in agony.
Second was Aspreay, trembling and muttering.
Lastly was a man Adam had never seen before. He, too, appeared to be suffering greatly. Parts of his body were covered in spots, so dark they seemed more than just black, closer to symbols devoid of all light, like tumorous volumes that grew outward and inward. ¡°That¡¯s the Ghost of Flames,¡± Adam said, slowly. ¡°Your brother.¡±
¡°Aye, my lord. Are you not well-acquainted with him in this form? Does it surprise you to know that he was once a man?¡± The gentleman laughed. ¡°This is the shape of his soul.¡±
His soul. So we must be... Adam glanced around at the infinite white around them. A sudden theory overcame him. ¡°We¡¯re inside my tablet.¡±
¡°But of course. We are inside your Canvas, my lord. And I must say...¡±
The gentleman turned its head around the room in gradual, abrupt, repetitive movements ¨C akin to a clock¡¯s hands ¨C until it finished a full rotation. ¡°Your inner world is still very much unpainted.¡±
Adam didn¡¯t take his eyes off the three agonized people on the ground. ¡°These are their souls, then?¡±
¡°They are.¡±
¡°Is that why I can use their Talents?¡± Adam asked, his voice growing quiet. ¡°Because I have their souls to use as...fuel?¡±
The gentleman laughed. ¡°Oh, my lord, of course not. Have you truly not understood things yet? Or is it merely that you¡¯d rather avoid the conclusion?¡± The thing walked towards him with a dignified march ¨C that only highlighted how its head was facing the wrong way. ¡°Do you not remember how one awakens to a Talent?¡±
Adam took a step backward. ¡°I know the generalities,¡± he muttered. ¡°You can only possess one Talent, and you can influence what Talent a child awakens, to a degree, with instruction from a master. There are also Talents that cannot be awakened except under special circumstances, such as the Lord Talent.¡±
¡°Mostly correct.¡± The gentleman stopped, bowed so deeply that he should have fallen over, and started clapping its hands in a grandiose fashion. ¡°As you noted yourself, it is possible for some rare geniuses to awaken to one Talent, then inherit the Lord Talent at a later date. Your elf friend will be one of them, once her father dies.¡±
¡°What are you getting at?¡± Adam cried out. He was beginning to sweat. The heavy, ephemeral rain still fell, intransigent and unrefreshing. ¡°We¡¯re here to speak of the murders, aren¡¯t we?¡±
¡°Talents,¡± the gentleman began, his voice echoing across the white void, ¡°cannot be avoided sometimes. They are your very soul, my lord. One Talent, one soul. Any more than that and...well, you understand, surely?¡±
Adam tried calling for the Stained Ink. It failed to manifest. Is it because of where we are? Because I¡¯m not really awake?
The creature went on as if nothing had happened. ¡°Your Talent is often ¨C though not always ¨C defined by the worst scars you bear. Solara, the elf who witnessed more death as a child than most would in a lifetime, awoke the Talent of resurrection. Tenver, the man who witnessed the Arrow Eclipse, awoke the Talent of Archery. And you, Adam, who fell to the worst of betrayals...you awoke the Talent of Painting.¡±
¡°I¡¯ve always been a painter!¡± Adam shouted, as he inched back. Every step the creature took towards him made his heart race faster. ¡°That had nothing to do with it!¡±
¡°But it colored the way your Talent manifested. Tell me, Adam...have you really never wondered why you attained the ability of plagiarism?¡±
Adam¡¯s shoulders tightened. It was over half a year ago, and the memory pained him less now, but he still didn¡¯t want to think about it. What did it matter, anyway? Everything ¨C everyone ¨C was on a different world now. Focusing on what this conversation meant was more important. ¡°You mean I¡¯m not really using their Talents so much as...plagiarizing them?¡±
¡°Aye. It keeps you from the worst of curses, of course, though one could argue they will never reach the same potential the originals would.¡±
He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯d prefer to think of them as studies, then,¡± Adam barked back. ¡°Assuming that you can never surpass your inspiration will only bind you to mediocrity forever. I¡¯ll master my Talents better than Aspreay, the Curse, and¡ª¡±
¡°¡ªYou need to live to accomplish that,¡± the gentleman pointed out. ¡°Which brings us to my original point. Chances are, my lord, that you might be pondering my reasons for freely informing you of so much.¡±
¡°The thought did cross my mind, yes.¡±
¡°Imagine, if you will, a general negotiating with the king of a besieged country.¡± The gentleman¡¯s limbs grew unevenly, as if he was spreading and stretching them in a welcoming gesture. He, it, still crawled forward. ¡°The king does not wish to surrender, because his advisers have misled him so as to the number of troops that lay outside his castle. He is a reasonable man, who would have entertained a surrender with the proper terms if he knew as much. This results in a costly battle for the invader, who although he has an assured victory, would much rather achieve it diplomatically and without loss.¡±
The gentleman tilted its head.¡°Do you not think, my lord, that the invading general should have personally informed the king of his numbers? To have attempted every avenue to assure a more favorable outcome for both?¡±
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Adam felt his hands shake. Steady, he told himself. ¡°You¡¯re trying to intimidate me.¡±
¡°Nay, nay, nay! My lord, has my meaning been lost? I try to give you not fear, but knowledge! Understand that your understanding is lacking!¡± The gentleman¡¯s limbs vibrated, contorted, then shifted into one once more. ¡°We are presently inside your Canvas. In here, your device is unnecessary to see the depths of my Talent. You need only look around.¡±
He was right.
While Adam didn¡¯t have his tablet with him, there was no need for it. Information flowed into his brain like an oppressive wind, as though the very rain that fell on them was the source, each drop cursing him with more knowledge. He tried to calm his heartbeat, to steady his trembling lips, but every ounce of his being warned him:
You cannot win against this man.
He¡¯s a master.
Auricio, the Ghost of the Stained Water. He bears the Talent of a Duke, if not higher.
¡°You¡¯re saying that none of my Talents can hurt you,¡± Adam said, regaining some steadiness in his voice. ¡°That even if I find you after waking up, there won¡¯t be a single thing I can do.¡±
¡°Correct. But though I can dispose of you readily enough, our duel would likely ruin the ship in the process. Such a pity ¨C steady supplies of food are so hard to obtain these days, you understand?¡±
Adam wasn¡¯t willing to step aside so easily. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean your host is as strong as you are,¡± he countered. ¡°They can be vulnerable. I¡¯ll seal you here, just like your brother.¡±
¡°You already know that¡¯s impossible, my lord.¡± The gentleman didn¡¯t sound taunting, so much as helpfully giving a reminder. ¡°When you stepped onto this ship, you inspected everyone¡¯s Talents, did you not? Did you see any of them bearing a Haunting?¡±
He hadn¡¯t. But what did that mean? Were they able to hide it somehow? Perhaps, but that seemed unlikely, and far too easy to defeat considering how powerful this Ghost appeared to be. Was one of the commoner passengers bearing the Haunting? No...that couldn¡¯t be it, either. Valeria, the detective, had assured him ¨C using her Bloody Truth ¨C that all the people below deck were traveling aboard the ship for the first time, and that the disappearances had happened before.
There were only three suspects. But then...how does that make sense?
¡°Are you not scared?¡± Adam asked, after a pause. ¡°You¡¯ve met up with me. What if I¡¯m already capable of making a painting of your Soul? My ability is unusual; it might work on you, even if you possess a stronger Talent.¡±
¡°Mayhap I needn¡¯t worry about you deducing the truth about me, if your reasoning is still so lacking,¡± the gentleman said. ¡°My lord, must I remind you of what I said earlier? I am much stronger than my younger brother.¡±
He glanced once again at the writhing, half-rotted human. ¡°My brother suffered much, for he did not sustain himself frequently enough. But me? My lord, you¡¯ve heard the numbers. How many people do you think have become a part of me?¡±
The gentleman stretched out its hand.
Then, slowly, it shifted into another hand ¨C that of a young woman. Followed by an old man. Then a soldier¡¯s hardened hand, missing two fingers. And finally, back to its original shape.
¡°I am many souls, and I am none of them. Do you think, my lord, that you would be able to paint this?¡±
Adam felt terror surge within his gut. The realization that his skill wouldn¡¯t work was only part of it ¨C even greater was the realization that this creature he was speaking with so casually wasn¡¯t merely a monster, but an amalgamation of many, a forced fusion of tortured souls.
Which also led him to realize what the other monsters were. Adam peered over at the rotting lion, perpetually writhing in agony. The first thing that nearly killed him when coming to the Painted World. From the beginning, it had always seemed like a mismatched combination of animals.
Because it wasn¡¯t just a single monster.
The Stained Lion had eaten other animals and transformed into an amalgamation. No different than the gentleman. Thankfully, as an animal, all of its feelings converged onto a singular desire of wanting to devour prey. Its soul was simple enough that Adam had been able to paint it regardless.
But would he be able to do that to a creature with sapience? One that was comprised of people?
The Ghost of Flames had seemed to become more reasonable and intelligent when it drank Adam¡¯s Stained Ink. If this monster was doing the equivalent with a number of people...
¡°This is my army!¡± The gentleman theatrically boomed. ¡°Your painting cannot work, brute force is insufficient enough to vanquish me, and you have no idea as to my true identity in the waking world. If we clash, your death is certain ¨C and Penumbria will pay the price for your arrogance. Why bother, my lord? Give up mayhap four corpses a year, and all shall be well. Fight, and risk the deaths of thousands.¡±
Adam¡¯s fist tightened to the point where if this was not a dream, he would have drawn out his own blood. Don¡¯t lose focus. Make every word count. Get everything you can out of him. ¡°If you¡¯re so logical, if you need so few victims... why risk taking someone while I¡¯m here? Why not just wait?¡±
¡°Ah, for two reasons. First, the detective woman. She wouldn¡¯t allow me to lay quiet if I tried. And second...¡±
The gentleman laughed. It was a vicious, cruel sound, bereft of the manufactured humanity present in him before. ¡°Why, I simply couldn¡¯t control myself this time.¡±
¡°And here I thought you were prattling on about your logic and good sense,¡± Adam remarked. ¡°It seems like you can¡¯t¡ªwait!¡± He realized it too late. ¡°You couldn¡¯t control yourself¡ªthis time? You mean you already¡ª?¡±
¡°Ah, yes,¡± the gentleman said. ¡°I took the liberty of feeding myself while you slept.¡±
¨C
Adam sat up in bed, wide awake. Panic and urgency hurried him. Please, please let it not be too late. He stood up, placing both feet on the mattress, starling Solara and nearly knocking her off the bed as he leaped away.
¡°What¡ªare you¡ª?¡±
¡°TENVER!¡± Adam shouted at the door connecting their rooms as he kicked it. ¡°OPEN THE DOOR NOW!¡±
No response came. Adam wasted no time calling upon his Stained Vines. A small voice in his head said, Solara might have an idea of this ability, but Tenver doesn¡¯t. You might want to keep it hidden until¡ª
Adam ignored that thought. Smoky liquid swirled around his wrist, turning sharp as he brought his fist forward and cut through the door itself, unlocking it from Tenver¡¯s side. In nearly the same motion, Adam burst inside the adjoining room. ¡°Are you here?!¡± he shouted. ¡°Tenver?!¡±
Silence greeted him. A quick glance showed that Tenver didn¡¯t appear to be inside his room. WHERE ARE YOU?
Adam wanted to mutter a curse, but couldn¡¯t allow himself the time for it. He dashed outside Tenver¡¯s room and into the main deck, knocking on every door, finding the same reply every time. Every single person, from the captain to the detective, was present and available to answer his knocking. To each of them he said, ¡°It¡¯s urgent, don¡¯t waste time ¨C get over here, now!¡±
But even as he hurried, that sinking feeling in his stomach told him it was pointless. His meeting with the Haunting was fresh and vivid in his memories. He knew, deep inside, that a death had already occurred. Yet he wanted to hang on to the waning hope, to try everything he possibly could before accepting that the monster had truly struck.
Please...please, let me be wrong about this.
And so he waited, in the middle of the central deck, as each person joined him. Solara came first, followed by the captain, then Ferrero. There was a pause until Valeria joined them.
Adam had already opened his mouth to ask about the others when Serena and Tenver showed up a moment later, the knight approaching with an unhurried gait. Tenver, where were you?
¡°What the devil is going on?¡± Ferrero asked, hand on his sword hilt. ¡°Are we being attacked?¡±
¡°Perhaps,¡± Adam replied. He turned to address the captain. ¡°Baltsar, can you head downstairs and confirm if...the number of passengers has changed?¡±
Baltsar¡¯s face paled at the request, but he nodded regardless. He quickly disappeared through the hallway door, using the same key he¡¯d shown Adam earlier.
Half an hour passed. During this period, hardly anyone said a word. The topic weighed heavily on their minds, and few wanted to discuss it aloud, even if they had plenty of questions.
Right as they were starting to get used to the atmosphere, Baltsar returned. The grim expression on his face confirmed Adam¡¯s fear before any words were spoken. ¡°We ¨C we¡¯re missing one passenger. A boy. Just a kid.¡± The captain shook his head and bit his lip. ¡°Just...just a kid.¡±
¡°You¡¯re sure he¡¯s missing?¡± Solara asked. ¡°He¡¯s not hiding somewhere or¡ª¡±
¡°The kid has no Talent and was missing a leg,¡± Baltsar told her, unable to meet her eyes. ¡°Couldn¡¯t hide if he wanted to. He...he¡¯s nowhere. Like...¡±
¡®Like the others¡¯ hung unsaid in the air.
Adam closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He took a moment to contemplate his options. This Ghost had been clear enough about what would happen if they fought. What he would risk. What he would lose.
Still...
Was he supposed to live like this? To just accept that some people were fated to die in the name of the ¡®greater good¡¯ ¨C or any other vague cruelty masquerading as philosophy? Maybe he was. Maybe that was the way wise rulers should be.
¡°Solara,¡± Adam began, in a tone close to whisper, but loud enough that the entire room could likely hear him. ¡°Tenver. We don¡¯t have to get involved in this. It isn¡¯t our fight. If we close our eyes, everything will be fine. If we keep them open, then this will be harder than anything any of us have overcome thus far.¡±
He fixed his gaze upon them. ¡°Would you consider me a fool for fighting regardless?¡±
It was Tenver who responded first. ¡°Aye,¡± he said. ¡°It would also make me proud of being your knight.¡±
¡°Stop wasting our time with hypotheticals,¡± Solara grumbled, with a dismissive wave. ¡°I might not have known you for very long, but I already know that you¡¯ve made up your mind about this.¡±
¡°Yeah...sorry. I know it¡¯s absurd. Putting so many people in danger, just because I refuse to let those bastards get what they want...it¡¯s worse than insane. It¡¯s damn near evil.¡±
Adam heaved another heavy sigh. He thought of Earth, and of how countless people there were drowning beneath its system. Ignored, because they were an outlier. Celebrated, even, because they were an acceptably low statistic ¨C living ¡®proof¡¯ that everything was as it should be.
This pragmatism...I can¡¯t live like that. ¡°Pride is a sin for a lord. And victory is the only virtue that can erase that crime.¡±
His eyes snapped open. Adam stood up, observing each person in the room. Valeria, the detective, leaning against a wall and pulling a hat over her eyes, showing only the barest hint of a smirk. Ferrero, the duelist, with his hand on his sword hilt as he watched the room uneasily. Serena, the communicator, covered in so many cloaks her face was still unseen. Baltsar, the ship captain, sweating heavily and appearing pale. Solara, her arms crossed, appearing nearly unbothered by it at all, if not for the burning anger in her gaze.
And then there was Tenver, smiling like he always did, as if nothing had happened.
Before this ship arrives at the Mines...I have to know everything. Not just about who did this. But about you too, Tenver. Assuming those were two separate questions to begin with.
¡°I am Lord Adam of Penumbria,¡± he declared to them all. ¡°With my authority, I decree that there is a serial murderer hidden aboard this ship, and that I will find them. And when that is done...¡±
Adam widened his eyes to glare at every suspect. ¡°I will execute them myself.¡±
Chapter 23
Adam swept his eyes across the room, watching for unusual reactions. Unsurprisingly, he found none. Everyone present seemed intelligent enough to understand the implications of what he''d said. Now that Adam had declared his lordly intentions, this wouldn''t end without someone''s head rolling. And considering the grisly nature of these serial killings, they knew it could end with his death as well.
But it would end.
One way or another.
"I am going to speak with each of you individually," he told them. "One at a time ¨C starting with you." Adam pointed at Valeria with his index finger. First order of business should be to get as many facts in order as I can. Then...
His gaze shifted towards Serena. "You''re a master of communications, correct?"
The cloaked woman nodded, then spoke up in a subdued, deliberate voice, "Why does that matter, my lord?"
"Because I want you to send a message to the Puppet Mines." Adam closed his eyes, taking a moment to consider if he really wanted to go through with this. Yeah. I do. "Tell them about what''s happening ¨C and that Lord Adam of Penumbria gives them his word that he will see the culprit apprehended by the time of our arrival."
The room erupted with sound. There was a multitude of gasps, open questioning of his judgement, and utterances of plain disbelief. Adam couldn''t blame, but neither would he entertain those points. Instead, he turned away and started walking to his room, covertly signaling that he expected to be followed there.
Invoking the Puppet Grandmaster''s name was a slight bit of a gamble. While the Grandmaster was surely aware of these incidents, they hadn''t been able to bring up the issue with anyone, as no ship sailed to the Mines in an official capacity. There was no one to lodge complaints against. By contacting the Grandmaster directly, Adam put him at their mercy should he fail to apprehend the culprit.
But it also meant that the monster had at least one reason to hesitate before killing Adam. If the Dragon Puppets learn that the Lord who sent them a message is dead, they''ll raid the ship and kill the monster. If this thing has any survival instincts at all, it''ll choose to simply lay low and hope I don''t catch it.
Which wasn''t a guarantee by any means. Even after Adam''s ploy, there were a multitude of ways the culprit could escape punishment. Most of them, however, would tip the monster''s hand a little. Come on, he dared. I''m making moves...just respond already.
When Adam had nearly entered his room, he heard Tenver say, in a voice quiet enough only he could hear, "Dangerous game you''re playing."
Adam didn''t meet the man''s eyes. "Funny for you to say," he muttered. "You''re playing a much more dangerous game than I am."
"Oh? Got me figured out?" Tenver said, amused. He stood with his arms crossed and back leaning against the wall, his full metal armor sparkling as if new. "Didn''t think you understood me that well."
"I don''t. That''s why I know it''s dangerous."
Tenver laughed. "You think that treating the Puppets like equals ¨C and delivering them justice for crimes perpetrated on their territory ¨C will make your negotiations more fruitful."
"Do you think I''m wrong?" Adam sharply asked.
"I think you''re reckless. You could have just left things be and sat quietly until we arrived at the Mines. Alternatively, you could have attempted to find the culprit while not claiming responsibility for their capture. Instead, this declaration you''ve made sounds like the worst of both worlds. A lot to lose for only a modest gain."
"I disagree." Adam''s eyes sparkled with frenzied ambition. Tonight, he was possessed by the mania and arrogance of creation, unburdened by the hatred and modesty of editing. "There is a gain to be made and nothing to lose ¨C because I refuse to consider the possibility of losing. I''m going to win, execute the murderer, and make a good impression on the Puppet Grandmaster. That''s all there is to it. Downsides don''t exist if you don''t lose."
It was arrogance, it was lunacy, and Adam felt himself begin to get drunk on it. If he wanted to, he could step away from the risk. No. "I need the pressure," Adam muttered. "It''s the only way."
"I see," Tenver replied, in an unreadable tone. "Well, good luck then ¨C should I send Solara in?? She was with you, so I imagine you don''t suspect her."
"Yes." Adam paused. "Tenver...what were you up to at the time of the murder?"
The knight''s response did not come immediately. "Adam," he said wryly, "do you trust me? Am I your friend?"
"I don''t know if I can trust you." Adam sighed. "But you are my friend. And you have no idea how agonizing it is to not be able to trust the only person I''ve known since I..." Since I arrived in this world. "Since I can remember."
"Truthfully, Adam, I do," Tenver said, in a low voice.
"Give me something to work with, Tenver. Anything. I want to trust you."
"Anything? Well, if I say I had a sudden interest in alcohol¨C"
Adam grabbed the knight by the arm and pulled him closer, forcing him to gaze into his eyes. Tenver''s expression colored with surprise, the emotion looking unusual on his face. For a fleeting moment he seemed younger, more innocent, almost scared.
Then he summoned back the smirk of old. "Adam, you can''t¨C"
"Please." Adam spoke as seriously as he''d ever said anything in his life. "Give me anything."
The two held their gaze for a moment.
"Valeria, the detective ¨C she''s a childhood acquaintance, if not friend, of Ferrero the duelist," Tenver said, slowly. "Use that information as you will."
"How do you know? Wait, nevermind that, how do you even know she''s a detect¨C Tenver!"
The knight had already started walking away to join the others, lazily stretching his arms over his head with a loud yawn, and muttering a complaint about the weight of his armor. Despite Adam''s protestations, he didn''t look back.
Why have you been acting so strange since I became Lord, Tenver?
--
Valeria didn''t come into Adam''s room so much as stalked into it. There was no pause in her movements, something about them so colorful and lifelike she seemed more alive than life itself.
She closed the door behind her with a flourish, marching forward with theatrically long steps, not stopping until she came to stand before Adam.
"At your service, my lord." Valeria''s chin was raised, and her face was colored by a mischievous smirk, as if she was in on a joke nobody else knew. She swept her arm into a bow, its angle so sharp that it appeared unnatural ¨C but not impossible, like the Gentleman ghost. Hers was merely uncanny.
Which, Adam thought, made it worse than if it had been impossible.
Valeria, unmoving from her bow, one hand behind her back and another crossed across her chest, said, "What need do you have of me?"
"You wanted me to put a stop to the murders. I failed to prevent this one." Adam stared at her with a severe gaze. "But I''ll make sure it''s the last. How willing are you to help me on this matter?"
"Enough to risk my life."
Adam nodded. "Your Bloody Truth ¨C how far can you push it? Don''t you injure yourself whenever it''s used?"
"My lord does not inspire confidence by asking me to repeat myself in such a way," Valeria declared. Her head was low, her bow was sincere, and her voice was booming. She spoke so loudly that it sounded ill-fitting for their small room, being better-suited for a large theater.
"If the red truth fashioned from my blood serves to sharpen your blade, letting it pierce through that monster''s chest, then I will bet my life freely and readily!"
"Well, if you''re willing to die for the cause...then surely you''re willing to tell me everything?" Adam leaned forward. "C''mon. You know more about this case than you''re letting on. Why are you aboard this ship to begin with?"
"I''m willing to die," the detective said, "but not to tell you more than this."
Why can''t it ever be easy? "You have to give me something to work with."
"On the contrary ¨C I have no obligation of the sort."
Adam drew a deep breath. He didn''t want to resort to this sort of thing, but he''d also learned that sometimes, putting on a show was part of acting like a lord. If he didn''t want to follow through with his threats, then at the very least he had to make them convincing. "I am the Lord of Penumbria," Adam told her, in a low voice. "And you are a Dragon Puppet. Defy me, and I could have you killed."
Valeria didn''t even blink. "You won''t."
"And why not?"
"Because you said ''killed,'' my lord." Valeria smiled, and it seemed genuine. "Most who value our life as little as you pretend to would have said ''destroyed''."
At that, Solara stepped behind her, a knife in her hands, stopping it just short of Valeria''s neck. "But you know I would suffer from no such weakness."
Just as the detective opened her mouth to reply, Solara brought the knife''s edge closer to her neck, drawing out a thin trail of blood. "Before you say anything else," the elf continued, "I would like you to think about whether I''d hesitate at all to burn a puppet. It''d be the fastest way to find if you really are made of wood beneath that false skin."
There was a long pause.
"Very well," Valeria conceded. "It''s rare that I take a patriotic matter upon myself, but when the Grandmaster himself asks you...well, even someone like me had to consider it. He did give me a new lease on life, after all."
"So it''s related to the Mines," Adam muttered. If this case has caught the eye of the Puppets'' Grandmaster...solving it will help me negotiate with him. Two birds, one painting. "Why does he care?"
"His reasoning is simple." Valeria held out one finger. "We benefit from having an influx of new Puppets ¨C people like Captain Baltsar provide an invaluable service, and he''s among the few still willing to undertake such a difficult voyage." Valeria held out two fingers now. "Second..."
She paused. "Are you aware of why the Dragons first made Puppets?"
"What does that¨C" Solara began, but stopped when Adam raised his hand.
"Go on," he said, in a pensive tone. He''d put bits and pieces of this together before, but he wanted to hear it out loud. "Tell me, Valeria."
"The Rot!" Valeria spread her arms wide, as if welcoming an audience to the stage. The motion pressed Solara''s knife further into her neck, drawing more blood out of her. She didn''t seem to care. "It plagued the ancients as it plagues us. The Everdragons thought better than to try confronting the plague ¨C why touch something that...corrupts you into something else?"
"Were there dragons corrupted by the Rot?"
"Some," Valeria admitted. "Though, look as far as you want, you will find no Stained Dragon that wasn''t ridden by an elf beforehand."
Solara angled her neck to stare directly into the detective eyes, holding her knife perfectly still. "The toll for what you wish to say is too rich for your purse, puppet."
Valeria went on as if unbothered. "Dragon Puppets were made to counter the invasion of Rot. We are resistant to it ¨C though not immune ¨C and can detect the Rot in most. Attract them, too."
"Can you?" Adam asked sharply. "Can you really?"
Valeria nodded. "I can, Painter." Tension crescendoed in the silence that followed. "It stirs within you, does it not?"
Solara turned an inquisitive glance to Adam, who nodded slowly. Nothing changes if she knows. Solara saw the Stained Ink I used earlier...probably. Either way, the Stained Flames are no secret to her. That''s what she thinks Valeria is referring to. "Does it stir in anyone else?" he asked.
The detective''s hand fell to her sword hilt. "Will you allow me to demonstrate?"
Adam nodded, and Solara stepped away. The detective finally stood straight once again, massaging her neck for a brief moment. While she hadn''t acknowledged the cut until now, there was a slight wince at her touch, indicating that she felt a measure of pain in there somewhere. After faking a cough for composure, Valeria drew her sword.
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It seemed like a common rapier; naked silver that sparkled brightly. Had Adam not known better, he would''ve assumed the blade was brand new and freshly polished. He was reminded of when a professor ¨C unfairly, in Adam''s opinion ¨C complained that one of his drawings featured a sword that looked too bright and evenly-shaded to appear realistic.
Then Valeria''s hand flickered towards her still-bleeding cut. In that moment, her throat declared war upon murder, and her sword was dyed in red.
"
Dragon Puppets, of any variety, can detect Rot within an individual. Out of myself, Captain Baltsar, Ferrero, Serena, Tenver, Solara, and Adam, it is Lord Adam who currently is most touched by the Rot."
Valeria''s expression tensed for a moment, as if gut-punched by an invisible brawler. She nearly fell to her knees, bracing herself by stabbing the wooden floor with her sword. The detective''s grin remained, but it was now accompanied by a heavy sweat dripping from her forehead. "This Bloody Truth is absolute," Valeria declared, "and you may believe it completely. Keep in mind, however, that I am speaking in absolutes that I know for certain are true ¨C we are all in touch with the Rot, to one degree or another."
Solara shook uneasily. "There is truth to that."
"But none as much as Lord Adam."
Adam frowned. That didn''t match up with his dream. The culprit was a Stained Monster, after all ¨C he was sure of that much. So who was the one cursed by it?
No...that''s the wrong way to look at it. If the culprit was cursed, they would''ve been discovered easily by now. Instead, if I assume that none of them are actually cursed, but are in fact accomplices...that makes everything more reasonable. In other words, if the culprit was helping the monster...
But that would just make finding out who it was significantly harder.
"Do you believe me, my lord?" Valeria asked.
He didn''t, but he believed his own Talent. It had informed him of how Bloody Truth worked, so he could trust that her words were genuine. "Did that cost you any blood?"
"Some. Not much. The detective''s blade is a sharp, tricky beast to wield." She forced out a weak laugh. "Some truths, simple as they are, suddenly take upon a huge burden on my body. Others less so. They all strengthen my blade. The more well-hidden the secret I unravel, the louder my thunder, the more powerful my sword becomes ¨C temporarily, mind you."
"The same applies to your degree of risk?" Adam asked.
"Very much so."
"And I suppose you can''t just power up your blade with simple statements like ''I am alive'' to prepare for a fight?"
"No. If I am being honest, the exact requirements elude me, and experimentation can be quite costly."
"How costly?"
Valeria held out her hand ¨C the one she''d stopped Adam from touching. "This much." It was difficult to identify as a prosthetic at first glance, but the limb didn''t hold up under close scrutiny, even if it seemed to be nearly as mobile as a regular limb. "I lost this arm from my elbow down while experimenting with my Talent, you see. My notes indicate it was during a similar attempt to what you ask."
"What were you doing exactly?" Adam asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I do not know." Valeria shrugged. "That''s when I died, you see."
Solara took a step back. She placed herself inches to the side and behind Adam, yet still thrust an arm in front of his torso, as if unsure whether to shield him or make him into her shield. "When you died? Puppet, do you mean¨C"
"My soul had not yet left my body." Valeria shrugged, then gestured at her hand. "It was moved to this core. Even if you cut off my head, I would not die, and it could be reattached somewhat easily. Although you''d be unable to attach a different head to me. Such is the way of Puppets."
"Is that how ¨C you soulless abomination¨C"
"Solara," Adam cut her off, "that''s enough. We need to be polite."
After allowing them a moment of stunned silence, Valeria smiled. "You understand, then, that you must be reasonable with your requests of my Bloody Truth."
"Yes. But I must insist upon one more." Adam leaned forward. "You swore earlier that you were not the culprit."
"But of course. It would be a cardinal sin for the detective to be the culprit!"
"If you want to know my theory," Adam stated, "it''s that the culprit is feeding people from the lower decks to a Stained Monster. I want to make sure you aren''t screwing with me regarding definitions ¨C the culprit is the one feeding them to the monster, not the monster itself, correct?"
"Correct." Valeria nodded. When Adam refused to let go of his stare, she sighed, then repeated, "
Correct."
That one word appeared to take an immediate toll on her body. The sword sharpened itself on her blood, becoming so sharp that she had to stop resting her weight on it, lest the blade pierce through the floor entirely.
Solara glanced at Adam. They both were thinking the same thing, most likely. If the culprit was feeding people to a Stained Monster, then whoever also had the opportunity to bring a monster on board without being noticed ¨C and could successfully hide it without being caught ¨C was bound to be the culprit.
That didn''t narrow things down as much as he would''ve liked. The monster referred to the Stained Flames as its brother, Adam thought, recalling the dream. And that monster could travel through fire. If this one, the self-proclaimed Ghost of Water, can travel through liquids...bringing him and hiding him would be absurdly easy.
Except that based on what the captain had said, the number of passengers hadn''t changed. Even with the Ghost''s power, it couldn''t have snuck through the ship''s curse-protected front entrance.
Only one way to check. "Here''s a list of things I want confirmed," Adam said, writing down the details. "I surmised a few things from talking with Captain Baltsar. I''m pretty sure I''m right, but I need your confirmation first."
"A list?" Valeria sounded a tad frustrated. "My lord, do you not see the difficulty in your request?"
"I do," Adam admitted. "But you are a detective ¨C and quite a good one, if your wits match your lips." You talk a lot of shit, so you''d better be able to back it up. "Use your reasoning. If you know ahead of time whether or not what I ask you is true, then confirming it with Bloody Truth won''t kill you."
"And why," Valeria began, irritation rising in her voice, "would I put myself through that?"
Adam had considered this point earlier. "Because, if we catch the killer, I''ll make you a citizen of Penumbria."
Both Solara and Valeria stared at him with widened eyes.
"Are you OUT OF YOUR MIND?" Solara cried out. "You want to make a Puppet your citizen? Adam, that''s not a request any lord would¡ª"
"¡ªAnd exactly why I''m offering it," Adam said, sharply. He faced Valeria, who was still gaping at him open-mouthed. "It can''t be easy to juggle so many cover stories. You''re presenting as a scholar this time, correct? What about next time? The time after that? What happens when someone figures you out and isn''t as gracious as we were? It all seems rather miserable, honestly. Wouldn''t you like the ability to travel freely across the empire? Because I''m willing to give that to you."
Valeria quirked an eyebrow. "You''re serious? Truly?"
"The Empire may issue death upon a leader, but not upon a people ¨C even if their animosity remains." Adam gestured at Solara. "If that was the case, you wouldn''t see an elf as the heiress to a major city. Sure, the Empire once attempted to annihilate your kind ¨C but being a puppet is not, in and of itself, a crime. No more than being an elf is."
He added that last bit to keep Solara from intervening. The comparison undoubtedly hurt her, and they''d be speaking of this in private later, but this was his best bargaining chip. He couldn''t discard it so readily.
Especially since it was working. Adam could already see the subdued hunger in Valeria''s expression. She wanted this. For someone with a passionate desire to seek out the world, and the skills to make that dream a reality, being confined to one city ¨C only traveling when given permission by her Grandmaster ¨C must have been torture..
She just needed one extra push.
"I will also refrain from asking," Adam plainly stated, "why you, a detective, seem hesitant to solve this crime outright ¨C and appear to be leaving the hard work for me."
This was enough. Valeria nodded at him with shameless excitement. "You have a deal, my lord."
--
With her aid secured, the investigation could finally move forward in earnest.
Adam thought hard, carefully considering which facts he needed to know in order to solve this case with utmost confidence. He couldn''t ask Valeria to state anything that she was uncertain of. The detective would put up with some discomfort, but there was no reason for her to risk severe injury ¨C or her life ¨C to use the Bloody Truth on anything she hadn''t already confirmed.
What could he ask?
Since she''s a Puppet...she can probably be sure that the monster didn''t go through the door, or she would have felt its Rot. Her room is decently close to that hallway. And she''s probably investigated the number of ways to move between the ''commoner'' area and the ''noble'' area.
Adam asked for a piece of parchment, then jotted down a few demands for Valeria to write out.
The Absolute Truth:
¡ª There is only one door that connects the ''noble'' area to the ''commoners'' area.
¡ª There are no secret passages in the ship.
¡ª Stained Creatures cannot go through the door.
¡ª Due to the Curse engaged on the door, transporting someone magically to bypass the door would not work.
¡ªBreaking the door, cutting holes through the two halves of the ship, or any other loopholes would not work either.
¡ª The Stained Creature itself did not move into the commoner''s area.
¡ª No creature with a soul can leave the ship through windows. This makes a weird climbing or flying scheme through the windows impossible.
¡ª Dragon Puppets, of any variety, can detect Rot within an individual. Out of Valeria, Captain Baltsar, Ferrero, Serena, Tenver, Solara, and Adam, it is Lord Adam who currently is most touched by the Rot.
¡ª Valeria, the detective, is not ''the culprit.''
¡ª The culprit is defined as the person feeding people to the Stained Monster. The location of the monster is unknown.
Valeria stated each demand with her Bloody Truth, one after the other, pausing as little as possible. She was stoic for most of it, but near the end she nearly fell. Adam made note of her stumbles: the 1st and 7th points appeared to make her struggle the most. Nonetheless, she finished it, albeit with a much paler face at the end.
"Are we done?" Her smirk was still there, but even standing seemed like somewhat of a struggle. "If my lord minds not, I would like to rest."
Adam nodded. "I''ll call on you before I execute the murderer."
The detective laughed weakly, then stumbled her way out the door. After her unsteady footsteps became inaudible, Solara asked, "Do you know who it is?"
"I''m...decently certain. I need to make sure, though. Have to go over my theory and ensure I didn''t miss anything. I think it also explains why our detective friend is being so cagey with her answers." He paused. "Yeah, I''m pretty sure I know who the culprit is. At the very least, I know which of our four suspects are innocent."
"Much as I hate the Puppet," Solara dryly said, glaring at the door as if the woman was still there, "I don''t think she warrants suspicion. She wasn''t present for the past murders, and her ability ¨C if you trust it ¨C means she has stated her innocence beyond the point of doubt."
Adam shook his head. "Oh, I''m not counting her among the suspects."
"But you said there were four."
"There are," Adam affirmed, frowning. "Serena, Ferrero, the Captain, and Tenver. One of them is the culprit."
Chapter 24
After speaking with all of the suspects, Adam couldn''t shake off the distinct feeling that he may as well not have bothered. Despite taking his time each of them, he didn''t get much out of them aside from a word here or there ¨C although he was still willing to take something over nothing.
Serena, the Master of Communications, had precious little to offer about the crime itself. The woman merely swore that she''d been in her room and hadn''t seen anything out of the ordinary. She did, however, have a small status update for Adam.
"The Grandmaster replied to our message," Serena told him. "He says that Puppet soldiers will be stationed at the dock."
"Good."
"Not so. The Grandmaster of Puppets was furious. There will be death when we arrive, be it the culprit''s...or someone else''s."
"Again," Adam confidently repeated, "good."
Captain Baltsar was second on his list. That conversation was slightly more productive ¨C unfortunately. While it let him confirm a few key points...he also discovered something that he wished he hadn''t.
"I saw you using the key to check on the lower decks after the murder," Adam said, bluntly. "I presume that means it wasn''t stolen?"
"No, my lord ¨C the key was stolen! I''ve been meaning to tell you, but we haven''t had any privacy until now!"
"Then how did you get inside?" Adam insisted. "That only way through that cursed door is with its key. You informed me of that yourself."
"His Highness," Baltsar blurted out. "H-His Imperial Highness, Prince Tenver. He found the key and returned it to me just before you raised the alarm."
Adam and Solara shared a concerned look. While she hadn''t been as quick to suspect Tenver as him ¨C rather funny, he thought, considering their distaste for each other ¨C this gave her pause. Tenver...why can''t you just be honest with us? What are you hiding? Are you really...?
He got nothing else out of Baltsar, dismissing him after a few minutes of unfruitful interviewing. Ferrero the Duelist was the next and last to be questioned. The man said just one thing Adam found interesting, and even then only after being prodded.
It was there that Tenver''s gift proved invaluable. Which ¨C after the captain''s revelation ¨C felt a bit ironic, really.
"Do you personally know anyone else aboard this ship?" Adam asked.
"I...well, of course," Ferraro replied. "Serena makes this trip often enough, and the captain is always helming the ship, of course."
Based on their previous conversation, the duelist looked more nervous than Adam thought he''d be. The silence that followed was so unbearable that Ferraro bit his lip, breaking both his skin and the silence a second later. "Lord Adam, I, ah ¨C I''m also familiar with...well, your gaze tells me you know of it."
"Valeria, yes." Adam pondered whether to add ''the detective'' or ''the scholar'', before ultimately choosing to omit her title. Wonder what you''d call her. "Would you say that the two of you are good friends?"
"No," Ferraro quickly replied. "That doesn''t sound accurate to me, my lord. We''re just old acquaintances. I suppose we know each other well enough, but that''s just due to the passage of time ¨C we''ve never been particularly close."
Adam slowly nodded. "That makes sense." He gave a meaningful pause for just long enough that his follow-up question would feel abrupt. "How long have you been in love with her?"
Skilled as Ferrero might have been with the sword, he wasn''t used to verbal sparring, and it showed. The duelist gave the game away with a single expression on his face. "How''d you¨C"
"I have my ways," Adam said, with a regal bearing, as if he''d somehow contacted a legion of spymasters while in mid-air. "You will explain yourself."
Ferraro''s resistance perished as he hung his head in surrender. To him, this was a disaster fine and full. Although he wasn''t upset or nervous, he knew full well that he was outmatched on this sort of battlefield.
Adam kept his face impassive as he internally celebrated. In truth, his accusation had been a wild guess. He''d prepared to be off the mark ¨C which would have netted him useful information regardless. As it turned out, he was actually right, and now Ferraro was cornered. The duelist no longer knew what was safe to keep from Adam. If he said the wrong thing, even just the smallest lie, it could draw suspicion onto him.
Tenver was to thank for this outcome. Adam wouldn''t have known about Ferrreo''s association with Valeria otherwise. It was a surprise that would soon lead to many others.
Sighing, the duelist raised his head. "Did you know that they keep the corpse of a dragon in the Puppet Mines?"
"I did not."
"Most of the time, it looks like solid rock. But once every seven years, for a fleeting few hours, the corpse sheds some of its dead scales ¨C if death even applies to a dragon, I suppose. . The scales turn into Orbs as they hit the ground. Some people come to try and collect them, line their pockets, but most come just because of how beautiful it is. Watching so many Orbs come into the world at once...it''s a show of lights you can''t see anywhere else."
He drew a deep breath. "I met Valeria then."
"And you fell in love at first sight?" Adam asked, raising an eyebrow. He was among those who doubted such a thing existed.
"No," the duelist said, frowning in remembrance. "At the time, I only thought she was...unique. She has a certain oddness to her, you understand? At some point over the years, my feelings..."
Ferrero gave a weak, sheepish laugh. Then, with the tone of someone attempting to forcibly change topics, he said, "The Corpse Festival is quite the sight ¨C I believe the next one would be less than a year from now. If my lord has the time, I recommend making a trip."
This was all he said that was of any use.
Adam tried summoning Tenver last, but when Solara came back into the room she had a grimace on her face, shaking her head from side-to-side.
"He won''t come?" Adam asked.
"Lord Tenver," Solara began, every word dripping with annoyance, "said he would come if you''d like to share a drink, and that he has nothing of value to share with you. He stated that everything he''d be likely to say has already crossed your mind."
"Then perhaps my answer has crossed his." Adam sighed. "Very well. It''ll have to do. We''re going as soon as I''m finished with this. I''ve been sketching something on and off...we might need it."
He turned his tablet around to show Solara his drawing. While it was far from high art, it would probably work. The monster itself might be immune to his painting, but not the culprit ¨C assuming they were two different people, anyhow, which Adam was pretty certain of. A simplistic sketch should suffice.
Moreover, he liked its aesthetic.
The sketch had no background to speak of; its backdrop was just a white void. An onlooker''s attention would immediately be drawn to the rightmost side, where an amalgamation of inked dots shaped together something between a monster and an infection. Individually, none of his strokes were anything more than uneven lines or circles, yet the space between them was small and purposeful, just enough to give the semblance of a giant monster''s head, complete with eyes ¨C shaped by a gap in the inking rather than a stroke in and of itself ¨C and a mouth.
And leading up to that sketch, was a stylized, human-shaped figure dragging another person towards the creature''s mouth, leaving behind the only trace of color in the sketch...a thick, red line that evoked the sensation, though not the appearance,of footprints.
"Are you that certain of who the culprit is?" Solara asked, raising an eyebrow and studying the painting. "Because if not, it seems odd to have your painting prepared ahead of time."
"I''m fairly certain." Adam shrugged. "However, I''ll only know for sure at the time And even if the drawing needs to be in the ballpark of that person''s soul, I still haven''t titled it yet."
"Does the title make that much of a difference?"
"It can." Adam rubbed his chin pensively as he studied his drawing. Anything else I can add here? I went minimalistic partially because of the time constraints, but...
"A title won''t make a painting that''s entirely unrelated to my target work, but it can really change how an art piece is perceived." He considered his own words for a second. Was that fair to say? "Well, actually...a title can even change the art in and of itself."
"Come again?"
"Sometimes, the name of a piece of art will completely alter how you feel about it. And sometimes it''s completely worthless." Adam contemplated whether using examples from Earth would be a problem, but then figured that Solara wouldn''t know the names of any painters or art pieces from this world either. "The Mona Lisa wasn''t even called the Mona Lisa, you know? It just got that name after the fact. The title didn''t mean much there."
He watched Solara nod as if she understood. Adam might as well have made up a name and elicited the same reaction. "But then, you look at something like Gustave Courbet''s ''The Desperate Man'' and...even though you could''ve gotten that reading of the painting without it ¨C I mean, it does feature a desperate looking man ¨C the small guidance in interpretation really is what sells it as a work of art."
There was a greater than zero chance that Adam was deeply boring Solara with this, but it had been a long time since he''d gotten the chance to talk about art like this, and by god he was going to take it. "Titles weren''t even a thing for the longest time, really. They only started seeing usage around when art pieces started being toured around and ¨C you know, at that point you need a title. Just for marketability''s sake, yeah?"
Solara nodded again, her face blank, and said politely, "Yes, of course."
"At the same time, a lot of art benefits from a title, especially ones that feature physical objects. Installations like ''The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living'' flat-out don''t make sense without the title, but with it...there''s something the artist is saying, you know? And even for paintings ¨C ''The Persistence of Memory'' wouldn''t make its point at all without the title."
Eh. That last one is debatable, but close enough. That was when Adam noticed Solara''s head tilt to the side slightly, and decided this was a good place to stop. "My point is that the title of a work of art can mean a lot. It doesn''t always. But it can. And I''m planning on using it for any adjustments I need when the time comes."
Solara nodded enthusiastically this time, appearing to either be very interested in that last point ¨C or merely glad that Adam had stopped talking about a subject she neither understood nor cared much about. "We''re good to go, then?"
"Not yet," Adam muttered. For one thing, he needed to make sure that one of his emergency Solara drawings was ready on a different tab, just in case. It is. Good. "No matter how well my plans go, chances are there''s probably going to be a fight. With that in mind..."
One of the only reasons he''d survived his fight with the Ghost of Flames was because of his Lord Talent. Even without actively using it, the Talent enhanced his durability and stamina enough that he managed to crawl to the finish line of their duel. Assuming a fight broke out against the Ghost of Waters, who had an even higher ranked Talent...well, things would get rough.
As far as Orbs went, he had ?4,960,508, thanks in part to Belmordo. He needed to save most of those for Penumbria''s sake, as the city required at least ?5,050,000 to operate safely. I''m so close to keeping everyone alive, he thought. Maybe I can get away without spending too much here.
Penumbria wouldn''t survive if Adam himself didn''t, but there was no point in surviving if he couldn''t keep the city afloat, either. Spending just enough to survive, yet not so much that he wouldn''t bankrupt the city...it was a very thin line to thread.
There was no time for indecision. I will survive this, he told himself, and I''ll get even more Orbs for Penumbria. I ¨C I need to buy this!
It felt awful to spend so much. Inside, he felt his stomach churn at the thought of how many Orbs he was going to burn through, and there was no stopping the images of the hundreds of citizens he could have saved with that amount instead of doing this. Adam felt guilt invade his body as he reached for the Orbs. For a second he froze, thinking of maybe trying to win this without spending anything.
Yet there was no way around it, and he knew that. Adam had to spend Orbs if he wanted to live. He''d accounted for a variety of different situations, but even his ideal plan still resulted in a violent fight. Being overconfident that he could resolve this situation without paying any price whatsoever would only hurt his people more. I have to survive...then earn enough Orbs from the Puppets to make up for the cost.
It burned his heart to do it, but he had to.
I wonder...is this what billionaires tell themselves? That they have to do all the shit they do so they can stay rich and take care of their charities? Adam grit his teeth at the thought. Not now. I can''t afford to let my mind wander.
He spent ?2,626,093.75 to rise his Talent to a new rank. It made him sick with himself.
And he couldn''t let it show on his face.
"Did you just spend...nearly three million Orbs?" Solara asked, in shock.
Adam smiled at her. "What of it?"
"Most people give more thought to such a purchase," she said, raising an eyebrow. Then, she added, somewhat harshly, "Especially when their territory is in such dire financial state."
"I am not most people," Adam said, his voice full of bravado. "I''ll make the money up ¨C and then some ¨C after this incident."
Even if he trusted the elf now, Adam couldn''t allow himself to appear vulnerable. Eric had taught him that no matter how you trusted someone, showing them your weaknesses never turned out well. Better to keep this to myself.
Besides, Solara had enough ghosts to last a lifetime. Let this guilt haunt Adam, and him alone. No reason to make her feel complicit.
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With a heavy sigh, trying to steady his nerves, he glanced at his tablet.
Lord [Viscount]
Ability: Dominion of Shadows
Why, my lord! You''ve become quite fantastic, have you not? We cannot allow for you to be wholly seen as a peasant outside of your domain.. You can, for a short time, treat the space around you and a ''guest'' as part of your Domain, so long as you step on their shadow.
Adam''s guilt took a short pause. He hadn''t counted on gaining a new ability, although it was far from unwelcome. The description was strange, though. Before, the phrasing of his abilities had seemed almost clinical, but now it was something much more personalized.
Who''s writing these? Adam thought once again, staring at his tablet as if it somehow held the answers. Who''s behind the Talents and ¨C is it just magic? Just how things are? No, there''s no way I can believe that when everything seems so...carefully crafted.
He''d have to mull it over later; for now, there was a murderer to bring to light. "Alright," Adam said, rising to meet Solara''s gaze. "We''re ready."
¨C
To say that the room was tense when Adam returned would''ve been a grievous understatement. Every single occupant eyed him with a mixture of anticipation, resentment, and concern. Out of those, Tenver was the exception, standing with his arms crossed and nonchalantly leaning against the wall. The title of ''Most Nervous'' went to either the captain or the duelist, surprisingly enough.
This will end in bloodshed, Adam confirmed. Powered by that thought, he walked past them to grab a cup of water from the table set against the opposite side of the room. If everything was going to hell soon enough, he might as well be hydrated first.
After allowing himself one last moment of dark foreboding, it was time to focus. Adam cleared his throat to draw their attention ¨C and to signal the beginning of it all. "If I can be so bold as to declare this...I have met with the monster."
"Monster?" Ferrero sounded surprised. "There''s a monster aboard?"
"Two, to be precise," Adam replied, holding up his index and middle fingers. "One is a Stained Creature; the other is its human accomplice."
The room exploded into a flurry of noise, excuses, and accusations. Captain Baltsar''s voice rose louder than the rest, cutting through the din like a sword through armor. While he''d been acting somewhat meek before, now he addressed the room with authority, reminding everyone that it was he who captained this vessel. "My lord, how do you know of this?"
Adam had been afraid of this point. He couldn''t admit to having spoken with the Ghost of Waters in his mind ¨C his ''Canvas'' as it had been called ¨C without revealing too much about himself. Hell, even if he did, chances were that no one would believe him. He''d been struggling over how to answer this for a while now.
Then he''d remembered that he was the Lord of Penumbria. "How I know this is not of your concern," Adam dryly stated. "Unless you care to question my authority, captain."
Two authorities clashed, and only one reigned supreme. "No, I...of course not. My lord." This time, Baltsar came across as more resentful than scared. No one wanted to carry what amounted to a volatile weapon of mass destruction aboard their ship , especially when it threatened to explode when disagreed with. Even Tenver, who the captain saw as the true Imperial Prince, had less authority than Adam in this moment. "I only ask so we know what you''re getting at."
"Only this: the Stained Monster has a Talent of high ranking. At least a Duke, perhaps higher. And he can hide in substances like water, maybe other liquids." Adam peered around the room, searching for an unusual reaction. Nothing so far. They were just listening to his every word, intently and carefully. "Frankly speaking, none of our Talents can match that. Even if we find out where the monster is hiding...we can''t kill it."
Tenver suddenly uncrossed his arms and spoke up. "Not like we need to spend much effort looking for the abomination. There''s no way it would let us reach the Mines unharmed, right Adam? Ah, we''re in public ¨C forgive me." He coughed as if ashamed, but his smile never left his face. "Is that correct, Lord Adam?"
You''re dancing with fire, Tenver. "Correct," Adam said, with a laconic tone. "There''s too many Puppets waiting for us at the docks. Given that Puppets were...created to attract and even bait Stained Creatures, they won''t be able to hide themselves here. I imagine that before this incident, the ship itself wasn''t exactly inspected by the Mines, was it?"
"No," Baltsar replied, shaking his head and looking down. "In...less than legal encounters like this, you drop people off and leave immediately. There was no need for them to search my ship, and I wouldn''t have allowed it if they''d tried it ¨C I mean, um...not that I don''t trust Puppets, of course, but..."
Though the captain trailed off, the presence of the word ''but'' indicated he meant the opposite of what preceded it. Adam didn''t think that point in particular mattered much. "In other words," he continued, "the Ghost of Waters would rather not allow the ship to be searched upon arrival. And to do that...well, the easiest way is to kill all of us, isn''t it?"
Ferrero looked around the room pensively. "If there''s a Stained Monster hiding somewhere, with a higher ranked Talent than anyone here, then slowly picking us apart would make sense. But if he''s so much stronger than us, why not just show up and kill us right now?"
"Because of two reasons," Adam said, once again holding up his index and middle fingers. "The first one..." He turned the fingers toward himself. "Is me. Even though my Lord Talent is lower ranked, he knows how many Orbs I have. If pushed to a corner, what''s to say I wouldn''t spend enough Orbs to match him in a fight? At that point, he would be in danger. And second¨C"
Adam''s arm shot forward as if he was brandishing a weapon, one finger pointed forward. All eyes in the room followed it like a guiding light until they''d found his target.
"Serena, the Master of Communications," Adam said, simply. "While she has only contacted the Mines so far, I don''t think it would be out of line to suggest she could contact the Empire if needed."
The woman let out an amused laugh. "That is certainly true." There was an air of detachment in her voice...and even now, she refused to show her face. "I suppose you think the creature might be counting itself lucky that I have yet to inform the Empire of what transpired here? That it would benefit from killing me in the dark?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, my lord," Serena said, with a sort of bitter amusement. "I suppose this means that by stating my capabilities so clearly ¨C assuming the Stained Monster can hear us ¨C you have forced its hand. It will have to attack right now, despite the risk of your Lord Talent."
"That would be the case...if I didn''t have a slightly better deal to offer the monster."
"A deal?"
"Yes. Valeria, come over here," Adam ordered.
She obeyed with a flourishing bow, suddenly abandoning the shy, quiet scholar image she''d projected until now. Valeria stalked towards him with confidence, and when she reached him, it was with that same arrogant smirk she''d sported back in his room. "What do you desire of me, my lord?"
Adam faced the crowd, not her, and spoke in a casual tone, "Valeria is a Puppet."
He observed their reactions. Tenver raised an eyebrow, the captain appeared flabbergasted, Serena''s face was still hidden, and Ferrero''s hand fell to his sword hilt.
Of course, Adam didn''t let any of them get a word in. "She bears the Talent of Detection, and I have offered her citizenship in Penumbria pending her cooperation. As the detective, Valeria will help me slay this monster."
It was Tenver who cut in with something more than mere shock. "And how will she do that?"
"Her Talent," Adam plainly stated. "Her sword becomes stronger the more secrets she dispels. I think it''s not entirely without basis to assume that if she makes enough correct deductions, that her weapon might become strong enough to damage even the Stained Monster."
"Ahhhh." Tenver nodded. "That does make sense."
Ferrero stepped forward and unsheathed his sword. "Hang on just a moment!" he yelled angrily. "This is a serial killing ¨C a deep, dark secret of a mystery! If Valeria is wrong even once, she''s going to fucking die!"
Adam shook his head. "That''s not going to be a problem."
"Why not?" Ferrero insisted.
"Because," Adam calmly replied, "she''s going to repeat my deductions. And I don''t plan on being wrong."
It was Valeria who spoke up first, genuine laughter filling the air. She lazily glanced around the room, stretching her arms above her head for a moment, then stopping her gaze at Ferrero, saying nothing. A second later, she whirled around and faced Adam.
"Such a hard demand for citizenship," Valeria said, her voice a parody of fear. "Do you truly think I''ll go along with this?"
"Yes," Adam answered promptly.
"Why?"
"You probably have a good idea of what actually happened. The fact that you refuse to explain...well, it''s just another mystery for me to solve."
Valeria froze, as if paralyzed by an invisible spell. Then, almost immediately after, she broke into a theatrical spin, clapping her hands all the while. "Well done my lord!" she said, projecting her voice. "Well done!"
When she was done clapping, everyone realized, perhaps too late, that she''d drawn her sword and touched the back of Adam''s neck with the edge of her blade. Solara might not have been the first to notice, but she was the first to draw her own weapon in response. "You disgraceful Puppet¨C"
Adam held up his hand to stop her. "She''s not going to kill me," he said, firmly. "Not until I say something that would''ve gotten her killed...or do something out of line." Unflinchingly, as if his life wasn''t hanging by a thread, Adam turned around to face the detective, the steel never leaving his skin as he did so. This is more or less what I expected.
"You''re testing me, aren''t you?" Adam asked. "I''m not sure on the details yet, but you want to know how trustworthy I am."
"Not everything is about trust, my lord," Valeria said joyfully. "This is about competency. You intend to do business with the Grandmaster, and alas, he is quite kind. If he decides to help some absurdly stupid lord rebelling against the Empire...then the Mines, one of our last bastions of freedom, might be destroyed."
There''s more to this, Adam considered. It''s not just that. It was also likely that, as a Lord, he was quite hard to kill...in addition to something else he couldn''t quite place yet. If she can power up her blade as we confront his mystery, then she might be able to dispose of me if we reach the Mines.
There was an argument to be made that it was safer to try to solve this mystery without her.
Ah, what the hell ¨C why even entertain that thought? He was going to do this his way. Besides...if I''m right, I think the Puppet Mines might be on our side.
Now, it was Adam who engaged in theater, dramatically opening up his arms and spinning around to face the crowd. Valeria''s steel did not chase after him. When he spoke, it was not the crowd that he addressed; it was the drinks, the shadows, the everything else.
"Monster!" Adam cried out. "You can hear us, can''t you? Here''s my challenge ¨C our only way out is betting on Valeria''s Detective Talent. If we get a single deduction wrong, however, either me or Valeria will die. It means we''ll have no way of identifying you ¨C and at that point, you''ll have an easy time picking off the remainder of us at night. You might even be able to kill Serena before she can warn the Empire about this Duke-ranked Ghost that they''d send a Hangman after."
The corners of his mouth crept up with excitement. "Most of all...you''ve got nothing to lose by waiting a few moments. So why not entertain us?"
His statement wasn''t fully accurate. The Ghost of Waters did have something to lose. Allowing Valeria''s blade to power up would be reckless at best. But for whatever reason, the Ghost seemed inordinately secretive. It apparently had an incentive for trying to solve this with as little fanfare as possible. And most of all...
"Very well, Painter. I shall play with you."
Most of all...judging from our conversation, you''re a sick bastard who thinks this whole thing is fun, don''t you?
An all-encompassing darkness started to enshroud them, barely pushed back by the soft glow of candles lining the room. The Ghost''s voice, as if birthed from the very shadows, swirled and echoed, intertwining with the dim light. Faces turned, their eyes searching for the source, but the voice seemed to have no beginning or end.
Everyone can hear it this time. It''s not just me. It''s taunting us. The sound was omnipresent, and though they did their best, not a single one of them could discern from whence it came.
All except one. "Puppets were made to find and bait these creatures," Valeria said through a grin. "My blade will find it ¨C when it''s time to cut it down."
And so began a deathmatch where their lives depended on finding the culprit hidden amongst them.
"Auricio, the Ghost of the Stained Waters ¨C the game is afoot!" Adam cried out. Then, to the room, he thundered out, "And now you all know why hiding secrets is a poor idea...unless you''re the culprit. Speak! Speak, and prove your innocence!"
He aimed the statement directly at Tenver. You can''t wiggle your way out of this. I let it slide earlier because I knew you''d argue, but there''s no staying silent anymore.
It had seemed like a solid plan to Adam, but he didn''t even have time to turn his gaze to Tenver before he heard Captain Baltsar loudly exclaim, "It''s her!"
Slowly, everyone followed the old man''s outstretched finger ¨C all the way to the other side of the room, where the old woman had been seated. "Serena ¨Cshe ¨C she''s a Puppet!" Baltsar accused.
Chapter 25
Looks like we''re starting with a bang. Fine by me. Adam had no intention of joining the stunned silence threatening to dominate the room. He was cornered, he was at a disadvantage ¨C and he was Lord. Silence wasn''t allowed to rule; only he was.
"I figured as much," Adam said, in a calm voice, crossing his arms. When everyone''s shocked stares moved from Serena to him, he continued on. "Not like I had proof either way, but it made sense. A Master of Communications that often travels to the Puppet Mines? Well, she could be a spy...but I think it makes more sense that she''s been attempting to establish lines of communication between the Mines and foreign merchants or lords."
He absently gestured at Serena with two fingers, trying to make the gesture appear more casual than he felt. Make it seem like you''re in control. Don''t let them know how uncertain you are. "Besides ¨C she keeps covering her face. Could still be a spy thing, but eh. Her being a hidden Puppet diplomat explains a lot."
Tenver, as usual, was the first one to reply. He did so with a heroic, boisterous tone, as if he were a general rallying his troops before a battle. "Explain much it does, and yet that is not enough! No, my lord! It is most unfair to allow such words to be uttered while denying our fair lady a chance at a rebuttal. We must treat this vile, absurd accusation with the gravity it deserves!"
He turned towards Serena. "My lady," he said, suddenly sounding bored and disinterested. "Are you a Puppet?"
"Yes," Serena admitted, with some amusement. "I make no secret of it."
Tenver shrugged. "Protocol has been followed ¨C our fair lady is a Puppet." He shrugged once again, as if to highlight his lack of interest. "Though this doesn''t make her the culprit now, does it? Hardly seems relevant."
Adam nodded. "On that, we agree."
Captain Baltsar nearly tripped over himself in a hurry to disagree. "My lords, have you forgotten? The special door I have installed ¨C the cursed divide between here and the area below, where the commoners reside?"
"Make your point."
"Well...my lord, I only mean that¨C"
Tenver stepped forward, clapping his hands together. "He means that only a Puppet could be the culprit!" The knight thundered out the claim, glaring at each individual in the room before setting his smirk on Adam. His gaze was challenging, and bordered on rudeness, but never quite crossed that line.
Then, he said, softly, but clearly, "Would you give me the honor of this dance, my lord?" He bowed, as if requesting a young lady''s hand at a ball.
Adam stared at the outstretched hand as if it was a viper coiled to strike. The purpose behind Tenver''s invitation was as plain as it was deadly. For Adam to prevail against the Ghost of Waters, he needed Valeria''s Detective Talent to trigger numerous times. Meaning his deductions needed to be correct...and they had to be challenged while he was making them.
However, while trading blows was necessary, that didn''t need to be physical blows. A verbal debate would have sufficed. Adam would''ve been well within his rights to refuse.
"Your choice of dance is most violent," he said, a hint of bitter mirth in his voice. "But...far be it from me to turn you down."
Adam wasn''t exactly sure what made him accept. Curiosity, perhaps? Or maybe it was simply the way Tenver''s eyes flashed with anticipation ¨C only to be smothered under a veneer of levity, as if pretending he didn''t care.
He possesses a strong desire for this duel, Adam thought, studying the knight. Why? I suppose that, in theory, there should be no real danger. As long as my deductions are correct, Valeria''s sword will keep me safe. If they aren''t, Tenver can just pull back before causing injury.
Yet seeing the knight stand across from him, Adam felt his wrist shake, if only for a moment. More than the rank of Tenver''s Talent, it was the soothing fire in the man''s eyes that gave Adam pause. You are accustomed to murder...always have been. If you wanted to, this would be a perfect chance to kill me.
After a moment, he pushed the thought aside. It wouldn''t make sense for Tenver to attempt that here. No, there was another reason behind his request for a duel, and Adam intended to find it.
He opened his palm and reached behind his back, wordlessly requesting for Valeria to hand him her sword. She obliged ¨C then leaned in to mutter a quick warning. "So long as you''re holding that sword, I can kill you. Don''t even have to get close. Keep that in mind."
Adam ignored her, his focus on Tenver. The knight smirked in response, both of them approaching with swords drawn. "You''re certain of this?" he asked, with a lighthearted tone. "Even in a friendly duel, anything can happen."
"Of course," Adam stated. He gestured to Valeria''s sword, held in-hand. "I am confident in my logic, and thus, there is no threat. This is merely a lord providing entertainment for his subjects."
It was in that moment, as the two of them took their positions, that Adam realized why he''d accepted. Curiosity over Tenver''s motivation was one part...but mostly, he just didn''t want to back down from a challenge. Between Aspreay, Eric, and everyone on Earth who''d taken advantage of him, Adam had done enough groveling for a lifetime.
Hide all you like. He bent his knees, the silver tip of his sword glaring at Tenver. I''ll force your desires out of you. In the end, I will make you submit. Because whatever he had been once, now, he was a lord.
And true lords only bent their knees to prepare for a lunge. "Let us dance, knight of mine," Adam declared.
The knight''s smirk softened as he drew his own sword and crossed it with Adam''s. "Let us dance, then."
Candlelight flickered around them. Rhythmically, as if each swaying of the flames was a note in a song, they would snuff out and light up again. In that quasi-darkness, an invisible force traveled through, its laughter bouncing off the four corners of the room. "Amuse me, man of the World of Ink. Make a mistake so that this may come to a swift finale."
Once again, everyone could hear it speak. The Ghost of Waters was lurking, waiting for the only possible threat to his ¨C its ¨C plan to be dismissed.
No, Adam considered, after a moment. That''s not quite right. Odds are he could just rush and kill us right now. This...is his ego talking. He wants to see us fail.
Good. If the Ghost was willing to sit back and wait for a screw-up, then Adam was keen to personify his incompetence and christen it Godot.
"Here begins my claim!!" Tenver declared, stepping forward and thrusting his sword toward Adam. "The culprit needed access to the commoner''s deck ¨C and the only way inside is through a locked door, unlocked only by a special key. As this key was not available to the culprit last night, they must have entered the commoner''s area by another means!"
Adam raised his sword to meet Tenver''s. His knees trembled, feeling the brunt of their crossed weapons. While he was no fencer, this was not how he suspected sword fights were meant to be. Tenver stood above him, pressing his sword down with a strength that felt beyond human. Adam called upon his Stained Vines beneath his clothes to puppeteer his limbs upward, lending him strength.
It still wasn''t enough. All he could do was just barely hold back Tenver''s advance. Why is someone with the Talent of Archery so strong at using a sword?
Just as well. This was why Adam had requested the use of Valeria''s sword. In a duel against the darkness of mysteries, the truth was his sharpest weapon.
"Hang on just now!" Adam cried out. With a mighty struggle, he straightened his knees, starting to push the knight''s blade away. "How do you know that the culprit didn''t have access to the key?"
Suddenly, strength found itself into his blade. Movement became easier. Adam stood up with a roar, throwing Tenver off him and forcing the man to take two steps back. Neither dropped their weapon.
"Oh, that''s very simple," the knight remarked. "Because I stole the key from Captain Baltsar last night, and only returned it to him after the murder was committed."
A wave of shocked murmurs passed through the circle. From the corners of his eyes, Adam could make out Solara calling out the obvious answer. His focus was so intense that he could barely hear her, choosing to voice the thought himself. "Well, now...doesn''t that mean you could be the culprit?" The captain did say he lost his key last night ¨C and that you gave it back to him. So far, everything tracks.
"Of course not," Tenver promptly replied. "I have a witness who knows where I was."
"Who?" Adam asked, impatiently. "Who''s that witness?"
"No need to reveal them just yet. Ah, don''t look at me like that. You said it yourself ¨C part of the reason for this flashy display was to make sure that no one had a good reason for lying, right? Would I lie in a situation like this?"
"Yes," Adam said, without hesitation. "Yes, you would."
Tenver grinned. "Nonetheless, entertain the thought for now. You don''t have to make any sweeping conclusions before seeing my witness. But just for a moment...let''s assume I''m telling the truth, and play things off from there, shall we?"
Ferrero, the duelist, stomped his feet amidst the circle. "There''s no way we can just¡ª"
"¡ªThat''s fine by me," Adam declared, with a Lord''s authority. It wasn''t ideal, but he would rather keep things moving for now. Besides, if his theory was right...he could see why Tenver was confident enough to spout insane bullshit without expecting it to look suspicious.
Fine. You invited me to this dance, so I''ll let you lead for a moment ¨C but only for a moment. By the time we''ve finished, everyone will be dancing to my tune. "Even assuming that you have an alibi," Adam allowed, "why do you think the culprit is a Puppet?"
"Because if the key was unavailable, then no one could''ve gone through the door at all" Tenver pointed his blade at Adam, then lunged. "The culprit must have accessed the commoner''s area through another route!"
Adam parried Tenver''s blade. "
There are no secret passages in this ship!" His recounting of Valeria''s Bloody Truth empowered her sword and enhanced his reflexes, guiding his next strike. Tenver''s attack appeared as though it was moving in slow motion, letting Adam turn it aside without effort.
He knew it wouldn''t end there ¨C and he was proven right a moment later. "It doesn''t have to be a secret passage," Tenver shot back, falling into a combat stance once more, knees bent. "Windows are common enough. If the culprit used one to climb outside the ship, they could use a different window to sneak into the commoner decks." The knight thrust his sword forward. "That''s not a secret passage, nor does it involve bypassing the door with a hole or mechanism of any sort."
Tenver''s attack was faster than the last, and more dangerous. Had it landed, Adam''s gut would have been pierced.
Instead, Adam brought both hands forward and took a step back, tapping the side of the weapon to redirect it away. "No one alive can leave the ship while it is in flight!"
His parry was simple and effective. Tenver didn''t push the blade back, instead stepping away from this point. From across the room, Captain Baltsar pulled out the same parchment he''d shown Adam the day before, then started reading out its contents to the crowd.
The ''Azul Brilliante''
¡ª Captain: Antonio Baltsar
Unless allowed by its captain, no living being may enter or leave the ship while it is in motion. The surrounding barrier is nearly as strong as Lord''s Domain. The corpse of a creature that entered the ship while alive is subjected to the same rules.
Adam paid it no mind. He''d already memorized the ship''s curse ¨C and judging by the confident expression Tenver wore, so had the knight. Of course you know of it...your father gifted the captain this ship, didn''t he??
All at once, a chill invaded Adam''s body. It was the abrupt, sinking feeling one felt when realizing that they''d done exactly what their opponent wanted them to. He stepped back and desperately placed his sword before him, partially blocking Tenver''s unexpected rush.
"Do you understand now, Adam? Puppets aren''t alive!" For the first time in months, Adam heard a raw bitterness in Tenver''s words. The knight''s grip on his sword tightened with his expression, and he pushed forward. "If someone walked onto this ship as a Puppet, then they were already a corpse!"
His attack was as relentless as it was forceful. Adam could scarcely put together a reply, the air draining from his lungs as he sought to keep sharpened steel from piercing him
It was Solara who spoke first. "Tenver, what the hell are you doing?" she hissed. "Why are you trying to get us killed? If you know something, just say it! Don''t play around like¨C"
"I''m surprised," Tenver interrupted. There was effort plain in his voice, but his words were still clear as he pressed his sword against Adam''s. "I thought you of all people would not dispute that Puppets aren''t people, elf. Have you grown a heart? Do you now think of them as fellow creatures, also cursed by humans?"
"No!" Solara shot back. "That is not what I''m arguing, Tenver. Only that..." She shook her head, then turned to address Valeria. "You! Puppet! Repeat it in the Bloody Truth ¨C say that Puppets aren''t corpses!"
Valeria flashed a bitter smirk. "How kind of you to put so much faith in my kind, my lady."
"Do it already!" Solara insisted. "Adam is¨C"
"She can''t!" Tenver shouted. "Even Puppets don''t know that they are truly alive. Oh, they say they have souls, because that''s what the Grandmaster tells them ¨C but how can they really be sure? Do you think they don''t doubt it? Especially when people like you, elf, are so glad to tell them that they are nothing more than soulless husks playing at life?"
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The knight lifted his sword slightly, only to bring it back in an even fiercer downward strike. Adam''s knees nearly buckled from the impact. "She''s afraid, elf," Tenver continued. "If she states it in Bloody Truth, and it turns out to be enough of an untruth, she will die. You ask too much of her. And thus..."
Slowly, the anger left his features, and Tenver turned his usual smirk to Adam. "My good lord, my friend...you understand Captain Baltsar''s implication now, yes? Lady Serena is a Puppet. She is but a corpse. Thus, she is the only one who could have bypassed the ship''s protective curse!"
Solara wasn''t having any of this. "Tenver, that logic is absurd and you know it!"
"And if my lord cannot deny it, then he will fall here!" the knight cried out. "Unless Lord Adam can ¨C in the span of but a few moments ¨C resolve centuries of the Puppets'' agony and existential dread, he cannot¨C"
"I can," Adam said, softly. But you knew that already, didn''t you?
He stumbled to his feet, breathing heavily, aware of the pressure bearing down on him from all sides. In front of him was Tenver, blade drawn, attacking his every argument. Behind him was Valeria, her Talent and abilities able to kill him with a snap of her wrist. And lurking around in the darkness was the Ghost of Waters, searching for a chance to end them all and resume its life of clandestine serial murders.
Even so, he felt confident. More than he probably should.
While Adam did trust his own reasoning, his confidence mostly came from his utter inability to be kind to himself. He didn''t think of himself as some stardust genius, capable of overcoming odds as if it was a matter of course. At the same time, he refused to lose without trying his absolute hardest.
Even though it''d be easier not to, he mused. When I lose because I hesitated or didn''t prepare enough, I''m able to tell myself that it could''ve gone better under different circumstances. But when I do my best and still fail...that excuse goes away. There''s no one to blame but myself.
And if I lose, I''m worthless.
Adam knew the perils of basing his self-worth on results. He knew it better than most. But for as long as he could remember, the only times anyone had looked at him like he actually mattered was when he accomplished something truly extraordinary. If he was the best, he could convince himself ¨C if only for a little bit ¨C that he meant something. As he was no genius, those moments came rarely, his ego suffering as a result.
Even so, if Adam had one point he could pride himself in, it was this: the simple stubbornness to stand back up, and try again.
Despite his uneven results, and no matter how badly his ego was bruised, he never stopped walking into every contest assuming he would win. If he was lacking in talent, then he couldn''t also be lacking in mindset. Only after losing would he allow himself to wallow in pity, and not a second before.
This was no different.
"I can prove it!" Adam cried out. "Puppets are alive. And for my opening strike¨C"
Adam brandished his sword. Tenver fell back, prepared to defend himself, anticipating a furious counterattack.
But the tip of Adam''s blade wasn''t pointed at Tenver.
"Ferrero!" Adam proclaimed. "You''re a Puppet too!"
Whatever the occupants of the ship had been expecting, it wasn''t this. Not only did the accusation come as a surprise, they couldn''t understand how it related to the idea that Puppets were alive. Tenver eyed him curiously for a moment, then whistled softly, the widening of his grin wordlessly praising Adam.
Ferrero, of course, raised an objection. "Hang on," the duelist said, stepping forward and drawing his own blade. "How dare you accuse me of¨C"
Adam wouldn''t be a match for the man in a fair fight, so he didn''t bother trying. Before Ferrero could engage in real swordplay, Adam met the man''s sword with his own, crying out: "You and Valeria have known each other for many years!"
The blades of a Lord and a Duelist clashed. "Valeria said this¡ª ''Before boarding this ship, I hadn''t the pleasure of interacting with a human.''"
Ferrero''s blade diverted upwards, unnaturally. Adam did not relent. "But you said this¡ª ''We are just old acquaintances.''" Adam''s strikes were unrelenting and powerful now, the sword guiding his every move. "My dear duelist, this means she knows you aren''t human."
Ferraro''s blade flew backward. His face paled, and silence overtook the room ¨C until the sharp sound of his sword spinning in the air was punctuated by it stabbing the hard, wooden floor. "I''m a Puppet," he acknowledged, begrudgingly. "What of it?"
Adam felt his sword shake, violently enough that he was suddenly reminded it was not his sword. Valeria''s glare threatened him more than the Ghost of Waters had done thus far. He could feel an invisible hand grasping his throat, danger permeating his very being.
"My lord," Valeria said, in a wintry tone. "Surely your argument is not that Ferrero is the culprit?"
"No." Adam refused to acknowledge the danger. He was a lord, and he would not show fear. "Have you already forgotten, detective? I thought you of all people would pay attention to the details. My original claim is simple; Puppets are alive."
"What does that¨C"
"Ah!" Solara abruptly exclaimed, then grinned. "I remember you telling me about...so that''s what you meant."
Adam smirked at the elf. "Yes, it''s probably what you''re thinking. Ferrero ¨C do you recall when we spoke about art?"
The duelist hesitated, then spoke with clear-eyed sincerity, "I...do. It was a pleasant conversation. Do the points regarding dueling and art matter here?"
"As entertaining as our talk was? No, they don''t matter. But," Adam added, holding up his index finger, "that conversation does. Do you not remember what you told me?"
Ferrero frowned. "No. What are you referring to?"
"That you like fish."
A confused silence stretched. "I fail to realize what ¨C AH!"
Adam smiled, then explained the incident to those in the room.
"I might remember you one day," Ferrero said, with a jovial tone. He nodded at Adam''s tablet. In that same moment, he opened the window and tried reaching outside ¨C only to be repelled by the ship''s barrier. Appearing mildly annoyed, he put it back in place. "Oh well. So, what are you painting?"
"What the hell did you just try to do?" Adam lifted an eyebrow. "Are you interested in art?"
"In truth, I think flying fish taste rather wonderful. Wanted to catch that one." He gestured vaguely at the fish Adam had been drawing. "Doesn''t look like it''s possible, though.
"You tried reaching out the window," Adam bluntly stated. "And failed. The barrier stopped you. It''s simple, isn''t it? My argument goes thusly: you''re a Puppet, Ferrero. Moreover, you weren''t able to put your hand through the window. Therefore, Puppets are alive."
Silence threatened to rule the room once again, but Adam was insistent upon being the only ruler present. "Whether Puppets are truly alive or not is beyond me to say, I''ll admit. But I can say that for our purposes, we can assume they are alive. In other words..."
Adam glanced at Valeria and waited. The detective appeared to understand his unspoken request, and after a moment of hesitation, nodded.
Knowing her support was incoming, Adam spoke with the confidence of the Bloody Truth. "
The culprit could not have left this ship. The only way they could have entered the commoner''s area is through its cursed door!"
He wasn''t done yet. This time, Adam went on the offensive. He rushed forward, sword drawn, the tip of his blood soaked blade pointing at Tenver''s heart. "I will go further ¨C a Puppet could not have committed this crime!"
"You argue too far, my lord!" Tenver made an attempt at a block. "What if they stole the key from me? What if I''m lying about having taken the key at all?"
Adam''s blade disengaged around Tenver''s block and went straight for his chest. "Remember the Cursed Door''s properties!
The key can only be held by humans!"
Cursed Door
This door can only be unlocked by its matching key. Breaking the door or removing it will cause the key to disintegrate. The Cursed, Antonio Baltsar, will lose a limb should the key or door be destroyed. This key can only be held by humans. Puppets, Stained Creatures, or those affected by Rot are unable to grab or use the key in any way.
"And now that we have established that the culprit could only have gone through the door,
the culprit cannot be a Puppet!"
Tenver dropped his blade. Adam halted his attack less than an inch from his knight''s heart. They gazed into each other''s eyes for a moment, unspoken questions and answers flowing from one into the other. "Solara and I are alibis for each other," Adam continued. "Serena, Valeria, and Ferrero are Puppets, and therefore cannot have grabbed the key."
He sighed. "So will you stop lying, Tenver?"
"I suppose I should, shouldn''t I?"" Tenver closed his eyes and laughed. "I wanted to keep dancing with you for a bit longer, my friend...but as you''ve pointed out, it''s time to be truthful. There was indeed one thing I lied about."
Adam smiled. Finally. Just...tell me already. Let''s get this over with. We can make it easy¨C
"I never stole the key," Tenver admitted, with a guilty smile and a shrug, as if he''d merely pled guilty to stealing a cookie before dinner. "I only said so in order to avoid drawing suspicion onto Captain Baltsar.. To be honest, I caught him trying to plant it under someone''s door, then helped him with a cover story. Because I''m an Imperial gentleman."
There wasn''t enough time for a stunned silence to set in. The captain immediately stepped forward, saying, "My ¨C Your Imperial Highness, do not jest! You said¡ªwe agreed¡ª"
"Why in the forest''s name," Solara said, in a tone full of disbelief, "would you lie about something like that? Now you look like a major suspect, you damned imbecile!"
There''s a reason, Adam thought. And I can put everything together...I think. "Solara is right," he said. "Currently, the only possible suspects are Tenver and Captain Baltsar."
"But," Tenver said, with obvious glee. "I have a witness."
Adam stopped and glared at him. Tenver did not have a witness. Adam had only entertained his bullshit earlier so they could establish that the Puppets were innocent. What the hell was he trying to get at?
"When Lord Adam asked us to investigate the murders," Tenver continued, "he broke into my room ¨C which if you''ll recall, is adjacent to my lord''s. Upon doing so, he found me reading one of my favorite books and drinking a nice cup of tea. That wouldn''t have been possible if I were the culprit, would it?"
Adam froze.
He had expected some form of absurdity, but not this.
What...what the hell are you saying? You weren''t there! Not only that, but you refused to tell me where you actually were! Are you asking me to lie for you? Are you fucking insane?
Adam''s perplexed fury nearly left his lips, but he forced himself to swallow it down. Steady...steady there. I have to appear calm. No matter what.
A crossroads lay before him. The first road, to his right, would be to expose Tenver''s lie. At that point, everyone ¨C even Valeria, the detective ¨C would likely agree that he was the culprit. The road to his left, the perjury route, would see Captain Baltsar singled out as the only possible culprit.
I''m a lord. No one can argue against my authority, and I have no reason to lie. They would believe me. But...why would Tenver set this up? It''s such an easy lie. Did he actually do it, then? How did he do it when he wasn''t aboard this ship when the other murders occurred??
His eyes met Tenver''s, searching for some conniving, brilliant plan ¨C and finding none. There was nothing unusual there. If anything, his eyes right now just looked like...
Like they had during those hellish months when Adam was slamming out a painting a day for Aspreay''s ego trip. Like when Tenver saw a man struggling and reached out. Like when the brightest part of his life was both of them sharing drinks and badmouthing Aspreay together.
Like when we were friends.
Adam felt a chill vibrate through his body; one worse than anything the Stained Creatures had ever inflicted upon him. "You¡ªI¡ª" He gaped open-mouthed at Tenver in horror, then shut it, lowering his head and shaking it in a hurry.
You...you''re betting your life ¨C all of our lives ¨C on this. That''s your reasoning behind everything. It''s why you proposed a duel, seeing if I''d place myself in a vulnerable position. It''s why you''re placing yourself in a vulnerable position, one where I hold the power to condemn you with a word. You set this up so I would have to answer the question...
Adam raised his head, slowly but steadily. The question of whether or not I trust you.
"Tell them, my good lord!" Tenver declared, laughing. "You were my alibi all along. This little show was only to amuse our Puppet guests!"
"My lord," Baltsar shouted, "I, I may owe much to His Imperial Highness, but I am not the culprit!"
Do I...trust him?
Enough to bet our lives on him?
Do I trust Tenver enough?
Adam clenched his fist. A moment later, his eyes snapped open, filled with renewed determination. Like I said before...I was only fine with you leading for a little bit. He considered everything one more time. It''s my turn to take the lead. We''re playing my game, not yours.
Whatever he had once been, Adam was now a lord. And he would not let someone else rule over his will ever again. This decision, more than anything else, was something he refused to go back on.
"Enough of this!" he yelled. "You''ve all been patient for long enough. Allow me to present the culprit to you." Adam raised his index finger. Then, slowly, he lowered it as if it were a weapon. "The murderer is¨C"
Chapter 26
As Lord of Penumbria, Adam could have commanded an army, sent people flying through a wall, and ruled over reality itself inside his domain. Yet never had his finger felt as powerful as it did now ¨C when he pointed it directly at the culprit.
You want trust? he thought. That''s well and good. People want lots of things. Doesn''t mean they get them. Valeria''s sword ached as the words touched Adam''s throat, and burned when they reached his lips.
"Captain Baltsar, it was you!"
The captain froze as he felt the accusation land on him. His offended gaze shifted up and down, repeatedly alternating between Adam''s fingers eyes, as if hoping that would result in reality somehow changing. Everything about his expression appeared to exclaim, ''Why, how dare you¡ª'' yet not a word of protest left his lips.
Adam pressed on, denying Baltsar the chance to regroup. "Here''s what happened," he began, in earnest. "Let''s begin with why the Ghost of Waters chose this time to attack. Does it not strike you as odd that the Ghost would strike when a Lord was aboard ¨C when according to past testimony, it didn''t attack on every trip?"
"I suppose that would look strange to you, wouldn''t it?" Valeria said with a smirk. "But your confidence tells me you''ve already figured out why."
Adam nodded. "Yes. When I spoke with the Ghost of Waters, I prodded him on this very subject. It led to an interesting exchange."
"Ah, for two reasons," the Ghost had said. "First, the detective woman. She wouldn''t allow me to lay quiet if I tried. And second..." It laughed with a vicious, cruel sound, bereft of humanity. "Why, I simply couldn''t control myself this time."
"His first point was true enough," Adam explained. "He figured, rightfully, that Valeria was sent here to slay a monster preying on new would-be Puppets traveling to the Mines. As for the second point ¨C it initially just seemed like taunting, or appearing evil for the sake of it. You know the type."
Adam paused. "But something Valeria said later changed my mind."
"Me?" Valeria asked, feigning surprise. "Whatever could you mean, my lord?"
It was hard not to grin back at the detective. "When I asked you why Puppets were created by the Dragons, you had a very illuminating response."
''Dragon Puppets were made to counter the invasion of Rot. We are resistant to it ¨C though not immune ¨C and can detect the Rot in most. Attract them, too.''
"I will draw your attention to those last few words. ''We attract them, too.''" Adam let the statement hang heavy in the air. Most people in the room already knew what he was getting at, but proving his own understanding was key to establishing power, in more ways than one. "The Ghost of Waters said he could not control himself this time...and Puppets attract them."
He shrugged, as if the point was inconsequential. "Hey, I don''t claim to be all-knowing. For all we know, the Ghost of Waters is a creature forged and driven by pure malice, incapable of controlling its desire to feed on the innocent.. But if you ask me...I think he couldn''t control himself because there were too many Puppets aboard."
Tenver harrumphed loudly, rubbing his chin in a parody of deep thought. "Hmm, but Adam...that''s not enough for a decisive conclusion, is it?"
Adam raised an eyebrow. "You really don''t have to do this anymore."
"But it''s so fun," he protested. "And besides, don''t you think you''re extrapolating a bit too much from just that?"
"Fine." Adam sighed. "If you look at the pattern, it''s the only thing that makes sense. Remember that the monster only attacked whenever both Ferrero and Serena happened to be present. Why would he expose himself to the Puppets so often if it wasn''t needed? He wouldn''t. Therefore, something forced his hand."
Solara let out a loud hum of understanding. "Ah. This would explain ¨C aside from the obvious ¨C why Puppets aren''t generally well-liked. If they attract Stained Monsters and the Rot...you''d associate your neighborly Puppets with bad luck too, wouldn''t you?"
It wasn''t a statement that would likely endear Solara to the Puppets in attendance, but no one immediately raised an objection. Adam had thought of the same as well, though he knew better than to say it aloud.
"Elf," Valeria said, with a short laugh. "You should know better than to think people need a reason to hate. Elves cause no such things, and were still massacred." She flicked her wrist with indifference. "However, Lord Adam''s conjecture is true. I arrived at much the same conclusion."
At that, the detective gestured at her sword that Adam still carried. It glistened in bloody red. Then, with a smirk, she added, "And my sword agrees."
"That''s ¨C that''s absurd!" Captain Baltsar voiced his discontent for the first time since Adam''s accusation. He trembled, yet his face was red with fury. "The door, the cursed key, all of it ¨C my lord, why would I bother arranging all of that if I wanted these deaths to keep happening? I don''t wish for any death to come to my ship! No more!"
There was anguish in his voice, and it sounded true. "Not ever again! No one...no one should lose their lives like that. Do you really think someone who lived through the Arrow Eclipse would willingly bring more pain onto the world? "
His voice nearly cracked at the end, and it was this audible weakness that silenced the room.
Once again, Tenver was the one to eventually break the stillness. "For what it''s worth, Adam," he said, softly. "I believe Captain Baltsar''s words. He went through much with my Father and I. Someone who survived what he did ¨C even if they were a monster ¨C would balk at bringing about serial murders in cold blood."
"I believe that," Adam replied, just as softly. "I told you, Captain, what I thought of your intentions. Do you remember?"
"For what it''s worth...I believe you don''t want any more deaths to happen," Adam had said.
"I...yes, my lord. Thank you! Oh, thank you! I¡ª"
Adam held out a hand to interrupt him. "I''m sorry," he said, in a sincerely apologetic tone. "I do believe that. Even now." He paused. "But you''re still the culprit."
"Why ¨C how?" Baltsar cried out. "How could you say that? How could I be¡ª"
"If I eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Adam was happy to let the words become his own. Old literary words from Earth didn''t exist here, and a borrowed blade cuts just as sharply as one you forge yourself. "No one else could be responsible. Think about it. The culprit must have gone down to the lower deck, without arousing any suspicion, fetched one of the people from there, and brought them to the monster. Alternatively, they must have opened the door and allowed the monster to walk through."
Baltsar took a step back, sweat covering his face. "My, my lord, you said that the monster can hide easily, in water I believe? Could it not have snuck through the door after someone else opened it?"
"First of all, captain, only you have opened that door before. Moreover, everyone else has an alibi. The Puppets cannot hold the key, Solara was with me¨C"
"I hate to bring up the point," Baltsar interrupted, "but His Imperial Highness..."
Adam sighed. He''d wanted to avoid this. "Tenver was in his room," he stated, calmly. "I saw him myself. As he said; I''m his witness."
PERJURY!
The word practically shouted itself in his mind. This claim was a lie through and through, and he was going to use it to sentence a man to a fate worse than death. Yet he was also certain of his conclusion ¨C for other reasons ¨C and if he was somehow wrong, Baltsar would go unpunished, regardless.
An uncomfortable silence fell about the room. Given the earlier tension, and especially given the flashy duel of logic, none present could bring themselves to fully believe Adam. The notion that he''d just been playing around with Tenver, having known all along that the knight was innocent, was a hard pill to swallow. In spite of that, none of them could openly challenge a Lord''s authority. Worst of all, they knew Adam was dooming himself to a most painful death if he misled them about the culprit''s identity.
Fortunately, he noted that Valeria elected not to repeat his claim with her Bloody Truth. She knows. He glanced over his shoulder to see the detective calmly watching him, sporting a slightly raised eyebrow and a grin on her face. And she''s gonna let me cook.
"You do trust me," Tenver said, his voice so overly emotional that no one could mistake it for genuine. "I knew you''d never think of me as a cretin that would murder his friends."
"It has nothing to do with trust," Adam dryly said, and meant it too. The evidence just didn''t add up towards Tenver being the culprit. For one, he wasn''t present during the previous murders. For another, he couldn''t have held the¨C
His thoughts were cut short by Baltsar making an objection. "My lord," the captain began, "if you think I never wanted these deaths to happen, then why...why would I be the culprit?"
"That''s the realm of speculation," Adam admitted. "And I''d be willing to hear your story." He paused and drew a deep breath. "I can venture a guess, though. Nothing more, mind you ¨C just a guess."
The captain blinked at him expectantly, but stayed quiet.
You''re going to make me say it, eh? "I think that if you know the monster is aboard, and that it wishes to kill people...you''d try to stop it. To keep deaths at a minimum. But your own words also speak for your reasoning to aid the monster. Have you forgotten them?"
Adam saw the captain pale at the reminder, but didn''t give him time to prepare himself. He went on, quoting the man verbatim.
"Sometimes, one of them must die, and this heart of mine breaks a little more. But if not those dangerous travels of ours, they would die in the Empire regardless! What is a single man to do?"
"You hate that someone has to die, but you keep bringing people to the Mines. You view the occasional murder is detestable, yet still better than the alternative. And as you mentioned earlier, you cannot rely on either mercenaries or the Emperor to aid with the problem. That''s why you helped the Stained Monster ¨C to avert an even worse tragedy."
No one spoke for a very long time.
Slowly, Baltsar looked down and began to sob. "I...you''re right, my lord." He sobbed once more. "I confess. It was me. It''s as you say. I...I couldn''t let those poor men and women suffer in the Empire. Even if not everyone could make it, surely it''s better for just one person to die every once in a while, than to sentence all of them to death?"
"Be that as it may," Solara said, her voice uneasy. "To sentence the innocent to death¨C"
"I tried not to look for the innocent!" Baltsar cried out. "Whenever I could, I''d look for a runaway criminal attempting to escape the Emperor''s justice by traveling the Mines. Then I''d offer him shelter, and deliver him to his deserved end."
It was a bitter ¨C if understandable ¨C story to swallow. The Captain, whenever possible, had endeavored to prevent the creation of more innocent victims. He wanted to protect people from the Empire whenever possible, even going as far as to curse the door and key to keep the monster from feeding on people unless it was absolutely necessary. It was a tragic tale of a man who wanted the best for the world, but could only do so much. Guilty as he might have been, it nevertheless inspired a measure of pity, if not respect.
Only...
"Only," Valeria started as she stepped forward, arms crossed, but her hand still gripping at her sword, the edge dancing dangerously alongside her torso. "That''s not the whole truth, is it?"
She glared at Adam. "My lord, need I remind you that I am testing you to see if your competency is worthy of my fair Grandmaster?"
He grit his teeth. "I...only have conjecture. No evidence."
"I will not repeat it in blood. There won''t be any issues if you are wrong." She smiled. "Go on, my lord. Guess."
He took a moment to gather his thoughts. Adam had been mostly honest when he said that he didn''t have any decisive evidence. Just speculation. Still, Baltsar''s reactions would make more sense if that speculation was correct ¨C and there were a few facts that would make no sense unless there was more to the captain''s motives.
"There''s an issue with your confession," Adam admitted to Baltsar, with reluctance. "Specifically, the reasoning behind it. If you''ve been doing all this out of a sense of altruism, then there''s frankly no reason for a Stained monster to cooperate with you. While this method lets it feed on people and evade attention from the Empire, I find it hard to believe that a monster of that power couldn''t do better elsewhere. As just one example, it would have much more freedom attacking travelers between Penumbria and Gama. It''s possible that the monster valued secrecy over freedom, but that assumption would simply raise further questions."
Ferrero crossed his arms, falling into contemplation. "You mean...why would Baltsar bother going to the Mines in the first place?"
Adam nodded hesitantly. "Yeah. We established that the monster only attacked when Puppets were aboard, right? It also seems unable to harm Baltsar. If he''d just avoided the Mines, took his business elsewhere, he could''ve kept the monster under control. After long enough, it would''ve started to lose its powers from not feeding. Then it would have died ¨C or gotten weak enough that any mercenary could''ve taken care of it ¨C and Baltsar could have resumed ferrying would-be Puppets to the Mines without fear. In other words, if his goal was to merely keep the monster from attacking people...he didn''t have to let anyone die at all."
That had been bothering Adam for a while now. Not because it mystified him, though. He could think of several alternatives that explained away the inconsistency.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
The problem was that each explanation was crueler than the last.
"That''s a good point," Solara remarked. "Why didn''t the Ghost kill Captain Baltsar if he was supposedly trying to limit its freedom?" She laughed bitterly. "Ghosts like that don''t have any qualms about killing people. Trust me."
"I...have a guess." Adam drew a deep breath. "When I spoke to the Ghost of Waters, he mentioned something about what makes him different from the Ghost of Flames."
"My brother suffered much, for he did not sustain himself frequently enough. But me? My lord, you''ve heard the numbers. How many people do you think have become a part of me?"
The gentleman stretched out its hand.
Then, slowly, it shifted into another hand ¨C that of a young woman. Followed by an old man. Then a soldier''s hardened hand, missing two fingers. And finally, back to its original shape.
"I am many souls, and I am none of them. Do you think, my lord, that you would be able to paint this?"
"The Ghost of Waters isn''t possessing anyone, Solara. Unlike the one that was possessing you, it''s fed on enough people that it doesn''t need to." Adam tried not to let his voice shake. He needed to maintain his composure for this. "Which...leads me to one bit of pure speculation."
Valeria clapped her hands together. "Speculate away, my lord! If it helps ¨C I have more evidence pointing us toward the solution, so fear not your own imagination."
It made sense that the detective who''d intended to single-handedly slay this mystery had come prepared. Even so, that didn''t make things any easier. "So be it," Adam said, resigned to what was about to transpire. "Speaking plainly; Captain Baltsar should be dead. While convenience might make a monster more amenable to keeping quiet and killing as few people as possible, that''s not enough to placate it entirely. But what if it had a ghost of a conscience in there? Something that made the idea of killing Baltsar unappealing?"
The smirk was gone from Tenver''s face. He started to address Adam, then shook his head and stalked towards Baltsar. "Captain," he gravely said, hand on his sword hilt. "Please tell me...you didn''t..."
"And why not?" Baltsar cried out. "Can you say you wouldn''t have done the same? Can you truly say it''s any different from what your own father did?"
"What the hell are you getting at?" Solara shouted, with growing irritation.
"There''s one last thing Captain Baltsar told me," Adam muttered. "I don''t have any proof to link it to the murders. However..."
"I tell you this, my lord, so you know that I put no airs when saying this: I wish not for a single death to occur. No family should ever bear to lose their child. My son..." Baltsar hesitated, his voice catching in his throat. "He is no longer with us."
"What if your son is among those who were fed to the Ghost of Waters?" Adam said. "If he''s one of those souls, maybe his influence is enough to keep the Ghost from harming you."
Captain Baltsar was pale and silent. "No¡ªno, I could never¡ª"
"Everything makes sense if we assume you were doing this for your son''s sake. Maybe you didn''t even know that he was only one among the many souls the Ghost had consumed. After all...they have to keep feeding on people to stay alive, don''t they? Or else they lose their sense of self."
Adam thought back to the Ghost of Flames. It had sounded more human every time it drank his blood ¨C or his Ink, rather. Conversely, it had lost its sense of self whenever it was wounded and bled Ink. He reasoned the two Ghosts were similar enough.
"You weren''t just doing this out of a sense of duty," Adam pressed. "And you weren''t doing this just to save as many people as you could. Oh, you may have disliked the murders, but more than anything else? It was all so you could save your son."
"And what if that''s the case?!" Baltsar bellowed. "In the end, you''re no different from the Emperor, eh? You want to judge me for my crimes?! Then do it! Whatever my reasoning was, it doesn''t change a damn thing! What difference does it make if my motives are less noble than I claimed?!"
"Only this." Adam stretched out his arm to hand the sword back to Valeria, letting it go once he felt her gloved hand take the blade from his grip. Then, in the same motion, he reached inside his backpack and pulled out his tablet. "My hands hold a canvas better than a sword," he said, softly. "The details matter quite a bit for someone like me."
He pulled up the untitled drawing he''d prepared before.
A white void of a background, this drawing was filled only by an amalgamation of shapeless lines, shaped to give form to the formless, depicting the Ghost of Waters'' true appearance with a semblance of reality. From the leftmost side of the page, a stylized, humanoid figure was dragging other figures toward the mouth of the creature.
"You aren''t necessarily evil," Adam began, taking out his pen and starting some finishing touches. "At least in the sense that you don''t do this for pleasure. Nonetheless, you selfishly murdered dozens for the sake of your goals. Based on your self-deprecating descriptions of your time before joining the Empire...I think you started out as a loyal, albeit rough-around-the-edges sailor. Something about you must have inspired loyalty, because the then-Emperor appeared to like you..."
As Adam trailed off, he looked to Tenver, who was watching it all with a pained expression. "And...Tenver appears to genuinely like you, too. You must''ve been a good man."
Although Adam could not bring himself to say that Baltsar was a good man now. The victim this time had been a child, for heaven''s sake. "Unfortunately, you lost your son at some unspecified time ¨C if I dare guess, the ''Arrow Eclipse'' alluded to earlier. I won''t profess to know the exact details of what transpired, but at that point, your son was devoured by the Ghost of Waters and became part of it. The Emperor died shortly thereafter, and you were forced to turn to piracy. By then you''d lost your position, your sovereign, and your dreams. Your son was all that was left."
Adam painted the man''s footprints in red as he carried bodies to the sketched-out monstrosity''s open, hungry mouth. "You would do anything to keep him. And whether out of love, fear, or simple opportunism, the monster agreed. Your ship was uniquely suited to providing it shelter. Sometimes visiting the Mines, sometimes high up in the sky, and always above the Empire''s law. No one would question if someone went missing, and you didn''t have to worry about your ''son'' being caught by a Hangman."
"Please...stop," the captain begged. "I have never asked the nobility for anything before. This is the first and last favor I will ever plead." Baltsar dropped to his knees. "Please," he begged again, "have mercy..."
I can''t allow mercy here. Adam clenched his fist around his pen. "You aren''t a monster," he said. "You felt guilty ¨C unbearably so, about the deaths you caused. You knew firsthand the pain of losing the people you loved so dearly. That''s why you installed the cursed door, the cursed key...to truly keep the number of deaths to an absolute minimum."
Adam was unable to stop himself from letting out a deep, loud sigh of agony and frustration. "If only you were just a selfish monster who didn''t care what he was doing...this would be much easier. But you hated those deaths. You hated them so, so much. I''m sure they haunt your sleep every night. Only..."
"¡ªMercy, my lord!"
"Only...you still accepted every death," Adam muttered. "Regardless of whether they haunted you or not. Just so that you could cling to the idea that your son was still alive."
"¡ªHave mercy..." Baltsar stopped, then looked up, his eyes welling up with tears. "Have mercy...on my son, my lord."
Adam titled the painting.
Baltsar Feasts With His Son
It was a familiar sight now. Adam observed the thin blue line of light form around Baltsar, watching as the captain was briefly lifted up into the air, panic overcoming his features. The culprit looked around the room, a sort of apologetic fright in his expression, nodding slowly at each person he saw.
Jolts of electricity had already begun to shoot out of Baltsar when he stopped at Tenver. "Your Imperial Highness," he said weakly, his voice muffled by the sound of his soul leaving his body. "I cannot apologize enough for using the ship your father gave me for this."
"You don''t have to." Tenver''s voice was gentle "Go with the grace of the gods. Farewell."
Thunderbolts continued to fly between the captain and the painter, each stronger than the last. Adam forced himself not to look away as the captain addressed him one last time. "Mayhap if you were lord fifteen years ago," Baltsar said, his voice trembling, "then I could have died a better man. But...who knows. Mayhap trash like me is always beckoned to return to the garbage whence we came from, no matter how we try to pull ourselves out of it."
He smiled weakly. "If that were the case...it would explain why even now, I cannot regret anything."
And then, suddenly, just before the last thunderbolt touched Adam''s tablet, Baltsar summoned his Talent and shot his wrist downward as if pulling a lever. Its effects were not immediate, and it did not stop the soul from being taken.
Talent Obtained:
Ship Captain
The Talented may navigate a ship toward its destination by only touching the wheel, without any more manual control. They are also aware of this ship''s damages, capabilities, and the like. The Talented may also move this ship towards their Captain''s Badge.
There was no prolonged silence to process what had just happened. As suddenly as the painting, more sudden than Baltsar''s last action, the airship began a harsh descent, turning nearly entirely sideways and shooting downward like a bullet. Adam tried to steady his feet, but that quickly proved to be a hopeless endeavor. He was already sliding down the ship when Solara caught him by the waist, keeping herself in place by stabbing the floor with her knife to slow their descent, and then by grasping onto a door handle.
Others were less lucky. They were sent violently bouncing around, hitting their limbs against each corner of the ship as it spun upside-down, before being thrown to meet its opposite end. Adam couldn''t even keep track of who was safe and who wasn''t ¨C for all he knew, everyone was dead.
"Hold on to me," Solara growled. "Don''t let go even if it kills you!" The elf had found a grip. On what, Adam did not know, but it kept them from being sent flying. All he could do was hold tight, clinging on to what had become his lifeline, and desperately hope that it would all stop soon.
It lasted only a few minutes, yet it felt like an eternity. Eventually the ship seemed to right itself once more, moving as gently and steadily as it ever had.
Slowly, hesitantly, Adam dared to stand up. "Is everyone alive?"
He was so out of sorts that even surveying the room proved to be a challenge. In that dizzy haze, his head pounding, just standing upright was already difficult. Mercifully, a quick count showed that everyone was...if not fine, then at least well enough to complain.
"I''ll be feeling that for some time," Ferrero groaned. "Hate when this happens."
"Does it happen often?" Adam inquired.
"Look outside." Ferror gestured at the windows. "We''re underwater now. The captain must''ve set the course just before...whatever you just did. Usually he tells us to brace ourselves first."
Adam took a second to marvel at the windows. They were wide open, yet no water came rushing inside the cabin. He could see creatures that vaguely resembled fish swimming just outside, but while the surface of the water showed some tension, it never broke. Not even a single drop entered the ship itself. If not for the intense humidity that had penetrated into the room, Adam could''ve mistaken it for an extremely high-definition monitor from Earth.
I remember what they said earlier, he thought. The Mines are accessible only through an underwater cavern...so the ship has to go...fly, then go underwater. No wonder even Hangmen can''t enter it easily.
His rumination was cut short as horror instantly seized his mind. "I think," Adam said, dryly, "that we''re not done yet."
Everyone turned to look at him, disbelief writ plain on their features. "What do you mean?" Ferrero asked. "You caught the culprit, right?"
"I did. But that''s just the issue, isn''t it? Someone is being mighty quiet about this."
Someone who was now present while they were surrounded by the most humid of climates ¨C and that had its back to the wall.
It''s fine. It was always going to end like this. Solving the crime was just part one. Now it was time for the climax. He glanced over at Valeria, who appeared dizzy, but unharmed enough to stand. So far, everything has gone according to plan. Let''s see if we can keep the streak going.
And then, before he could say anything else, he heard a sound.
"Did you have fun with your game?" the Ghost of Waters asked, its voice nowhere and everywhere at once. "I truly hope you enjoyed feeling as though you mattered."
"I must ask," Adam immediately said, in a tone of forced calm. "Why didn''t you kill the captain? Is there some part of you who still thinks of him as your father? Or was it mere cowardice at the idea of the Empire finding out about you?"
"That does not concern you."
"Oh, but it does," Adam taunted. "Because if you did think of him as your father...my, my, you must be rather pissed at me for stealing his soul, eh?"
The room grew colder, as though waves were crashing at them from every direction. "No matter. Your canvas will shatter upon death. And that¡ª" Every candle blew out at once. Darkness fell. "¡ªWILL BE NOW!"
The Ghost of Waters, the Gentleman from Adam''s dream, came into being at the last flicker of fire ¨C and attacked.
Chapter 27
The Ghost of Waters leaped forth, its weapons aimed at Adam''s heart.
Adam stood his ground. He''d contemplated three separate plans for defending himself ¨C and needed precisely none of them. Before he could so much as summon his Ink, Tenver was already there, swinging his blade to parry the Ghost''s strike.
Their clash was brief. It had only been a prodding offense, it seemed, as the Ghost retreated with dark, amused laughter, no worse for the wear. In contrast, Tenver was sent sprawling from the blow''s impact, Adam forced to catch the knight to prevent him from falling backwards.
"This might turn into a bit of an unruly brawl, my dear lord." Tenver thoughtfully rubbed his chin, speaking in an overly polite manner, as if he was casually leaning against a wall ¨C instead of laying diagonally, supported by his dear lord''s grip. "Do you have a plan?"
"Three," Adam grunted back.
"Why, that''s fantastic." Tenver sounded out of breath. Somehow, that was almost more eerie to Adam than the monster standing unmoving in front of them. "How many of them are good?"
"I''ll get back to you on that."
As Tenver chuckled, picking himself up, Adam stopped to examine the situation. Although he liked to consider himself a calm, reasonable person, at the moment, he just felt...frustrated. Until now, he''d managed to keep his Stained Ink a secret. Only the Ghost of Flames knew of it, and currently, they weren''t in a position to tell anyone.
However, Adam couldn''t see a path forward where his Talent wasn''t outed. He would need every advantage in his toolset merely to survive the next few minutes. A quick glance at his tablet confirmed what he''d suspected; the Ghost of Waters was a Duke. If the Ghost of Flames wasn''t lying, he thought, then that should mean its brother is virtually impervious to our abilities. We might not be able to hurt him at all.
It was unfortunate, really. Adam held little trust for the people in this room, and most of them were Puppets ¨C beings created to fight the monster he''d tamed inside his heart. He couldn''t predict how they would react to learning that he wielded the powers of a Stained abomination.
A measure of frustration was only logical.
Yet while he was frustrated with them, and with the situation as a whole...he was mostly frustrated with himself. Because just below the surface, beneath the mantle of a pragmatic Lord, a part of him was thrilled at having the perfect justification to use his Talent. To let loose. To pit his abilities against an unstoppable foe.
To win.
I don''t think I''ll ever get used to fighting, Adam lied to himself, a smirk creeping across his face. Underneath his clothes, Stained Ink began to wrap around his arms. So be it. If I can''t keep this a secret any longer, then I may as well focus on surviving.
There might be political repercussions afterwards, but he could worry about those if he lived. If he didn''t have a choice in the matter...then there was no reason to feel guilty, right?
"Ready yourselves," Ferrero said, stepping up first. "This monster is only standing still because he''s playing with us. That creature has killed dozens of people."
"Hundreds," Valeria corrected, while taking a step back nonetheless. "The Ghost is likely guilty of more crimes outside this ship, whether Baltsar knew it or not. I have been looking into the case for some time, remember?"
A sense of thrill blazed inside Adam, slowly burning away the calm, reasonable man he aspired to be. It only served to heighten his frustration. Deep down, I think I''m less like Eric than I wish I was.
"Heed my words," he declared, in an overly-pompous, thunderous tone, as if channeling the spirit of Asprey. "As Lord of Penumbria and acting Captain of this ship, it is my noble duty to welcome you to my domain."
Adam raised his arms. "I hope you find this to be an appropriate greeting."
With that, he unfurled his Stained Ink at the Ghost. There was a distant sound of surprise, perhaps cries of disbelief from either the Puppets or Tenver ¨C Adam didn''t care. His eyes were fixated on the monster before him, and his focus was intense enough that he cared little for the rest of the room.
The tall gentleman spread his arms wide, as if to welcome a crowd into his theater. His legs were frozen in place, and he made no pretense of dodging. A loud crashing sound announced the meeting of attack and target.
Yet when all was said and done, it was like the two had never met. Adam''s sharpened Ink bounced off the creature''s chest without leaving so much as a scratch. As if the very momentum of his attack had failed to even grace the gentleman''s stately form.
"Law makes us above beasts ¨C and it is law that the lower class cannot harm their betters."
Thus spoke Auricio, the Ghost of Waters.
His voice was nearly human, but there was a faint, humid touch about it, making Adam feel like his ears were being sprayed with water at every sound.
"That is how it should be," Auricio cheerfully said. Suddenly, he bowed, turning his head upwards in an unnatural motion that would have broken the neck of any normal person. "Do you disagree, my lord?"
"I do." Adam recalled the Stained Ink, allowing it to spin around his arm to retain some momentum, glaring at the Ghost all the while. He didn''t try to eat the Ink like the Ghost of Flames did. Does that mean he has different characteristics? Or is it that he''s just not starving as badly as his ''brother'' was? "People''s circumstances change depending on where they are born ¨C and under whose ''generous'' rule they serve under. Even so, they always have the right to revolt."
"My dear lord, having the right to revolt does not guarantee you the right to safety, much less the hope of success." The Ghost''s voice echoed throughout the ship. "In this way...it isn''t too different from your world, is it not?"
Adam''s focus broke. In truth, the Painted World had dominated his thoughts lately, so much that at times he forgot Earth entirely. Now the Ghost had both reminded him of his former home, and implied to everyone else in the room that the odd Lord of Penumbria came from another world entirely. All of that combined into a singularly disconcerting moment. Just a single, fleeting moment where his attention wavered.
It was enough and too much.
When his focus returned to the duel, the Ghost of Waters had disappeared from his vision. He looked around in a hurry, only to find everyone else also turning their necks to search for the creature. Where the monster had been, there was merely empty space.
"Much as I would like to play ¨C I need you to die, Painter."
Adam felt a ferocious slash cut through his back. The wound was deep enough that had his blood been red, he might have bled out in no time at all. Ink was his lifeblood now, however, and it stopped the bleeding, although not the pain.
Yet it wasn''t the pain Adam was thinking of. It wasn''t even that the strike had left him open and vulnerable to another deadly attack.
Instead, what his mind immediately focused on was: the Ghost''s voice sounded different just now. It hadn''t been humid anymore. Now it was echoing, as it had before the monster unveiled himself.
His instincts demanded he remember that detail.
"ADAM!"
When he looked over his shoulder, Adam saw Tenver at his back. Once again, the knight swung his sword at the monster, and once again, he struck at nothing. Ghostly laughter echoed around them as the creature''s form vanished into the darkness. Grimacing, Tenver turned to face his Lord. "Adam, are you¡ª"
Out of nowhere, the Ghost reappeared before them, its long fingers stretching into inhuman claws and seeking Adam''s throat. Tenver''s warding blow was effortlessly knocked aside. For a moment, it genuinely felt like the end.
Everything happened at once. Tenver placed his back in-between the claws and Adam. Piercing claws tore a deep gouge down his flesh. The Ghost swiftly retreated back into the darkness, seeming to realize something. And Adam was left dumbfounded, halfway through taking a step that would have finished the fight then and there.
Why didn''t the Ghost stay and ¨C TENVER! The knight was strong, and he was tall, but he didn''t have Ink for blood. Blood was already draining out of him into a growing pool on the floor. If not for the armor he wore beneath his clothes, the wound might have been fatal. Even accounting for that, suppose it would have been fatal if he wasn''t¨C
"Everyone, make a circle!" Tenver shouted. "He wants to kill Adam first! He''s afraid of the Lord Talent!"
"That''s why he ran," Adam huffed, his breath weak. Even if the bleeding had stopped, the wound on his back still hurt terribly. "He knows that I can use my Domain if I step on his shadow."
Adam paused. "But how does he know that? Tenver, how did you know¡ª"
His question was cut off by the disjointed, desperate flurry of motion that followed. Before he knew it, Adam found himself surrounded by a group of Solara, Ferrero, Valeria, and Tenver. All of them had their backs to him, weapons in hand, keeping the Ghost from approaching. They weren''t as interested in the ''whys'' and ''hows'' of the monster''s actions, preferring to focus on their immediate survival.
"Where''s Serena?" Adam managed to ask.
"She''s communicating with the Puppet Mines," Valeria said, in a tone between annoyance and amusement. "Suppose that means she trusts you to have a handle on this matter, my lord."
Did it? To Adam, it just seemed like she was calling for backup ¨C which was just fine with him. While he wanted to overcome the Ghost by his own strength, victory here wasn''t at all guaranteed. It would be disappointing to need the Puppet Grandmaster''s assistance, but he would swallow his pride if it meant living to see another day.
Oh, how things change, he mused. Still, if possible, he''d rather settle things before they reached the Mines. Doing so would strengthen his starting position in the coming negotiations. Adam would rather be the Lord who did the Puppets a massive favor than the Lord who needed their saving.
"Banding together? Good move, that."
In the blink of an eye, the Ghost had reappeared and struck Ferrero. It was a quick, almost business-like slash that the duelist endured stoically, despite the blood pouring from his deep wound. He couldn''t survive many more of those.
"Yet it changes nothing." The Ghost was already gone by the time anyone could react, its voice echoing from the darkness. "You only delay the inevitable."
He''s too quick ¨C he attacks and disappears before I can step on his shadow. If I don''t know where he''s coming from, I...
Adam shook his head. There was no point in getting desperate. What the hell even counts as his shadow, anyway? If it''s a small shadow and I can''t see it, does it still count? Does it need to be visible? Who the hell is judging?
Although Adam likened his thoughts more to whining than to questions, they were legitimate points to consider. This was a world of Talents defined by arbitrary rules. Thus, there had to be definitions and judges of some sort.
Or at least one.
''What color,'' that voice had once asked, ''is your soul?''
It was a faded memory. One that, even now, Adam was unsure if it had been a dream or not. What if¡ª
"Not this time!" Ferrero cried out, as he parried. His Talent hadn''t manifested yet, but the attack was mightier than Tenver''s, enough to force the monster to back away. "Puppets can sense the Rot, you know. Keep doing that and the next strike is going down your throat!"
"What about your sword, Puppet?" Solara demanded of Valeria. "Adam''s deductions should have increased its strength, correct? Wasn''t your plan to use it to kill this abomination?"
"Good question, Heiress of Gama." Valeria made herself sound theatrical even as she gasped for air, the tension exhausting her faster than any fight. "Alas, I am afraid you misunderstood. That was never the plan."
"Excuse me?" Solara''s bafflement neared the sound of a threat. The anger in her voice and eyes was such that she almost moved her knife away from the darkness and toward the Puppet. "Then what was the point of that grand performance of his?"
"To get rid of Baltsar," Adam muttered. "It would''ve been a lot trickier to fight the Ghost if Baltsar was on his side."
Which wasn''t entirely true. Adam had hoped the Bloody Truth would be enough to harm the Ghost. That way, their side would have two separate moves capable of affecting the creature, rather than relying solely on his untested Lord Talent.
Still, he hadn''t counted on it. A lower-ranked Talent would need a dramatic boost of power to even trouble the Ghost. Adam was never convinced that just solving one murder spree would be sufficient. There was another mystery he had hoped to empower Valeria''s sword with, but¨C
"Perish, Puppets and Painter."
Another wave of strikes descended upon them. This time, the Ghost seemed to feel confident that Adam couldn''t reach him while being guarded. It moved about striking each and every single one of them, their screams of pain coming one after the other, in such even intervals that it sounded almost musicall.
Solara laughed, quietly, bitterly, and weakly. "I''m neither a Puppet nor a painter," she managed to utter. Out of their group, she had gotten the worst of the last attack. Her wounds were deeper, her bleeding more severe. Adam nearly panicked until he remembered her Talent. "Come as many times as you want, monster!" she yelled. "I survived your pathetic brother ¨C I''m not about to die to your parents'' older mistake!"
It was likely bravado, yet it sounded brave enough to give even Valeria cause to speak in a respectful tone. "You have the worst wounds out of us all. Take a step back. We can sense when he''s coming and avoid the worst of it."
"I''ll die before I let someone else die for me," Solara barked back. There was more emotion in the elf''s voice than Adam had heard before, a sort of visceral cry emerging from deep within her gut. Fury was abound in her eyes now, moreso than ever. "If another corpse falls on me so that I can survive ¨C I''ll rip my own throat out, you understand?"
Adam could only faintly think, Greenisle...I forgot, before Ferrero spoke up, ignoring the previous conversation. "We can''t keep this up," the duelist said. "If we could at least try actually fighting it, we might have a chance. But if he keeps being invisible¨C"
"He''s hiding in the water," Solara bitterly stated. "Just like the Ghost of Flames was hiding inside torches."
"Not like we can get rid of the water sources," Adam remarked, breathing heavily. Shit. I had so much more adrenaline flowing through me against the Ghost of Flames ¨C am I not healed from that yet? Just one wound and I''m this tired? "We''re undersea now, and judging from the humidity, there''s water coming into the ship here and there. Not a lot, but it''s enough. Only reason we''re not sinking or being destroyed by ocean pressure is the ship''s magic. Just enough water for the monster to move through."
"If you ask me," Tenver added, "I think several sprays of water came in when we sank. Not much has been getting through since." His voice was on the cavalier side of things. "Even just a few drops on the floor should be enough. Too few and too small for us to dry them with a cloth, convenient as that would be."
Solara grit her teeth. "Then what?" she shouted. "Are we just supposed to wait here until he kills us? Or should Adam just take a blind guess at where he''s going to appear, then try to use his Talent there?"
"Oh, elf of little faith," Tenver tutted. "Didn''t you hear him earlier? Our valiant lord has at least three plans. Everything will be perfectly fine."
He briefly turned to meet Adam''s eyes. "Do you have any good ones yet?"
In spite of himself, Adam smirked back. "Just one." He forced himself to stand up. "I''m not sure that you''ll agree it''s good, though. Has pretty decent odds of killing us. Think you can keep everyone alive while I go do something astoundingly stupid?"
"I couldn''t and shouldn''t promise that." Tenver laughed anyway. "Yet you are my lord. An order from you surpasses my most sacred of promises."
"Then keep everyone alive for a moment." Adam paused. "Although even if you succeed, I can''t promise we''ll survive what I''ve got planned."
"I''ll take those odds."
"I...didn''t give you a number."
"Did my lord mishear me?"
Adam laughed, then winced. Goddamn it, even laughing felt like it was stretching his open wounds. Maybe he really wasn''t meant for fighting.
Still...he did have one idea in mind. It was something of a backup after his original plans got derailed.
Much like the Ghost of Flames could teleport between fire, he''d expected the Ghost of Water to teleport between water. He''d also expected that Captain Baltsar might try to send the ship underwater when his plot was exposed, thereby granting Auricio an advantage in their fight. It was enough of an alarming possibility that at one point, Adam had half a mind to steal Baltsar''s Captain Talent early on to prevent that from happening.
The problem was that they needed to go underwater to find the Mines, and if Adam sent the ship off course, they might not be able to reach their destination so easily. Thus, he elected to proceed as normal. The culprit would be exposed, and the murderer would be brought to justice. Everything would be fine as long as Adam finished his painting before the captain did anything drastic.
Or so he''d assumed. Baltsar redirecting the ship while his soul was in the middle of being sealed had been...unexpected. It must have taken incredible willpower; the kind born from a potent cocktail of love and desperation, stemming from his overwhelming desire to protect his son. Despite that tiny wrinkle, Adam''s revised plan should be able to account for there being more water on the ship than he anticipated.
It just wasn''t going to be pleasant. For him, or anyone. And he couldn''t promise there wouldn''t be any casualties.
Resolving himself, Adam activated the Captain''s Talent, forming a mental map of the ship. "Let''s see...ah...so there it is," he muttered to himself. "Baltsar did blow out the candles here, but ¨C oh! Interesting. He was smuggling Dragonforged steel to...well, I suppose that makes sense, what with the Mines business."
"Are you looking for the Ghost?" Valeria asked. "Can you sense its Ink too?"
Adam shook his head. "That''s not it. I''m looking for¨C"
Found you. There was a splash of water coming inside the cabin from outside. Not enough to damage the ship, let alone sink it ¨C but enough to transport a cursed being. Adam knew, instantly, that the brief moisture brought into the room would be enough to allow the creature to show up. Or perhaps it was only using the splashes of water from earlier, as Tenver had theorized.
It didn''t matter either way.
"LET THE CURTAINS FALL ON YOUR TALE, PAINTER! YOU¨C"
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
"I''m out, guys," Adam said, with a casual wave. "I''ll be right back. Just hold the fort for a bit. Valeria, you are under strict orders not to swing your sword. We need to stack more power onto it before using it."
Solara glared at him. "What the hell do you¨C"
Adam disappeared.
And reappeared elsewhere on the ship. After gathering his bearings, he noted with some degree of surprise that he was still aware of what was happening inside the room he''d just departed from. Is this an ability of Baltsar''s Captain Talent? he wondered. Or a result of the combination of Talents inside of me?
He gave a mental shrug. Ah, well. Couldn''t worry about that right now ¨C there was too much to do. Adam went on with his task, half setting his mind to it, half watching the blurred developments that were taking place after he''d left.
Back there, everyone seemed baffled over his sudden departure, including the Ghost. For a frozen second, none dared speak, let alone move. Their truce of shared puzzlement lasted a short while. Adam couldn''t tell for exactly how long, as his attention and mind were split.
And then, in one brutal instant, the carnage resumed.
The Ghost was a Duke. He bore a rank that most outside the Imperial capital would never see in-person. The difference in strength between him and the others, even if combined, was the difference between the seas and the skies. Until now, he had only been restraining himself in fear of Adam''s Lord Talent.
Now that he was gone, the Ghost of Waters was truly unleashed upon them.
Solara was his first victim.
One moment, she was there. The next, her head was separated from her corpse, a spurt of blood jetting out of her neck like a geyser.
Ferrero cried out in shock as Valeria cried out in revenge, the Detective raising her sword and ignoring Adam''s order. "DAMN¡ªYOU¡ªTO¡ªTHE¡ªROT!" She leaped forward. "GRANDMASTER IF ONLY YOU¡ª"
But though her legs touched the ground safely, her final strike never came. Valeria was so overcome by her burst of passion that she didn''t realize what had happened until she was face to face with the monster, staring at him in disbelief. For some reason, her arms were refusing to swing.
Then she looked down in horror. Her face shifted from shock, to fear, to a guilty acceptance, as if she deserved this outcome.
Her arm was gone.
"Ah..." Valeria mumbled, closing her eyes. "I really shouldn''t lose my head that easily."
"I wouldn''t recommend it."
Just then, Solara launched herself at the detective, pushing Valeria out of the way. Her head was attached to her body again, and all her wounds were healed, as if they''d never happened. "It''s rather unpleasant," she remarked. "Wouldn''t you know it too, Puppet?"
Valeria stared in abject disbelief. "Elf! How¡ªwhat are¡ª"
There was no time to speak any longer. The Ghost struck again, and would have taken more than Valeria''s arm if Solara hadn''t desperately pulled the detective away, partially shielding the blow with her own body. The two tumbled towards a wall, bleeding and weakened.
Auricio wordlessly gave chase. There were no more taunts, predictions, or declarations of evil. It was as if murdering them was strictly business, while attacking Adam was pleasure.
Tenver moved to bar the Ghost''s path, bringing out his sword in defense of the women. "Afraid I can''t let you do that¨C"
His warning went ignored as Auricio lunged forth. It was like trying to parry a wave. The Ghost''s blade danced around Tenver''s defense, severing his arm down the elbow and pushing the knight back in one clean motion.
There was a cry of anguish ¨C from who? ¨C that anticipated a death that never came. The knight roared forward like an armless beast, punching forward with his bloody stump, using his free hand to grapple the monster. "Adam told us to hold the fort," he whispered, in an almost singing voice. "You''re not finishing this...so...easily..."
Auricio grinned, his skin and teeth stretching far wider than his own face. "I know you are of Imperial blood, but you should know that there are some things too expensive for even your purse." The monster reached its claws into Tenver''s back, sinking through his flesh and gripping at his spine as if it were the collar of a shirt. "My time is too precious to waste on those not from the World of Ink."
He violently tossed Tenver at Solara. She half-caught him, sent stumbling back, forced to hit herself against the wall to absorb momentum. Solara fell to the ground, clutching the nearly-unconscious Tenver with one hand, and reaching out with her other arm to bring Valeria closer. None of them moved much after that.
From the moment since Adam left, the entire sequence of events couldn''t have taken longer than a minute. Closer to half. Yet it was enough to cripple two of them ¨C and would have killed Solara if not for her Talent.
This was the power of a Duke.
I can''t imagine myself matching that power, Adam thought, from afar. Is that what a Hangman would be like? Or are they even stronger? A chill raced down his spine, spurring him to hurry along as fast as he could, fully aware that everyone''s lives depended on him. His task was taking longer to complete than he anticipated, and far longer than they could afford. HURRY! he told himself. HURRY!
THERE''S NO TIME!
"Now, then." Auricio stalked towards the unmoving pile of Tenver, Solara, and Valeria. "I shall rid myself of you. Unless you wish to tell me where the Painter went...?"
Stubborn silence answered him.
"No? No turncoats? How very loyal." The Ghost struck again. "And how very, very foolish."
Once again he displayed the power of a Duke.
And yet this time, the Ghost''s claws were parried away.
"I couldn''t tell for sure just from watching," Ferrero said, knees bent and rapier stretched towards''s Auricio''s front shoulder. "But now that I''ve had a chance to test you myself, I must say...your form is detestable."
He was standing in an odd stance Adam wasn''t familiar with. The duelist''s right foot was placed forward, almost in line with his blade arm, and his left foot was pointing sideways, lined up with his left shoulder. "You rely on nothing but your Talent, it seems," Ferrero continued. "Probably haven''t spent a day honing your abilities. Never woke up early to get in more hours of training before a long day at work. Always relied on your Talent to carry you through."
Then, as if three people weren''t bleeding out behind him, as if he wasn''t facing a monster, he sighed. "I really hate trash like you."
The Ghost of Waters hadn''t been listening. It was studying its claws in disbelief, as if searching for something wrong with itself ¨C rather than considering that the one responsible might be standing in front of him. Finding nothing, the tall gentleman angrily launched himself forward one more time, its claws bared.
"This isn''t a puzzle," Ferrero said, "so don''t give me hints!" He stepped back and extended his arm straight out, almost as if his sword could stretch. "Whenever you use your claws, you also bring your opposite arm back to wind yourself up. With the kind of speed you possess, it''s a useless motion, and it lets me counter you easily."
Far too easily, it seemed. Ferrero''s sword had been extended like a trap. He didn''t try to parry the Ghost''s claws, and as such, Auricio didn''t bother pushing the blade away as he advanced. At that moment, Ferrero managed, with either swift movement of his feet or clever use of his fingers ¨C Adam could not tell which ¨C to angle his sword so that the Ghost stabbed himself in the arm while rushing in.
"Don''t give openings like that," Ferrero lectured. "It''s a terrible idea. Have you never even considered learning proper fighting technique? Have you truly been living your approximation of a life relying on nothing but Talent?"
The duelist lowered his voice, narrowed his eyes, and smirked. "Allow me to show the limits of your approach, monster."
"You..." The Ghost looked up in both anger and confusion. "You are the weakest of this group. I saw you blown away earlier. A man of your meager Talent can''t keep up with anyone. How¨C"
Ferrero lunged forward, his blade piercing through the Ghost''s shoulder. Auricio was too slow, only attempting to dodge after the blade already struck true. It was just as the duelist said; the monster had spent far too long relying on his Talent, and his reflexes suffered as a result. Subconsciously, or perhaps even consciously, he may have thought there was no need to dodge the attack.
No one was more surprised than Auricio when he winced in pain and leaped backwards. He glanced down, eyes widening with belated comprehension. Adam came to the same realization a moment later.
The Ghost was bleeding.
And that meant the duelist could kill it.
"I missed," Ferrero lamented. "Got your shoulder. Meant to catch your throat. Shame."
"You ¨C what are you?" the Ghost cried out. "What dark sorcery is this? You weren''t this strong a moment ago! "
Again the Ghost attacked, and again Ferrero parried it with the same move. "How many times must we do this?" the duelist said, with a sigh. "Show me something new, will you? Because, if not..."
His voice dropped lower. "You are really going to die, you know?"
A dizzying flurry of attacks happened in the span of seconds. The Ghost delivered a barrage of strikes with each of his claws, alternating between his left and right arms, each move feeling faster than the last.
And yet Ferrero parried, countered, or deflected them all, lecturing him all the while.
"No matter how fast you are, there''s a moment when your muscles freeze ¨C there, right after the impact! You''re wide open at that point!"
"If you miss your attack, you''ll be unable to move in the opposite direction for a short while. Think of how your body moves!"
"Your aim is all wrong! Put your arm out first, then move your legs. If not, you''re never going to reach me!"
It almost seemed like the duelist was toying with him, but Adam could tell otherwise. He knew Ferrero cared for Valeria, who ¨C after losing her arm ¨C was at severe risk of bleeding out. If Ferrero could have finished this quickly, he would have. The reason he hadn''t was that, despite his taunts, he was still trying to find the right timing for a killing strike.
"Monster!" the Ghost screamed. Its gentlemanly facade crumbled more with each failed attack. "How dare you! An inferior Puppet such as yourself isn''t fit to fuel the wood in my fireplace!"
Auricio retreated into the darkness once more. Ferrero''s expression hardened. He repeatedly shifted his eyes back and forth, not dropping his stance for an instant.
"What''s wrong, duelist?" the Ghost''s voice echoed. "Have you forgotten about my Talent? I can strike at you from the darkness. There is water everywhere, don''t you know."
A heavy silence was the prelude to their next exchange. Ferrero drew a deep breath and bent his knees once more to deepen his stance. The silence stretched on and on, lasting until the final remnants of echoing, ghostly laughter faded into nothingness.
"I''M HERE, PUPPE¨C"
"I know," Ferrero replied, stabbing Auricio through the eye, "my kind can sense yours. Have you forgotten?"
Adam almost allowed himself to feel relief when seeing the Ghost impaled through its skull ¨C but then it leaped away, as if the wound was a mere inconvenience. It twitched, it ached, yet it was still standing. Blood dripped out of his eye as it growled, like a mad beast mindlessly drooling at its targets.
And then it smiled. "Ah," the Ghost said, after a pause. "So that''s your secret, isn''t it?"
"What the devil do you speak of?"
"You are a duelist." The Ghost flashed a grin that went wider than its jaw. Even from afar, Adam was unnerved to see its stretching lips and the shifting teeth. "You are considerably strong at one on one duels. Before now, any time you seemed weak was during a fight involving more than one person. Could it be that your Talent only triggers in individual duels?"
Silence fell upon the room.
"I have no idea what you speak of," Ferrero said, coldly.
"Let''s test it out then, shall we?"
"Wait! STOP!"
Once more the Ghost attacked ¨C yet this time, it was not at Ferrero. The creature was aiming for Solara, Tenver, and Valeria, who were up against the wall, defenseless and nearly unconscious.
At that point, everything became a blur. It was hard to make out what happened. There were shouts, cries, and the sound of much blood being spilled.
In any case, the final outcome was clear enough.
Ferrero stood before the fallen group, on his knees, numerous wounds having sliced through his torso. "If I may correct you in one regard," Ferrero said, with a note of defiance, "you were slightly wrong. My Talent does not trigger only in duels."
"Oh?" the Ghost asked, amused. It stepped forward. "How so? You seem rather defeated at the moment."
"My Talent is always active. Only...when more than one person gets involved, my normal strength plummets exponentially." He spat on the floor. "What I mean is ¨C you did not win this bout fairly. My strength was divided."
The Ghost''s neck elongated, allowing its head to be thrown far back as it laughed. The very sound seemed to scrape at everyone''s eardrums, like nails on a chalkboard. "You have won nothing, Puppet. There is no solace for you. All your foolishness accomplished was¨C"
At that, Tenver coughed. "He did everything he needed to," the knight said, with a smirk. "Isn''t that right...my lord?"
The door to the lower deck swung open.
With it came two things. First, there was a burning inferno. A wave of flames appeared to invade the room, crackling and twinkling like a hundred roaring campfires. Second, there was a man, standing at the forefront of the flames.
Adam.
"For a moment there, I wasn''t sure if I was going to be needed," he said. Adam rubbed the back of his head, sighing as he stepped forward. "Honestly, Ferrero, you really might be onto something about swordsmanship being art. I could sense your passion and dedication there. Consider me moved."
He cracked his neck and glared at the Ghost. "But as it stands...it looks like it''s my responsibility to finish this monster off."
"What are you...what is all of this?" the Ghost asked, gesturing incoherently at the flames.
"Your brother has come back to haunt you," Adam said, in a somber tone. "Do you not understand, you murderous imbecile?"
Stained Flames
The Talented may travel through open flames within 10m of each other, and hide their entire self within the very flames, for as long as twelve hours. This Talent is given to those Haunted by the Ghost of Flames. The Ghost of Flames will not haunt someone possessing a higher ranked Talent.
Ship Captain
The Talented may navigate a ship toward its destination by only touching the wheel, without any more manual control. They are also aware of this ship''s damages, capabilities, and the like. The Talented may also move this ship towards their Captain''s Badge.
"The Captain Talent gives me information on what''s inside this ship. So I used your brother''s Talent to escape, grabbed the key, grabbed some materials, went downstairs...and started a fire." Adam shrugged, his lips curling into a maniacal smile. "Do you know why?"
"What the hell?" The Ghost''s indignant cry almost made him sound human. "How does that help you? If this ship burns down, you''ll die! You''ll drown in the ocean ¨C no, we''re so far down below that the pressure will crush you!"
Adam laughed. "Well, there was just too much water around here. Too many places for you to hide; it''s not like we could find every last puddle. And if I can''t find all your hiding spots...if I can''t keep you from retreating into the darkness..."
He lifted two fingers as if wielding a gun, then fired it at him. "Then I''ll burn EVERYTHING around us."
"You ¨C you insane fool! If you do that, you will die! I can simply escape into the water outside!"
"Oh?" Adam hated how amused he felt at the moment. "Are you sure about that?"
The ''Azul Brilliante''
¡ª Captain: Lord Adam of Penumbria
Unless allowed by its captain, no living being may enter or leave the ship while it is in motion. The surrounding barrier is nearly as strong as Lord''s Domain. The corpse of a creature that entered the ship while alive is subjected to the same rules.
"Until we reach our destination, you can''t leave the ship." The Ghost was a monster, but it had a soul ¨C many, even. Which meant it couldn''t escape the ship''s barriers any more than they could. "Now, I wonder...when does the barrier stop working? Do you think it might still go on for a while, even if the entire ship burns to ashes? Is it a barrier around the ship components, or just a ship-shaped field? I don''t really know. Do you?"
He thought back to when he''d fought the Ghost of Flames.
Adam''s Stained Ink had wrapped itself around the Ghost before violently pulling sideways, tearing the candelabrum and the ceiling ¨C their floor ¨C off with it.
The monster screamed in terror as it fell, the sudden destruction leaving behind a cloud of dust where the floor had been a moment ago.
Adam fell too, but his throat let out no screams ¨C only a manic laughter. "If my Talent can''t hurt you, how about gravity?" Adam shouted in midair, as they both fell.
"You''re immune to weaker Talents, true. But environmental causes...well, if your brother was damaged by a sudden fall, there''s no reason to think that you''d be immune to fire."
Adam perked up. "Oh!" he added, as if remembering something. "Don''t worry. I spoke with Serena briefly, and we set up a protected area for the commoners downstairs. They won''t die from the fire. Unless it consumes the whole ship, at any rate."
He extended his arm toward the monster. His palm was open, but facing down, all fingers outstretched. "Now, I wonder...your best bet is probably to kill me and then salvage the ship. But easier said than done, right? With this much heat, even tiny droplets might evaporate. I just have to make sure there''s no water behind me."
Even he could feel the blazing fire, its intensity searing at his back. Stained Ink provided some protection from heat, but not enough. The Haunting of Flames provided the best protection of all, but something about it felt unstable. This couldn''t go on for long.
The thought excited him, fueling his competitive edge like kindling to a roaring inferno.
I wonder...have I always been like this?
"As long as I''m right next to the flames," he explained, "I''m safe from your teleporting bullshit. And if you don''t kill me quickly, who knows? I might just use your brother''s skill to run away, and then we''ll both burn to ashes. Pity."
"You''re insane!" the Ghost shrieked. "Your friends¡ªyour subjects¡ªthe commoners¡ªthey will all perish!"
Adam laughed. "Ah, see¡ªthat''s only if I don''t kill you first."
He flipped his hand over, then beckoned the monster forward with two fingers. "So get over here. Let''s dance."
Chapter 28
It wasn''t often that Adam tried to make himself look threatening. But now, amidst this insanity, he knew himself to be an imposing sight.
Not only was the path through the lower decks set ablaze, Adam himself was also burning ¨C or rather, his clothes were. His flesh might soon follow. The Stained Flames would shield him from the worst of it, but he hadn''t tested the extent of his Talent''s protection yet. Finding a safe way to measure that had been a challenge. As long as he was on fire, though, it would be difficult for the Ghost to hide in any water droplets that hadn''t already evaporated.
Still, the Painter thought, even if you can''t teleport around using the water anymore...it''s not like my chances of beating you in a fair fight have gotten any better. His Stained Ink wrapped itself around his arms once more. But that''s exactly why¡ªAdam rushed forward¡ªwe''re not fighting fair.
His attack wasn''t meant to connect or even land against the monster. Instead, Adam''s step forward was meant to land right outside the Ghost''s range; just too far for his long limbs to reach, and just far enough for Adam to step on his shadow. Difference in rank be damned, the Lord Talent would have an effect regardless.
And that means...you''re going to have to dodge, aren''t you?
His hunch proved true. Until now, the Ghost had seemed abnormally wary of the Lord Talent, only unleashing its true terror upon the others once Adam was gone. As soon as Adam''s foot neared him, the Ghost leaped to the side, then hopped numerous times in a circling motion, never taking his eyes off either Adam or the injured group.
"Cautious, aren''t you?" Adam remarked, with a sneer. He''s much stronger than me, even without the teleportation, he thought, calmly and coldly. If the monster has one weakness...it''s that he''s too careful.
I have to exploit that. Adam had never been particularly talented at much of anything. But whenever he was in direct competition with someone, he had a way of coming out ahead. Slowly...slowly, press his mind until he breaks. Let him self-destruct.
"Ah, guess you decided to settle for the tie, eh?" He deepened his sneer. "Going to run away and let me burn down the whole ship? Can''t blame you. Being remembered as the monster who died in a draw against the Painter Lord is more glory than you deserve!"
I don''t want to die, Adam''s sense of reasoning muttered. I want to win, Adam''s racing heart screamed. "Are you scared of me, little ghost?" Adam''s lips said.
"Taunt me as you will, Painter." The Ghost felt less imposing now. It continued to carefully circle the group, his unnaturally long torso hunched over as if preparing to defend himself. "Baring my claws against the Talent of a Lord is a risky endeavor. Do you think me some sort of moronic creature, attacking prey without certainty of victory? One does not survive as long as I have without employing a degree of prudence."
And one did not defeat someone like Adam without being a little reckless. Giving the Painter time to think meant you were giving him the right to decide the time of your death. Good, he told himself. Wait for your chance. Let me talk. Let me kill you.
"Madman," Solara muttered, through a cough. Her injuries were severe, yet she was able to stand, albeit with some effort. "You''re worse than insane ¨C you''re almost confident. Really think this is going to work out?"
"Yes." Adam had formed the first part of his plan earlier that day, and he''d managed to plan the rest while searching for fire downstairs. "I''m not a fan of it, though. Was hoping it wouldn''t cost me much, but you had to go and die, didn''t you?"
He laughed, then quickly lowered his voice, speaking in a serious tone. "Take these Orbs."
Despite what must have been a painful heat emanating from the fire on his clothes, Solara stumbled towards him to loudly protest, "I can''t accept that! Adam, you told me yourself how little coin Penumbria has. I can never repay a debt like¡ª"
"¡ªThe only time you can''t repay a debt is when you''re dead. There''s no time to argue." The Ghost was watching them, waiting for its opportunity to attack. It could come at any moment. "Now! Use them now!!"
Reluctantly, Solara grabbed onto Adam''s hand. He felt the Orbs transferred over to her. The Ghost merely watched, its claws at the ready.
Still not attacking...is he waiting for me to make my move first? Perfect. Go ahead and confuse procrastination for wisdom, jackass. There was no more time to waste ¨C he needed to consider what assets he had available to work with. Fortunately, he had a few paintings of Solara prepared, both good and bad. That was one item down. Next...
"Ferrero, would your pride be wounded if I asked you to sit this one out?" Adam asked, in a solemn tone.
"Not at all." Ferrero let out a weak, bitter laugh. "This isn''t a duel. I''m not too interested in participating, so long as we live."
"That''s alright. You did more than enough ¨C we couldn''t have won without you." Look at me, Adam thought, with wry amusement. Already thinking we''ve won. This kind of confidence has always backfired on me. I''ve been winning too much lately...that''s never good for my ego. "Just sit back and enjoy. As for the others..."
Adam looked at the fallen fighters. Valeria and Tenver had each lost an arm. Both were continuing to lose blood, and would soon be dead.
He glared at the detective first. "Stand up," he ordered, feeling a bit too much like Aspreay. Still, there was no time for manners. "Puppets won''t die unless their core is destroyed ¨C you said so yourself. Can you still move?"
Valeria twitched weakly. "Even if I won''t die, the damage I took is...no. I cannot stand."
"Can you hold your sword?" Adam insisted.
"Yes."
"Then hold it forward." Adam didn''t bother looking at Solara before telling her, "Help Valeria stand, and keep her steady." Without waiting for a reply or looking at the bleeding man, Adam declared loudly, "You don''t get a speech ¨C stand up, Tenver."
There was a brief silence. Solara made a sound of protest, but her effort of lifting Valeria stopped the sound from transforming into actual words. Nevertheless, Adam understood her objection. Tenver was unlike Valeria; the knight was liable to die if he continued to exert himself.
Adam had no choice but to ignore that understandable concern. "Until I became lord," he began, "you were my most supportive and only friend. After that, you became a smiling, murderous trickster that handed me more decapitated heads than drinks. If that''s what you want to be...I won''t stop you. But I''m not letting you take a nap when your insanity is needed most."
He lifted his hand and clenched his fist. "On your feet, Tenver. Come cause some violence with me."
At that, Tenver laughed, loudly and jovially. It was a casual sort of laughter, and if not for how he sometimes stopped to gasp desperately for air, or how he occasionally coughed up blood, he would have sounded just as he always had back in Penumbria.
Adam heard the sound of a sword stabbing into the ground, and then a man rising to his feet. He didn''t need to look to see that Tenver had stumbled to his side, missing an arm, but not his sword. "What are your orders, my lord?"
The Lord of Penumbria glared straight at Auricio, the Ghost of Waters, and said, "Hey, you insufferable, parasitic prick ¨C what''s the matter? Afraid to attack first? Can''t even attack unless I give you an opening?"
His question made the Ghost look less human than ever, causing it to twitch defensively and arch its back like a cat. "Naturally," it calmly stated. "Your Lord Talent would kill me. With my superior speed, I''d almost certainly kill you before you manage that...but ''almost'' isn''t good enough. I am no gambler ¨C I am a survivor!"
"Mistaking decision paralysis for an intelligent pause is a sin most people make," Adam said. "For you, it will be your last."
The Painter drew a deep breath and grabbed his tablet. This would need some precise timing to pull off. First, he needed to exploit the caution that the Ghost had shown thus far. "My dear ghost...are you aware of how Valeria''s Bloody Truth works?"
Auricio huffed in surprise. "I thought we were done with that silly distraction."
"Oh, of course not!" Adam said, feigning an intense shock of his own. "Have you forgotten? I said her ability was key to killing you."
"And you also said, Painter From The World of Ink, that solving this mystery was insufficient to give her steel the ability to cut through me."
Adam nodded. "That I did. But we''ll be giving it even more power, you know? Truths don''t have to be just about mysteries ¨C they can be anything. And while Valeria might not have an exact understanding of how her ability works, I have a pretty decent theory, myself."
DON''T LET HIM KNOW HOW MUCH PAIN YOU''RE IN!
His shrieking thoughts were a stark contrast with his nonchalant voice. Around ten seconds prior, the fire on Adam''s skin had started to burn. Not as much as regular flames would have on a normal person; rather, it was as if every few seconds his body suddenly remembered it was on fire, accepted the burn like it should, then went back to denying reality with magic. This was, he mused, the limit of the Stained Flames.
And he could not ¨C would not ¨C allow the Ghost to know that.
"Know what I think?" Adam said, with perfect serenity. "I think that what matters is how impossible the truth seems. For example, if she states something that seems absurd, then unravels that mystery to you...it just might strengthen her sword even more."
"And you think that would be enough to kill me?"
"No idea," he admitted. "Probably not." He swept his arm out, gesturing at everything around them. "But it would likely be enough to demolish this entire ship, although probably not the barrier. And as we established...that would kill you too, wouldn''t it?"
The Lord of Painting laughed and grinned, both expressions equally mocking. "Someone who prides himself in being a ''survivor'' wouldn''t want to risk that. If you want to be absolutely, 100% certain that you''ll live through this fight, then you''re going to have to block the next strike of Valeria''s sword."
It was an absurd claim, yet one Adam felt reasonably confident in making. While he had very little understanding of how Valeria''s ability worked, he also knew the Ghost was acting far, far too careful. Why did he only eat people inside the ship when he''s this strong? It had to be afraid of being chased by Hangmen. That mentality would limit what kind of moves the monster was capable of making. Hopefully, it would be enough.
No. It would be enough.
With that in mind, he set two timers on his tablet, then took another deep breath. If the Ghost was a survivor rather than a gambler, then Adam must have been his polar opposite.
"Catch," he said, tossing his tablet to Solara. The elf awkwardly grabbed it while still holding onto Valeria. "Don''t you dare drop it," Adam instructed. "If you break it, I''ll paint your Espada de Guerra figures the wrong colors on purpose. Keep looking at it the entire time - not the fight."
Adam paused. "Oh, and if you glance away for even a moment, we''re all going to die." He retrieved a second item from his pocket and tossed it to her as well. "Grabbed some adhesive tape while I was downstairs. Use it to keep your eyes open."
Solara stared at the tablet and the tape in a mild daze, but she nodded all the same. Satisfied, Adam turned to face Valeria. There was only one last step to take. "You said you''d accept me as your lord, didn''t you?" he asked.
"Of...of course, my lord." Every word felt like it could be Valeria''s last, and yet in every word she still spent energy injecting irony into her tone. This woman, he knew, would die with a smirk on her face, whenever the day came. "Would you like me to swear an oath here? Seems ill-timed, but¨C"
"No." His voice was firm. "I want you to obey your lord''s commands."
The detective needed only a brief pause. "As you wish."
Adam signaled for Tenver to ready himself. The two men bent their knees and readied themselves for what was to come. I don''t have time to explain my plan, he thought, as he locked eyes with the knight. So...you''d better understand what I''m thinking right now.
"Repeat it in Bloody Truth," Adam thundered to Valeria, while still glaring at Tenver. "Say that every person present in this room will land a strike against the monster! Your mission is to solve the mystery behind my orders, detective!"
"
By the end of this ship''s journey, Ferrero, Solara, Tenver, Adam, and myself, Valeria, will each have landed a strike against the Ghost of Waters!" Valeria declared. Blood flowed from her bloody stump and into her blade. "Now go ¨C finish this nightmare!"
The crucial moment was upon them. "Where?" Adam asked Tenver. It wasn''t a full question, but it was all he could ask. Please understand what I''m getting at.
Tenver nodded. "Let''s say it''s a good thing they got my sword arm."
"Okay. On my command." Adam held his hand and waited for the timer to go off in his tablet. Amidst the fire, the smoke, and the chaos, he didn''t wait for the faint, now almost familiar light to reach him before screaming, "NOW!"
Painter and Archer, Now-Lord and Once-Prince, Adam and Tenver, leaped together at the monster who was far stronger than them both. Unburdened by the curse of choice, Auricio readied its monstrous claws and swung. There was a small chance ¨C perhaps one in a hundred ¨C that the pair''s strong friendship would lead to a miracle, slowing the attack down long enough for the Lord Talent to overtake the monster.
No such miracle occurred.
Nor had Adam counted on one.
Miracles come to those who deserve them, to the geniuses chosen by the heavens. I''m just some guy who forced my way here. I can''t expect providence to save me. So instead¡ªI''ll do anything¡ªWHATEVER IT TAKES!
When Auricio''s deadly claws swung at the pair, Adam wrapped his Stained Ink around Tenver''s remaining arm and pulled the man in front of him. He forced his knight to turn his body in a protective manner...
...and used him as a shield.
Tenver''s head was sliced off cleanly by the attack. It allowed Adam a moment of freedom. A single chance, bought with his friend''s sacrifice, to strike at the monster. Stepping on its shadow right then would have ended everything. If Adam were a genius, a man like Eric who pulled through even the most impossible of tasks, then the fight would have ended in that very moment.
But he wasn''t, and it didn''t.
"You were right, Painter," the Ghost mocked, as it moved through his side and slashed at him. "I was too careful. Looks like I could have killed you easily after all. Even sacrificing your friend wasn''t enough."
So this is what dying feels like, Adam thought, a strange sense of calm about him. I...I guess I always wanted to know.
His head had been sliced cleanly off as well.
Adam could see his headless body growing more and distant as his vision narrowed. His voice died first. Try as he might, no screams came out. Maybe he hadn''t even opened his mouth. That was when Adam realized he could no longer hear anything. Whether he had lost his sense of touch, or had been overwhelmed by that invading numbness, nothing felt like it mattered anymore.
A second passed. Then a minute. Then a year. At some point, Adam realized, with an odd acceptance, that his eyes were no longer working. The image of his headless body was merely imprinted on his consciousness.
It''s like every last thing I have...that I am...is being...undone...
It was here that he died.
And it was there that the Ghost stalked towards Valeria, exuding an air of casual violence. "Your lord is dead, Puppet Detective." Auricio laughed. "Tell me. Do you feel despair? Do you feel fear? After witnessing that insufferable arrogance of yours all this time, I''d like to see you break before you die."
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Valeria was practically on the ground, her sword arm lowered and her blade pointed at the floor. Solara had collapsed a moment earlier, and her unconscious body was propping up the detective''s, resulting in an awkward stance that made fighting impossible.
Auricio took a step forward. Each movement of his was a taunt. "Well, Puppet? Last chance!"
"Detectives are a wordy sort," Valeria managed to say. "We don''t die with just a few words. Much better, says our creed, to die with the truth."
And so she stabbed at the Ghost.
He didn''t bother to dodge. Instead, the blade stopped an inch before his skin, as if repelled by an invisible, powerful magnet. Their difference in rank had been established ¨C without the Bloody Truth''s declaration coming true, her weapon still wasn''t strong enough.
"Do you know why I''m not in a hurry to kill you, Puppet?" Auricio asked. Once more his jaw expanded into a grin that was wider than the rest of his face. "Because even if I do nothing, you will die."
Valeria continued to press her sword in vain towards the monster''s skin. "What do you mean?"
"Your Bloody Truth spoke an impossibility. You claimed that all of you would injure me. The duelist wounded me earlier, true, but the rest of you are dead. Once this ship completes its journey, and your statement is proven for the lie that it is, death shall visit you."
"Ah...I see." Valeria sighed weakly, and for a moment, her grip on her sword loosened. Still she did not drop it. "An understandable mistake, my ghost ¨C but, a mistake nonetheless." Somehow, at death''s door, the detective still found it necessary to inject a note of dry wit in her tone. "My claim has not yet been proven false. Were it truly a certain lie, then we wouldn''t need to wait until we reached the Puppet Mines for my Talent to consume me."
The Ghost of Waters laughed. "And what sliver of hope could possibly remain? Does the Dark Sorcerer think you could prop up their corpses to stab me, so as to make your prediction technically true?"
"Mayhap that is a possibility," Valeria conceded. "The other one, of course...is that Lord Adam will kill you regardless."
"Seeing as I killed him," Auricio replied, "that would be most difficult."
Adam stepped on his shadow. "Difficult," the Lord of Painting agreed, calling upon his Talent, "but not impossible."
The Ghost whirled around in horror. A moment of stunned comprehension passed as it stared at the foot, touching its shadow. Face stricken with utter disbelief, his gaze drifted upwards, finding Adam standing there without so much as a scratch on him.
Surprise rapidly morphed into rage. With a bellow, the creature leapt forwards, its claws crying out for murder.
Adam wouldn''t allow it. "Kneel," he commanded. Two Talents clashed violently, almost hesitantly, as if reality itself was unsure of whether the Talent of higher rank or higher quality should prevail. Bolts of lightning crackled between the clouds of their Talents, the electricity ricocheting off the surface and bouncing across the wooden floor, snapping at the burning flames that surrounded them. This rare clash of quality and rank was less a battle of strength and closer to a duel of wills.
And Adam knew he wouldn''t lose out in a contest of stubbornness. "KNEEL!" he thundered.
The Ghost of Waters brought its unnatural knees crashing towards the floor, breaking the surface and splintering wooden fragments everywhere. "How! HOW! HOW! I KILLED YOU!"
"That," Adam said, breathing heavily, "I will allow Penumbria''s first Pup¨C" He stopped, then shook his head to correct himself. "I will allow Penumbria''s first Detective to explain."
"Gladly." Valeria pressed her sword against the monster. The tip was closer now, pushing skin back, nearly cutting it. "Earlier, Lord Adam handed his canvas to the Heiress of Gama, then waited until a strange sound came out of it. Seeing as he alluded to having ''stolen'' your brother''s Talent before...I believe he also stole her Talent of Resurrection."
Adam nodded. "Correct. I didn''t think I could land a hit on him even while Tenver and I attacked together...but if he thought I was dead, he was bound to relax just a little." He had set two timers on his tablet. The first one would flash an image of a good painting of Solara''s soul.
Valeria''s Bloody Red sword thrust into the Ghost of Water''s flesh, eliciting a wince of pain. "That...that is absurd!" Auricio snarled. "You sacrificed your own for this? She won''t survive getting her Talent back!"
"Don''t act like you have the moral high ground, serial killer," Adam coldly stated. After a moment, he shrugged. "But no, you''re wrong.. Didn''t you see me transferring my Orbs to her before? Our dear Lady bought her way back to life!"
A cruel world, this one. Even life and death could be negotiated with god ¨C and he charged far too high a price for it. Not too different from Earth, honestly. "Have you forgotten what you told me yourself?" Adam continued.
"But it colored the way your Talent manifested. Tell me, Adam...have you really never wondered why you attained the ability of plagiarism?"
Adam''s shoulders tightened. It was over half a year ago, and the memory pained him less now, but he still didn''t want to think about it. What did it matter, anyway? Everything ¨C everyone ¨C was on a different world now. Focusing on what this conversation meant was more important. "You mean I''m not really using their Talents so much as...plagiarizing them?"
"Aye. It keeps you from the worst of curses, of course, though one could argue they will never reach the same potential the originals would."
"My ability doesn''t steal Talents," Adam noted. "It plagiarizes them. When Solara increased her Rank with my Orbs, she strengthened her Resurrection Talent. Now it lets her revive twice a day, rather than just once. Even if I used up one of her deaths...she still has a spare."
The second timer went off.
"Speak of the devil," Adam said, happily. "Here''s something I tested recently ¨C even if Solara is unconscious, so long as her eyelids are open, it counts as her ''looking'' at one of my paintings. Know what that means, Ghost?"
Valeria cut in. "Ah. This is the part where our dear grumpy elf returns to life as well, yes?"
Solara stabbed the Ghost of Waters with a knife. "So that''s why you made me put this on," she said, through heavy breaths. A grimace settled onto her face as she reached up, tearing off the pieces of adhesive tape that she''d used to forcibly keep her eyes open. "Fucking hell. Tell me why next time...you have no idea how unpleasant this feels."
"What...what the devil are you speaking of?" Auricio protested. The Ghost struggled, attempting to free himself of his invisible chains, but Adam''s Lordly order was absolute. "You ¨C died on purpose? And the elf was not dead?"
Adam recalled something he''d heard years ago; that you could tell a person had been completely defeated when all they could do was repeatedly question the past. "So violent, so careful, so stupid," he replied, with a dispassionate tone.
As the Ghost''s mouth fell open in shock, Valeria went on the offensive. "Lord Adam''s plan was simple," she began. "He wanted you to kill him for two reasons. First ¨C to lower your guard, giving him the chance to step on your shadow, of course."
Her sword dug deeper inside the monster''s flesh. Ink flowed out of his wound like an unnatural river of black. "And second ¨C because unraveling the mystery of his plan would strengthen this sword."
The detective''s wrist turned, twirling the steel inside the monster and invoking agony within its being. "Remember, dear Ghost, that Lord Adam wasn''t sure if his Lord Talent would be enough to kill you. He orchestrated these events to further sharpen my blade."
"But your Bloody Truth still lied!" the Ghost protested. "Even if the elf strengthened her resurrection, and the Painter plagiarized it, the Imperial brat has no such Talent! He is truly dead!"
Solara shifted a concerned gaze toward Adam. She seemed to be fearing exactly what the Ghost had described.
Guess it''s time. "When Tenver dueled me earlier," Adam started, in a grave tone, "his logic pushed me to a corner. As only humans could have handled the key, and the key was obviously used, our only suspects were him and Captain Baltsar. Tenver asked me to claim that I was his witness ¨C to lie for him. And what he was really asking was: ''Do you trust me?'' The annoying bastard wanted to force an answer out of me."
Adam sighed. "He thought he succeeded. Tenver believed that by agreeing to lie for him, I''d answered his question. But that''s not why I committed perjury, Ghost."
Without stepping closer, he clenched his fist to lift the Ghost up into the air, as Aspreay had once done to him. "I had another way of knowing he was innocent."
"What are you¨C"
A massive wooden arrow, so large and monstrous it could have been called a stake, went through the Ghost''s chest and split the monster from its waist down.
Solara yelped in shock, but Adam only grinned. He''d suspected this for a while, and the entire trip had just confirmed it. You were testing me this whole time, weren''t you? He wondered. Trying to figure out if you could trust me enough. Guess it was a scary thing to confess.
But he had been trying to tell Adam for a while, like a shy woman at a ball signaling her interest, hoping for confirmation before flirting in earnest. You goddamn fuckboy, you should''ve just said it outright.
"What the ¨C the hell?" Solara asked, her eyes wide.
"How...no! NO!" the Ghost cried out. Its upper body was now staked against the wall, held in place by the massive arrow. "WHEN?"
Yeah. Tenver had been trying to be honest, in his own, shy way. He was worried about what they''d think, and he couldn''t just say it outright when their potential rejection would put him at such risk.
"You idiot," Adam muttered. "I''d already suspected since learning you had a direct flight to the Puppet Mines on-hand. This would''ve been a lot easier if you''d just told me."
The late Emperor''s mysterious trip, the bond Tenver forged with Captain Baltsar, the captain''s reticence about losing a son...even the way Tenver seemed to always know about Adam''s Stained Ink since the moment they''d met.
"They don''t lose their souls when they become Hybrids, my lady," Captain Baltsar had said at the time."They just, well, get new limbs."
"Do not liken their transformation to a sailor with a peg leg," Solara had snapped. "Hybrids can survive even when their head is cut off. Only a living abomination is capable of such a feat. Be they Hybrids or Nexus, they''re all monsters."
Adam turned around and smiled. "You don''t look like a monster to me," he said, warmly. "I think you look pretty cool."
Tenver''s headless body stood at the other side of the room. His shirt had been fully burned by the fire...revealing the truth behind his left arm to the world.
It was larger than his right arm had been, and made entirely of wood. The numerous joints, links, and screws made Adam think more of a robot than any magical creature. Two large, arched poles had emerged from the sides of his arm, a thick piece of string connecting the two. A large bolt appeared to move from inside of his prosthetic into the strange device, inserting itself into the weapon, loading his bow with a fresh arrow.
"So that''s why you''re an Archer," Adam casually remarked.
"Aye, my lord," Tenver''s fallen head said. His body put away the oversized bow, then reached down to pick its head up. Throughout that, he never stopped talking. "Let''s keep this a secret, if you don''t mind. I hope you understand that this is a secret of mine ¨C Father always told me to hide my transformation."
Tenver placed his own head underneath his arms. "You know, we should put out this fire soon," he laughed. "Might actually die if we don''t." After a pause, he asked, in a more serious tone, "How long have you known?"
"No idea." Adam shrugged. "The difference between ''knowing'' and ''suspecting'' is kind of thin. Your reaction to Solara''s comments about Puppet was my first indication, though. I was even more convinced after seeing Baltar''s whole deal, and that he has ¨C had a past with your father. And after our duel..."
His tone softened. "Well, I was beyond certain at that point. There''s more, but you get the idea. I''ve figured you were a Puppet for a while now."
Tenver started to smirk, but the humor soon disappeared from his face. What was left was the most genuine, widest smile Adam had ever seen on him. It would have been heartwarming...if not for how unnerving it was to see that smile detached from the knight''s body. Adam refused to give Tenver the satisfaction of looking away - the bastard was really having fun with this.
"Correct on all accounts," Tenver began, "except for one. When I asked you to lie, I wasn''t asking you to trust me."
His voice lowered, and something resembling vulnerability flickered in his eyes. "I was...telling you that I trusted you."
"WHEN?" Auricio cried out. "BALTSAR DIDN''T KNOW ¨C WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?"
"My father took a trip to the Puppet Mines," Tenver replied, awkwardly trying to adjust his head back onto his throat. "After my dear old uncle tried to kill me...and nearly succeeded. Father didn''t tell Baltsar the purpose of the trip, and I don''t think he wanted to dwell further, even if he had a strong suspicion."
He raised an eyebrow. "Couldn''t you guess, though? Didn''t you feel more out of control than usual? There were four Puppets aboard, after all."
"MONSTER!" the Ghost bellowed. "ALL OF YOU! BEINGS THAT WEREN''T MADE BY THE FIRST! UNNATURAL MONSTROSIT¡ª"
Adam snapped his fingers. At once, the Ghost fell silent. The Lord of Painting took a second to examine its pitiful state; upper body pinned against the wall, and the shadow of its severed lower body pinned by Adam''s foot. Even with its torso bisected, both halves still counted for the Lord Talent. "I could have killed you the moment I stepped onto your shadow. Do you know why I haven''t, yet?"
There were a few reasons. To explain himself in explicit detail, to not have Solara too upset at him after this stunt, and to force Tenver to be honest with him. There was one specific reason, however, that Adam wanted Auricio to understand.
Suddenly the Ghost of Waters'' face lit up. "You think you have a use for me," the Ghost said, wickedly. "You want my information on the First¡ªon the laws¡ªon the World of Ink."
"Tempting as it is, no. I believe there''s nothing you know that the Puppets won''t be able to tell me." He confirmed it by glancing at Tenver, who nodded. "One more chance. Think carefully. What reason could I have, after putting a cursed Ghost at my mercy, a monstrously powerful being who killed hundreds without remorse...for not killing you right away?"
Auricio seemed to shiver under Adam''s gaze. He thought hard, but all he could come up with was a muted, plaintive, "What?"
"Because frankly speaking? You''re not worth my time." With that, Adam nodded at Valeria. "Finish it."
"NO! I KNOW SO MUCH! MY POWER CAN BE OF MUCH USE! LISTEN¨C"
Solara was too stunned to help Valeria move. Ferrero, however, gently picked her up, bending his knees slightly to allow the detective to wrap her sword arm around his neck. She used him as support as they slowly marched toward the monster. Then, when they''d finally reached it, the duelist lifted her up so that she was in range.
Despite her wounds, despite her lost arm, despite the monster glaring at her ¨C Valeria lifted her sword. When she spoke, it was in a tone that was simultaneously dry and victorious.
"This case is now closed."
The detective''s sword came down.
Chapter 29
No more deaths were forced on them for the remainder of the trip. Yet as Adam soon learned, one more might come regardless ¨C and this time by choice.
It shouldn''t have even been a surprise. Far too late, Adam recalled his last conversation with the Ghost of Waters. After all the things he''d predicted, all the mysteries solved...in the heat of the moment, he''d missed something told straight to his face.
"Because if you did think of him as your father..." Adam had taunted. "My, my, you must be rather pissed at me for stealing his soul, eh?"
"No matter," the Ghost seethed. "Your canvas will shatter upon death."
Adam grit his teeth at the memory. Damn it all to hell, how could I have missed that? After a moment to calm down, he sighed internally. No...it''s unreasonable to expect myself to notice absolutely everything. I should be proud of having caught as much as I did, really. And it''s not like my choices would''ve been different if I knew about this ahead of time.
Even so, he still wished he''d known about this. Maybe the extra time to prepare would''ve changed something. Maybe he just needed more time to get used to things like this.
Maybe he never would.
"My lord," Tenver asked, with a curt bow, "your orders." He paused without lifting his head, then said, "Your permission, rather."
A few hours after the killing of the Ghost of Waters, they''d put out every fire and seen to the ship''s damage. Thankfully, it wasn''t so bad. In spite of what he''d told the Ghost, Adam had truly set only the hallway separating both decks ablaze. While Serena had claimed that she could protect the commoners down there, he''d wanted to avoid relying on her too much.
Everyone''s injuries were treated quickly and efficiently. Puppets needed far less care to keep alive, and the commoners below hadn''t been hurt. Aside from the Ghost of Waters, there wasn''t a single casualty, and soon enough, everyone was on their feet. The issue, however, was exactly that ¨C not everyone should have been up on their feet.
A few hours after the duel, Captain Baltsar stood up.
The man had been groggy, feverish, and on the verge of death, but his soul had returned to his body all the same. Adam cursed the revelation for several reasons. First, it meant that he''d wasted resources. He could have developed a more elegant ¨C and less expensive ¨C plan if he knew that Solara''s soul would return to her body upon his death. Then again, although Baltsar''s soul had returned to him, his Talent hadn''t.
Second, and more pressingly, Baltsar had committed a terrible crime...and the commoners were begging for justice.
"Milord, please. My cousin was just a kid." A young man, no older than eighteen, fell on both knees and crumbled his crummy green hat in his hands. He tried to avoid meeting Adam''s eyes, occasionally glancing up before lowering his head again as if apologizing for some unspoken crime. "We''re simple folk, milord, destined for nothin'' but misery. I know that. But...but we had a chance milord! A chance to become something else ¨C something better in the Mines!"
He shot a glare at the sickly Baltsar, sitting to the side of the room. "Until that fucking monster fed him to a..."
The young man''s voice trailed off as he teared up, anger fighting with grief over the right to be heard.
Anger won out. "Milord ¨C please! Give us justice! Kill him!"
It had now been just over a day since Adam''s duel against the Ghost of Waters. As soon as the situation had been explained to the commoners below, they all asked for the same thing: for Baltsar to be executed. Adam didn''t know who''d told them, but he couldn''t resent the guilty party very much. Those people deserved to know the truth of what had happened.
And now...I have to kill someone.
Adam knew the thought shouldn''t have bothered him. He''d killed plenty of people since coming to the Painted World. Aspreay might not have died, but he did lose his soul, which was close enough. Belmordo...was different than this situation. After hearing everything the man had done to Solara and Vasco, making the decision felt easy. And even then, it had only been an indirect killing. Much as Adam hated to admit it, taking lives was less onerous when he could do it with just a drawing.
This, on the other hand...would be a lot messier. And a lot more personal.
I am the Lord of Penumbria, he reminded himself. I have to make a decision.
"Milord! Please!"
"Milord, give us justice!"
"Off with the captain''s head!"
Adam hadn''t gotten much time to discuss the matter with Solara or Tenver. In between the cleanup and recovering from injuries, he''d only managed to briefly speak in private with each of them. That turned out to be more than enough; it didn''t take long for them to make their positions exceedingly clear.
"Kill him," Solara had plainly stated. "His crimes are treasonous to both the Emperor and yourself. Some of his victims must have come from your domain, Adam. You simply cannot forgive him ¨C you''d appear weak."
"I don''t want to forgive him," Adam had protested.
"Then kill him." Solara''s voice was firm, almost cold. "Had I my way, we would make those people citizens of Penumbria or Gama. Yet neither of us has the Orbs to support more hungry mouths as winter nears, and...you''ve mentioned Penumbria''s need to strike a trade agreement with the Puppets. You shouldn''t offend their Grandmaster by taking prospective citizens away from them. And if you can''t give these people a chance to live as humans, then give them justice, at the very least."
Tenver''s opinion had been kinder, and at the same time, more ruthless.
"I owe much to Captain Baltsar," the knight had said, looking down. "I''d rather he didn''t die, but my opinions don''t matter. Your standing with the Emperor is uncertain ¨C letting a criminal such as he live would harm your negotiating position. Moreover..."
Tenver shrugged awkwardly. "The commoners may be human, but the Grandmaster likely sees them as Puppets already. If you fail to give them their justice, the Grandmaster would see it as an indication of weakness."
"You''re very knowledgeable about Puppets," Adam had replied. "I could use your advice moving forward."
"We''ll talk soon. I promise." Tenver sounded sincere this time. It reminded Adam of the times they''d spent in Aspreay''s tower. "There''s a lot to catch you up on. But for now..."
"I know. There''s things that need to be done.."
Their advice was forthright, and their reasoning was solid. Worst of all, Adam didn''t disagree with it in the slightest. The only thing staying his hand was fear, plain and simple. Even if he wanted to fashion himself as a cold medieval lord who favored pragmatism above all else, watching someone die on his orders felt wrong. Would he be any different from Aspreay and the others if he was happily ordering people''s executions?
Or am I just using that moral superiority as an excuse for cowardice?
His silence stretched on, and a sense of disquiet spread through the kneeling commoners. It was becoming apparent to them that Adam didn''t intend to make a decision, and it wouldn''t be long before they started voicing their displeasure. While their protests could be silenced with either authority or power, neither option appeared particularly tasteful.
Yet...Baltsar hadn''t even fully recovered from having had his soul stolen. The memory of him desperately begging for his son, as if the boy was still alive, remained fresh in Adam''s mind.
Tenver knelt by his side. "My lord," he whispered, "we will reach the Mines in an hour or two. You need to do something before the Right to Rule is no longer yours."
Adam stayed silent.
His knight said nothing for quite some time. "May I?" he eventually asked.
There was no other option. Adam knew that. It still hurt him to nod, wordlessly granting Tenver permission to carry on with the act.
A moment later, he looked up at the sound of commoners cheering. Tenver was holding the delirious captain by his neck, dragging him to the middle of the room. The knight easily tossed Baltsar onto a chair turned sideways to prop up the man''s head. Despite attaching his head easily enough, Tenver had yet to reattach his arm ¨C and it did little to distract from the imposing figure he projected onto the room now.
For just a moment, there was a flicker of paleness in his face, a twitching of his lips. Then all of those signs were gone, and he''d put on the same smile Adam had seen so many times before.
When was the first time he''d seen that odd, almost mischievous smirk? Tenver hadn''t really shown it during those hellish six months in Aspreay''s tower. Had it been...
Ah.
When he first brought me the heads of the nobles who''d meant to revolt.
Adam lost himself in deep thought as he watched Tenver raise his sword. He looked around at the cheering commoners who were trying to crowd around Baltsar, at the solemn Puppets who were grouped up on one side, and at Solara, who was watching it all from the other end of the room. Just as Tenver gripped his sword hilt tighter, an overwhelming thought invaded Adam''s mind.
This is wrong. It''s not how it should be.
"Stop!" Adam cried out. Many heads turned to him, but it was only Tenver''s that Adam faced. "You can''t kill him."
As the crowd watched, their eyes demanding an explanation, Adam drew a deep breath. When he exhaled, the Lord of Penumbria stood in his place. I shouldn''t choose a road based on how easy it is to walk.
"Give me your sword." Adam stared harder into his knight''s eyes. "I''ll do it myself."
Tenver stared back. "Are you certain, my lord?" he slowly said.
"These people ask justice of me. I should be the one to deliver it." Adam grabbed Tenver''s sword with one hand. It was heavy, but his long sleeves allowed for the Stained Ink to swirl onto the hilt without anyone''s notice. "What kind of lord would ask his knight to execute a man he owed so much to?"
"Aspreay would."
"I''m not Aspreay." Adam repeated the words in his mind like a mantra. I''m not Aspreay. They gave him strength. "And I will not ask that of you." He drew another deep breath, readying his grip. "Captain Balstar, do you have any last words?"
The Captain stirred weakly, feverishly. "My son...must save...my son...."
How many innocent people did you kill for that one thought? "Very well."
Adam brought the sword down in one clean gesture.
There was a loud cheering, but Adam paid it no mind. It all sounded distant, as if the thunderous sound from the crowd came from a different ship rather than a few feet away from him. Adam watched Baltsar''s decapitated head roll around once, then twice, before Tenver quickly collected it and wrapped it inside a leather bag.
After daring to look at the headless body, and freezing at the sight of the corpse''s bleeding throat, Adam decided that he''d had enough. He passed his knight the sword, gave the cheering commonsers a firm nod, then retreated to his room.
Tenver quickly caught up to him. He knew not to say a word until he''d closed the door behind him. "First kill?" he asked.
The lord sighed. "With my own hands? Yes."
"Do you feel...distraught from it? Almost scared of yourself, that you''d do such a thing?"
Adam glanced down at his hand and saw it tremble. "It appears so," he remarked, his voice surprisingly calm despite the unsteady arm.
Tenver smiled and patted him on the shoulder. "That''s reassuring."
"Why?"
"Because if it means you didn''t enjoy it." Tenver''s voice lowered. "And the world is made a worse place by those whose core heals from drinking venom."
He waited a moment for the words to sink in, then drew back. "Well, we have about an hour before arriving." A friendly smile graced his features. "What do you say to a drink?"
--
They shared only a light drink and lighter conversation. Adam wasn''t sure if he could trust Tenver yet, but was beginning to feel like he could ¨C or maybe should. Yet there was little time, and they both needed to remain sober for when they arrived at the Mines. Instead, the two men spoke of food, drinks, and some sightseeing they''d love to do together when all other duties were done.
"¡ªSilver waterfalls, absolutely breathtaking. You must come."
"I suppose that would be nice to paint."
"¡ªI will place a limit, ''my lord,'' on how much time you''ll spend painting."
Everything felt just as it had before Adam became lord. The laughter, the talking, the friendship...Is...is it fine to trust him again? Was it ever? Knowing about the man being a Puppet explained a lot, but there was still the lingering doubt that this amiability was merely another form of manipulation. Inside his mind, Adam shouted at himself to shut up, to just trust Tenver ¨C but another voice shouted louder.
Remember Eric?
He allowed himself to enjoy the conversation, if nothing else. It was a joyful hour that Adam wished could''ve lasted longer. Yet time is a merciless reaper, and there was work to do.
Adam missed the resurfacing of the ship ¨C according to Solara, it was quite an amazing sight ¨C but he was happy to have traded it for the short period he spent with Tenver. Thankfully, he didn''t need to do anything to resurface or dock the trip; his Talent took care of it automatically.
He was present when the barriers came down, though. Adam stopped to look around at their destination. "This is among the most ominous things I''ve ever seen in my life," he said, without exaggeration.
The entrance to the Puppet Mines was located through an underwater cave. Their airship had dived deep in the ocean, traveled for hours, then resurfaced like a submarine. Adam had expected many different things from the Mines, but not how tall the cave was. It was so absurdly tall that his entire manor from Penumbria probably wouldn''t have touched the sharp stalactites hanging from the ceiling.
Most striking of it all, however, was how he couldn''t see the Puppet Mines proper.
Despite that gargantuan height, every inch of it had been covered in wooden walls hastily built onto each other. Some appeared so old they were nearly archeological finds, while other planks appeared so new they might as well have been placed the morning before. It was less of a gate and more of an enormous, comically large wall, intended to block off the Mines from any visitors who''d managed to reach this point.
There were only two actual doors Adam could see, both clearly marked.
¡ª INTO THE MINES
¡ª GRANDMASTER''S WORKSHOP
Serena spoke up first. "As thanks for solving our issue with the Ghost, I would like to formally introduce you to the Grandmaster. Would you allow me the chance to put in a good word for you, Lord Adam?"
"It would be my honor." Understanding the unspoken implication, he looked back at the rest of the group. "Go ahead into the Mines. I''ll meet up with you after seeing the Grandmaster."
Solara shook uneasily. "Adam, I..."
He couldn''t tell whether she was unsure about letting him speak with the Grandmaster alone, or whether she simply felt uncomfortable in Puppet territory. Either way, Adam felt sorry for her, but he had no choice. "I must go," he insisted. "It''s for the sake of our goal, remember?"
--
Solara was pissed at the Painter.
He knew how much Puppets unnerved her, yet he still went out of his way to leave her alone with them. Sure, speaking with the Grandmaster was more important ¨C she wouldn''t argue against that. But would it have killed him to at least try to argue for her presence there? At least appear like you give a shit, fucking Painter. If he kept acting like this, it would make her plans of projecting her importance via association that much harder.
And, well, she also didn''t want to be left alone with Tenver.
Not that she was sorry about the things she''d said, but, maybe she wouldn''t have said them in front of the man if he''d bothered to let her know he was a Puppet. And...it was his fault anyhow. Still, it was the proper thing to express her regret at her choice of words, and if she was feeling charitable, even acknowledge ¨C with some degree of honesty ¨C that maybe she''d started to feel differently after this trip.
That''s going to be awkward, though. I don''t want to do it. Not one bit. She had to. Ah, burn it all to the blue hell! All of it! Every single¨C
"Lady Solara," Valeria said, with a bow. "I fear our disagreements aboard the ship seem rather meaningless now. Would you allow me to show you around as an apology?"
There was some edge to her tone, but Solara could detect no malice in it. She glanced at the detective, then at the rest of the group ¨C which included Tenver ¨C and quickly thought over everything she knew.
The detective and I have been openly disagreeing about things since we spoke to each other. We''ve both been open with our distaste of the other''s kind, and I''m not entirely convinced she isn''t gonna kill me the first chance she gets. Going alone with her might be tantamount to suicide.
Tenver and I have had mild disagreements, but he seems loyal to Adam, and hasn''t really done anything wrong. Going alone with him would mean apologizing.
"I would be glad to go with you, Detective." She wasted little time in following Valeria to the other side, sparing no glance behind.
There was a brief pause before being allowed in. Solara felt a chill down her spine as a blue light touched her from head to toe, the door opened itself right after. To her surprise, the door didn''t lead to the entirety of the Mines, but rather a long and dark hallway.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"Oh, my apologies. I forgot!" Valeria spoke with the glee of someone who hadn''t, in fact, forgotten anything at all. "You can''t see in the dark, can you? We illuminate the entrance for the sake of traders, and illuminate most inner caves for the sake of new Puppets who aren''t used to it yet. The First Tunnel is different. It''s kept dark ¨C for the sake of defense, you see?"
"I don''t see! That''s the problem!" Solara snapped back. More calmly, she asked, "The main hallway, you say? From what I''ve heard, the Mines are a network of tunnels."
"A labyrinth would be more accurate. The First Tunnel has side doors leading into many caves, most of which are large enough to fit several houses ¨C not unlike a human city. And the only thing connecting them all is the First Tunnel."
Valeria laughed amusedly, extending her hand. "You wouldn''t want to get lost here. Hold my hand."
Solara nearly tripped trying to keep up with her. By the forest, neither her shoes nor her dress were meant for hiking. While she''d packed a few other sets of clothes, her hobbies had admittedly taken up most of the luggage space. "You cannot be serious."
"The last person who refused a guide was found thirteen days later, trampled and stepped on. We know not if they perished due to the stomping or the hunger." She laughed again and flicked her hand. "Are you certain you''ll decline?"
"Burn in hell, Puppet," Solara cried out, bringing her hand down like a slap. She grabbed onto the detective''s palm anyway. "What are you trying to show me, exactly?"
Valeria squeezed tightly, pulling Solara forward as if dancing. "Forgive me for not putting a hand on your hip, yet I lack an arm to do so. It will be remedied soon."
"You damned¨C"
"Ah, my dear tree lover¡ªyour kind likes trees, yes?¡ªI understand your frustration, but remember that I have only one arm. So long as you hold my hand, I cannot bring any harm to you."
Solara exhaled, begrudgingly accepting her logic. "Just walk already, Pup¨C"
She cut herself off. It probably wouldn''t be wise to keep calling her ''Puppet'' in the Mines. By now, Solara knew that she and the detective had a sort of...agreement. There was an accepted and implied permission that they could be less appropriate with their choices of words towards one another. Other Puppets, however, might take offense to it.
It''s time I started speaking properly, she thought. Remember that you represent Gama. Don''t forget everything you''ve practiced. Solara forced a smile. "Most kind of you, Valeria, to show an outsider like me the sights of your land, so shrouded in legend. Gama will not forget this courtesy."
To her surprise, Valeria sighed with more annoyance than she''d expressed thus far. "It''s not fun when you speak like that," she grunted, then marched forward, dragging Solara by the hand.
The two walked in silence for a few minutes, the all-enshrouding darkness their only companion. They must have walked for quite a while, as Solara felt her thighs protest, but not too long, for her legs did not give out entirely. The Puppet certainly would''ve said exactly how long it took if asked, but Solara was just as certain it wouldn''t be worth giving her the satisfaction. Why, if she had her way, they''d¨C
"We''re here," Valeria announced. She opened a door, bright lights shooting out into the First Tunnel. "Here lies the Eleventh Cave. It''s the community I belong to. And...well, take a look."
Solara''s eyes needed time to adjust to the light. While the Puppets hadn''t replicated sunlight, there were a number of green stones placed upon tall wooden poles, evenly illuminating their surroundings and banishing any last semblance of darkness. It was an especially impressive sight considering the sheer size of the area. The Eleventh Cave might not have been as tall as the entrance, but it was far wider, and inhabited by many broad structures that took Solara a moment to identify.
Those are...houses. Valeria wasn''t exaggerating when she compared it to a regular city street. There were a number of buildings around, and though Solara couldn''t see precisely how many due to the curved nature of the cave, she was sure there were at least thirty houses just in her immediate field of vision. They''re so large, too. How many people can they hold?
And speaking of people ¨C there were plenty of them as well. Solara stared in wonderment at the crowded streets. She saw children at play, young men and women jogging, and older folk entertaining others with stories of their youth. It was all so...normal.
For some reason, the thought struck her like a bolt of lightning. If she hadn''t known they were inside the Mines, she wouldn''t have even considered the possibility that these people were Puppets. They looked just like anyone back home in Gama.
No, Solara thought with a frown. Not like Gama. But what am I...
Suddenly, it dawned on her. The children, the men and women, the older folk...they were...their ears...
"They''re elves," she muttered. "They''re¡ªthey''re all elves!"
"Puppets, my lady," Valeria politely corrected. "But they used to be elves. I suppose you could consider them both, if you wanted. The Eleventh Cave is populated by former elves."
"Former." Solara spoke the word slowly, letting herself process it. "Were they taken here against their will?"
"No. Some came here in ships like Baltsar''s, thinking the Mines were kinder to them than the Emperor. I''m sure you of all people cannot blame them."
Solara trembled at the thought. "Heavens no. After Greenisle, I could not blame anyone who..." She paused. "What of the others?"
"The others came here as corpses," Valeria stated. "A person''s soul doesn''t always leave their body immediately after death. In fact, it often takes a few days or weeks. Some of our archives indicate the longest record was nearly seventeen months, but that was a hundred years ago."
Numerous questions battled within Solara''s mind for the right to be spoken aloud. In the midst of that turmoil, a new thought formed and snuck its way to her lips before the others could protest. "You said that this is the Eleventh Cave. Where former elves live."
"Yes."
"You also said...that this is your community." Solara widened her eyes. "Valeria, your ears¡ª!"
The detective laughed. "They look human enough. Or rather, they''d better. It cost me quite a bundle to have them done this way."
Solara''s shock caught up before her understanding did. "Valeria, are you implying...are you saying that you''re an elf?"
"Mayhap if you choose to view me that way. As I see it, the elf in me died fifteen years ago." The detective looked Solara dead in the eyes. "Fifteen years...you understand what that implies, right? People are murdered every day, aye, yet..."
A mad idea came to her, and she could not stop it from leaving her mouth. "Greenisle?!" she cried out. "You were from Greenisle?!"
Valeria shrugged. "That is just the question, isn''t it?" Her tone was calm and thoughtful. "I told you earlier that my memories of life before Puppetry are vague at best. See, my wounds matched the weapons used to butcher your ¨C our ¨C kind. Spears from your very own City of Gama, my dear elf. But don''t you find that strange? That my corpse was brought from Greenisle all the way to the Mines?"
"How?" Solara demanded. "How did...how did your body get moved here? I was with Father the entire time, no corpses were ¨C they helped us bury and burn our dead!"
At that, the detective held up her arm, gesturing to the clear prosthetic. It brought forth a memory of something she''d mentioned before on Baltsar''s ship.
"This is a replacement of my original arm," Valeria had said. "A thin layer of skin over simple wood, strung together into my nerves. It is the only real prosthetic we can manage on a living person. The rest of my body is not too dissimilar from your own, my lady elf. However, the method that gave me my new body only works when a Puppet is first reborn, so I cannot bet my arm again."
Solara''s eyes widened at her recollection. First, because of the realization the Puppet had been hinting at her true nature since the beginning. Second... "You lost your arm trying to rationalize something with the Bloody Truth?"
"Aye," Valeria nodded. An imperceptible emotion flashed within her eyes. "Rather mysterious, my death. And I''m willing to risk much to uncover more."
"Why are you telling me this?" Solara snapped, almost defensively. "Do you suspect Gama ¨C do you suspect father of having dealt with your corpses?"
"No." Again, she raised her prosthetic. "I made sure of that much."
Solara winced. So that''s the Bloody Truth guess that cost her an arm. Uncomfortably, she glanced at the stump where the Puppet ¨C blue hells, the elf ¨C had lost her arm fighting against the Ghost. "I suppose you can''t get that back, either?"
"This one might be fine." Valeria sounded neither certain nor worried. "They may be able to reattach it, although my speed of movement could end up lesser than before. Losing a limb in battle is different from losing it to the Bloody Truth. Might even be able to avoid a prosthetic. I''d rather keep my sensation of touch, but..." She let out a theatrical sigh. "Oh, the sacrifices we make for the truth."
"Your ears," Solara insisted. "Why did you do that? Why try to hide your identity?"
"Because my plan was to infiltrate and investigate human cities." She winced at some hidden memory. "The Grandmaster, ah, didn''t let me get that far."
Adam has no idea what he offered when he gave her citizenship, Solara thought. Of all the Puppets to make that offer to... "I ask again," she repeated. "Why tell me all of this?"
"Because my main suspect is the same man who ordered the slaying of your village. The same man who killed Tenver''s father."
Valeria''s gaze sharpened. "The same man who wishes to murder Lord Adam."
--
Serena had been leading Adam down a path for nearly thirty minutes now.
Adam spent that time wondering what kind of person the Puppet Grandmaster was like. He''d heard too many rumors about the man to have a realistically informed opinion; the man''s legend was simply too big for any words of his character to be trustworthy. All Adam knew for certain was that the Grandmaster had salvaged whatever Puppets remained alive, keeping them so well-guarded that the Emperor dared not attack the Mines, despite his clear distaste of their kind.
What kind of person are you, Grandmaster? Adam pondered, as Serena led him through the darkened hallway. Are you paranoid? Vengeful? Cold and calculating? He could be any and all of those. It wasn''t worth speculating right now; there just wasn''t enough information to go on. Then again, he did have Valeria''s account. From that, he could estimate at the very least that¨C
"I''m surprised you can see in the dark," Serena said, from just ahead of him. "Most humans can''t. Is this part of your Painter Talent, by any chance?"
Adam kept his face blank and lifted his tablet''s flashlight to point at her eyes. The woman didn''t even blink. "I have my ways." Looks like it''s not just that they can''t see my tablet ¨C the light it projects doesn''t affect them, either.
"We''ve been walking for a while," he continued. "Is this normally how long it takes to see the Grandmaster?" Adam hardened his voice. "Or could it be that you lead visitors down a confusing route to safeguard the Grandmaster?"
"The labyrinthian nature of these caves is just how this area is built. Blame the Gods, not us." Serena chuckled from beneath her cloak. "Aside from that, we have no need to go through such lengths to defend him."
"You don''t?" Adam questioned. "What if a Hangman comes to fight him? What''s there to stop the Grandmaster from being killed?"
"Himself." Serena''s voice was firm. "No other safeguard is needed."
Adam bit his lip. Interesting. So the Grandmaster could defeat a Hangman? But...one Hangman annihilated a Puppet City, had he not? Solara told him as much back when she explained her past. How could both those facts be true? Was this merely a boast, or was there more to it?
He had to know more. "If I may ask¨C"
An abrupt change in scenery stopped him short. While his next step felt like any other, all of a sudden, the tunnels had widened, and the ceiling stretched so high upwards that it felt impossible to see the top. The walls also were far enough away now that Adam could just barely make them out under his dim flashlight.
But he couldn''t make out the figures standing by the walls. There were dozens of them, standing in perfect orderly lines. Waiting. They could''ve been statues, soldiers, or even shadows.
The sight sent a shiver running down Adam''s spine. He turned to face Serena, masking his unease as best he could. "Where are we? Is the Grandmaster ready to meet with us?"
She turned towards him as well. The motion gave Adam pause. At first, he couldn''t quite tell what was off about it. Then, a second later, it came to him: although her neck turned, the remainder of her body did not. It wasn''t so stiff as to be impossible, but it was knocking on the door of the uncanny valley.
Silently, the rest of her turned to face him, doing so one limb at a time. Her shoulders went first, followed quickly by a snapping motion as her upper torso rotated. Everything after was faster than the movement that came before: her hips, her knees, her feet.
And then, at the end of that unnatural display, she dared to speak naturally. "Yes. It is time for you to meet with the Grandmaster, Painter of the World of Ink."
Serena collapsed.
"Wait ¨C no!" Adam rushed to her and immediately checked for a pulse. There was none. Did Puppets live without one? No...her heart had also stopped. Was that normal or...was Serena dead? What life signs are even there for me to check?
A large part of his mind screamed that the effort was pointless. Puppet or not, there were no signs of life in the woman anymore. Her limbs offered no resistance to being moved, as though her muscles had died many days before. This was different from the body of someone who was merely asleep. "But how...why did you¡ª"
"WELCOME, PAINTER!" Adam turned to the right. One of the figures he''d thought to be a statue stood up from a raised platform, then began stalking towards him. It was an older man, but tall and well-built, with hair and beard that circled into the shape of a lion''s mane. "WELCOME, TO MY WORKSHOP!"
Without thinking, Adam summoned his Stained Ink.
The whirling of the Ink around his arms felt as instinctive as an animal''s growl when encountering a predator. Something deep inside him, something primal, told him that he was in grave danger. Don''t let him get any closer. Not even one more step. Think ¨C think how to escape!
Every step the man took forward felt as though death itself was drawing near. I can''t escape him, Adam realized. He''s too fast. Too strong. If I try anything, he''ll catch me. What do I do? The man wasn''t giving him time to think. He just kept approaching, only a few steps away now...
...And then fell to the ground, collapsing like Serena had.
"Where are you?" Adam cried out. There was no relief in the man having collapsed. "I came here to meet with you, goddamn it!"
Another one of the supposed statues moved. This time it was a young woman, older than Adam, but not by much. She too started moving towards him. "I am here, Painter."
Then she too collapsed.
"Forgive me," said another one of the figures. Now, it looked no older than a child. "This is quite troublesome."
Once more, the figure collapsed.
Adam clenched his fist. I can''t let myself be intimidated. Not going to give them any satisfaction. "I am Lord Adam of Penumbria!" He thought of how to make the declaration sound more official, then remembered the lie he''d settled on. "The bastard son of Lord Aspreay, and descendant of a long line of nobles! I came here for a meeting, not a mockery!"
"Ah, but how could someone who is not from this world be a son of Aspreay?" said yet another voice. Adam couldn''t immediately trace the source of this one. It wasn''t coming from either of the walls.
Suddenly, a mass of giant candles alighted at the opposite end of the cave. They lit up one-by-one, as if following a melody, each spawning a wave of heat throughout the air, and each sweltering breeze feeling like an attack.
There was enough light now that even without his tablet, Adam could make out the throne that lay at the center of the room. It was elevated far above the ground, as if specifically crafted to look down on whoever dared petition its master. The throne seemed egregiously tall, so much that anyone who fell from it wouldn''t escape without injury. This was a throne devised for someone of gravitas and importance; who knew their power and could back it up if they so chose.
And there was a single figure seated upon it.
I don''t have to check my tablet to know, Adam thought. This...this person has an Emperor ranked Talent.
"Forgive me, Painter," said the Grandmaster. "Changing bodies is sometimes less of a science and more of an art form, I''m afraid. Regardless, it pleases me that I can finally thank you for your services in my own body. You may address me as Serena if you''d like, but I have many other names, if you prefer."
Chapter 30
"Impressive," Adam said, flatly. Trying to intimidate me? Not happening. "Can all Puppets have multiple bodies, or is that just a perk of yours?"
The Grandmaster¡ªSerena?¡ªlifted a single dismissive eyebrow. Eerie peals of laughter echoed around the chamber, yet the grandmaster''s lips did not move. Adam didn''t have to look to know that the sound was coming from the creatures still hidden in darkness.
"You ask and think two different thoughts," said the Grandmaster. "Behold my grace, for I shall answer both. Puppets are not bound to a single body, no more than you are, no more than a bird is bound to its cage. Souls may travel, and with the help of a true genius, they may even find a new home. This is how Puppets come to be."
They shook their heads. "But moving from body to body as I do? No. That gift belongs to me, and no one else."
"Communications," Adam muttered. "The Talent of Communication. I imagine it relates to how you can move your Soul across multiple bodies so easily?" More questions came to mind. There was a lot he needed to ask, and he could not ¨C would not lose this opportunity. "You know where I''m from? Tell me more!"
It was then that the ghostly audience, that crowd of one with the voices of a thousand, laughed louder and in perfect synchronicity. Each laugh sounded different; young and old, male and female, high and low pitched...yet all began and ended at the same time. "Perhaps so," said the Grandmaster. "You are clever, Painter, and your mind wanders to many of the right questions. However, I fear you forget one essential point."
"What?" Adam quickly fired back.
The Grandmaster''s voice grew colder. "Yourself." Their fingers snapped, and Adam felt his knees crash against the ground. "You forget yourself, Painter."
Before the pain could even register, his mind immediately went back when Aspreay had first used the Lord Talent on him. At the time, Adam hadn''t actually been afraid. In that moment, he was so certain of the futility of fighting back against a Lord that it left no room for fear, leaving him to focus entirely on wreaking nightmares on Aspreay before he died.
The hopelessness he felt now surpassed even that. I can''t move my arms, he realized. My arms¡ªmy legs¡ªI''m stuck. If the Puppet Grandmaster wanted him dead, Adam would die without even being able to lift a single finger. This was less like a wolf trying to fight a whale, and closer to a wolf trying to fight the abyss.
"I will answer your questions in due time, Painter," Serena said, in the Grandmaster''s old man body. Adam could see some of her mannerisms present in the way they moved. "But first, you must comprehend your position. You have no bargaining power here. Oh, rest assured, you will be rewarded for your efforts aboard the ship and your people will be taken care of. But it will be done on our terms, human. Is that clear?"
Although his mouth could move now, Adam still said nothing. He understood, better than he had ever understood anything in his life, the sheer might of the person in front of him now. The Grandmaster''s Talent had the Rank of Emperor; his power was truly among the tallest walls in the Painted World. Even just standing in front of the Puppet made for a nauseating experience, with every moment of continued consciousness feeling akin to agony.
And even so...
"I refuse," Adam sharply replied.
The Grandmaster nearly fell from their Puppet Throne. "Have you sustained a head injury from your duel with the Ghost of Flames, Painter?"
"I won''t deal with you unless you treat Penumbria and I as your equals." Adam had gotten his fill of authority figures using their influence to browbeat others back on Earth. He wasn''t about to let anyone treat him ¨C or worse, his people ¨C like this ever again. "Let me stand up. Right now."
"Are you mad?" The Puppet asked, with sheer disbelief. "You know how easily I could kill you, yes?"
Adam barked a mocking laugh in response. He couldn''t move his arms, much less walk. But he could run his mouth, and by god was he going to rely on it. "Oh, you have the necessary violence to kill me. I don''t dispute that." He laughed again. "But violence is not all you need to kill someone."
"Speak plainly, Painter."
"You need me," Adam said bluntly. "Otherwise you wouldn''t have brought me to meet with you, much less divulged this little secret of yours. You know about where I''m from, about my abilities...and most of all, you know that Dragon Puppets are far from the public''s favorite thing at the moment."
The Grandmaster sneered at him. "Mistake not a gambler''s sense for knowledge. You have already admitted to knowing nothing of what I do. How can you be so certain that I need you alive? Mayhap the sorcery I intend only requires your corpse."
"Because you still need a Lord." Adam forced himself to sound more than just steadfast; he had to sound cocky. "Do you think you''ll find another human lord willing to openly side with Puppets? Against the Emperor? Kill me, and you''ll not only lose your best ally ¨C you''ll make damn sure that no humans ever trust you again."
His rebuttal evoked a contemplative silence, however brief, before the Grandmaster spoke. "Yet you exist within my Workshop right now. A few days in the dark, some torture...ask your knight of what that''s like. It changes a man. If I need your cooperation, time will give it to me."
"Then I won''t give you that time." Adam smiled. "You aren''t the only one with a Talent, remember?"
He called upon his Stained Ink. Even if his limbs were immobilized, the Ink would not be stopped so easily. You don''t have a Lord Talent...whatever you''re doing to me isn''t absolute, Adam reasoned. You can''t control everything I do.
An emotion somewhere between confusion and outrage flared on the Grandmaster''s face. "You think that beastly Ink is enough to fell me? It would not scratch me."
"You aren''t my target." Adam forced himself to keep smirking, even as his Stained Ink wrapped out from his arms, and then slowly, menacingly, snaked its way towards his chest. "I am. I''m confident I can kill myself faster than you can stop me."
Whatever threat the Puppet had expected...that wasn''t it. "And you think I will relent?" the Grandmaster shouted in a dozen voices. "That I will let you stand?"
"No. I''m making you lift the threat you''ve imposed on me." Adam glared at the Grandmaster. Even meeting his eyes felt like inflicting a wound upon himself, but the Painter refused to avert his gaze. "Serena, Grandmaster ¨C call yourself what you like. That body you used aboard the ship had eyes and ears, correct? You''re aware of the respect I paid to your kind.. I demand to be treated the same. And if my demand is refused..."
He called upon his memory of when Aspreay had him in his lordly grasp. "I will kill myself, right here and now, and make sure you lose your only chance of allowing your people to live on the surface again."
"You''re bluffing," the Grandmaster accused.
"One of us is." Adam shrugged, his grin widening. The Stained Ink crawled ever closer to his chest, picking up pace as it went. Faster...faster...a few more seconds, and it would reach his heart. "Care to find out which one?"
"YOU INSOLENT BASTARD!" The Grandmaster of all Puppets rose from his throne and stared down at Adam. For a fleeting moment, there was fury in his eyes. Adam felt the ground on either side of him collapse, as if gravity itself was crumbling. "TAKE YOUR OWN LIFE, COWARD! I BELIEVE YOU NOT!"
Adam lifted his eyes to meet their challenge head on. Immediately, he felt the weight and time behind the Grandmaster''s gaze.
So close to my heart now.
These were the eyes of someone who''d lived through dozens of lives, died through a dozen more, and witnessed more words than their borrowed tongue could ever describe.
These were the eyes that tried to burn him into nothingness simply by acknowledging his presence.
These were the eyes that had witnessed dragonfire rain down upon the world, had lived when the last dragonflame was extinguished, and intended on living until long after Adam''s bones had faded to dust.
These were the eyes of a creature far beyond humanity, and staring into those bottomless pits of dark was nearer to gazing into the abyss than at a person.
Go on. Do your worst.
And yet, it was the Grandmaster who blinked first.
"Oh, fine," he relented, with a grunt and an exasperated throw of his arms. "You wish to move? Have it your way. By the gods, you''re too stubborn."
Suddenly, Adam could move again. He immediately shifted the Ink away from his heart, keeping only enough Ink on his wound to stop the bleeding. Something is wrong with me, Adam realized. He should have felt relieved. Scared, perhaps. Numbness would''ve also made sense.
Instead...he couldn''t wipe his smirk off his face, nor could he stop the excitement that came with the racing of his heart.
"I confess to not being talented at anything," Adam said, through a cough. Slowly, he forced himself to stand to his feet. "But I''ve found that even for someone like me, there''s a surprising amount of things you can accomplish ¨C so long as you refuse to back down, even far past the point a reasonable person would."
"Tell me about it," the Grandmaster sighed. "An extra second and you''d be dead. And we couldn''t have that, could we?"
Adam shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe I''m not attached to life." In truth, he''d planned on stopping the attack, or at worst having it pierce his chest but miss his heart. "I had to make my point somehow."
"Fine, fine." A portion of the Grandmaster''s intimidating aura dropped away, replaced by something closer to a grumpy old man. "I''ve been around since the times of the First Dragons, and I haven''t seen someone that stubborn since the Fall of Scaled Rock. And that was hundreds of years ago, you hear me, brat?"
"Well, now I''m curious. No way I can just let that slide. When did you meet someone more stubborn than me?"
"During the Fall of Scaled Rock," the Grandmaster grunted. "That was when I had to switch bodies for the first time. Not only were the dragons gone, but my body was too Rotten for me to keep going. Had no choice." He shook his head, then looked up sadly at Adam. "That was the last time I saw my reflection in a mirror, before I took upon more bodies than I can count. And do you know what the sad thing is, human?"
The Puppet laughed. "I don''t even think I remember what my face looked like anymore."
Serena''s old body, the one that had traveled aboard the ship, suddenly appeared beside the Painter and brought him a chair. Adam''s eyes trailed from her lifeless face to the Grandmaster, who raised an eyebrow in response. "What? You wanted to be treated like an equal, didn''t you? So sit down," he said, with a hand motion. "Sit down...and allow me to tell you the tale of Puppets, Painters, and Power.
"Where that tale begins is beyond me, I''m afraid. A malfunctioning machine like myself bears no such knowledge. Instead, I will summon you to the start of my memories, human. In honor of your Talent, allow me to paint you a picture of the times before.
"The background necessary for this art, you see, are the dragons. You must understand not only that they were the absolute rulers of this world back then, but also what they were ¨C and what they did.
"Their size and shape is, funnily enough, almost as important as their might. I have some knowledge of your Earthly legends about dragons. Those stories, if the little knowledge I have is accurate, are correct enough. Stop me if my understanding of your world is as insufficient as yours is of mine. If my creators stood on four legs, most of them would still comfortably be over ten feet tall. When standing upon their hind legs ¨C which they often did, unless ill or elderly ¨C they''d be closer to thirty-five feet. And let us not even speak of their wingspan! So far, does that match your impression of my creators?"
Adam nodded. That the Grandmaster knew of Earth and its legends unnerved him, but getting answers to that puzzle could wait.
"Good! Very good!" The Puppet appeared quite pleased. "Now, what I believe your legends get wrong, you see, is the hands. Their claws are sharp and real enough, but both their front and hind legs possessed seven extremely dexterous fingers ¨C no worse than mine or yours. This made them able to construct and experiment upon delicate creations that the beasts of your legends never could."
Some legends did in fact describe dragons that way, but Adam thought better than to interrupt.
"Understand, then, that the supreme rulers of this Painted World¡ªoh, does it surprise you that I call it such? Wait, impatient boy!¡ªwere the rulers just as much because of their intellect as their might. Dragonfire burned all, but dragonclaws forged technology that none could match. Their breath forged the stonewalls surrounding the first human cities, and their creations gave humans the inventions that they play with to this day. For elves, who long suffered under the Painted World''s harsh terrain, they used a mixture of their divine magic and clever creations to terraform land so their elven forests could grow."
The Grandmaster leaned closer. "Do you think, boy, that my creators did that out of the magnanimity of their hearts?"
Under his breath, Adam muttered a curse. More loudly, he said, "No."
"Oh?" the Puppet seemed mildly surprised at that. "Have the legends from your world led you to that conclusion?"
"More like my experience with the ruling caste has." It was a bitter statement, but not one the painter said without amusement. "Seldom can someone achieve that much power without exploiting those weaker than them. Change the world, change the species...and the idea still holds."
"You rule, yet from what I observed aboard the ship, you have yet to lose your heart, Painter."
"I have yet to rule for long." Adam smiled wryly. "But I digress ¨C please, continue. Why did the dragons help humans and elves?"
The Grandmaster let out a sardonic chuckle. "Very well, pessimistic Painter. Given your grim worldview, it will come as no surprise to you that the dragons had something to gain from their partnership with humans and elves. Their size, my boy, was their greatest advantage...yet it was also their greatest detriment.
"This world is not suited for dragons. That should come as no surprise ¨C remember what I described of their monstrous bulk! Imagine the castles and cities they constructed for their own sort. And food! Why, they preyed upon whales ¨C marine and aerial alike ¨C but feeding them was a highly difficult task. Even digging for resources or exploring natural caves was near-impossible for their kind. Smaller creatures were much better-suited towards being the stewards of the dragons'' realm. In many ways, it was a mutually beneficial partnership.
"Humans, ever proud of their independence, paid the dragons tribute, yet kept their distance from them nonetheless. Over time, a few cities were burned down by an angry dragon or two, causing a measure of distrust to form. Elves, ever proud of their connection to the natural order, worked closer with dragons for centuries. It was a common sight to see a dragon allowing an elf to ride on its back to visit some far-off location, research ruins from even before the dragons'' era. Granted, I doubt such ruins were truly real, but that''s getting ahead of myself."
His voice lowered. "It was within this world that I was born.
"I have no memories of my past life. The Rot simply appeared one day and began swallowing this world whole; a toxic, parasitic invader that absorbed every part of this world ¨C living or not ¨C and made it a part of itself. Soon enough, all of living existence was threatened by this outsider, and the dragons, ever brilliant, thought up a way to combat it. Do you know what I speak of?"
A far corner of Adam''s mind recalled an item on the list of costs that Tenver had presented long ago.
Rot Protection: ?850,000
Nearly a million orbs per year to keep the Rot from Penumbria. And given the overgrowths Adam had seen in the city districts, with dark, tumorous masses bulging out of even raw stone...it wasn''t enough. "The Empire''s Rot protection ¨C does it come from dragons?" he asked.
"Aye, Painter, it does," said the Grandmaster, in an inquisitive voice. "It raises questions, does it not? Rot Protection is only part of its design, however. The original application was far more powerful, and far more mobile. Do you know what it was?"
Adam''s immediate response should have been ''no,'' yet an errant thought seized his tongue. "More mobile...Puppets?"
"Hah! Does it surprise you?" The Grandmaster''s wryness veered into bitterness. "The dragons conjured up a way to capture souls. Unlike our reconstructions, my forefathers needn''t even be close to their corpse. They would soar above the clouds, high up to near the edge of the world, and capture souls before they reentered the cycle of reincarnation."
That should have piqued Adam''s interest. Knowledge of what happens after death should''ve shook his very core...yet he found it profoundly difficult to care. Wouldn''t matter. If I die, I''m dead. Whatever gets my soul next is a different person. And besides ¨C for all he knew, this only applied to denizens of this world, not Earth.
"When souls are permanently separated from their bodies," the Grandmaster continued, "they can be reshaped. Talents, as you know, come from the soul. Do you understand the implications?"
"I hope not," Adam replied, as quickly as he was horrified. "Because if I''m right, then you''re saying that the dragons..." He didn''t dare finish the thought.
A soft smirk spread across the Grandmaster''s face, showing that he saw no challenge walking down that road. "It is as you suspect. Dragons reforged the souls of the dead to transform them into Rot repellents, and then placed them into artificial bodies. At the time, we looked far more inhuman than we do now. Our bodies had no skin over them; just misshapen, pragmatic wood, and rare spots of Dragonforged steel on plain display. We weren''t allowed to wear clothes nor take a name, lest any truly ''living'' creature grow attached to the dragons'' disposable tools."
For a moment, Adam was stunned into silence. "They brought you back to life, robbed you of your memories, then marched you down towards Rotten terrain and hoped you would...absorb the Rot within yourself until you died?" He had expected atrocities, but this was somehow crueler. "That''s, that''s worse than murder, that''s inhumane, that''s ¨C how did ¨C why did....." How and why did you obey them without rebelling, he wanted to ask, before thinking better of it.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
People treated like that were rarely given the choice or ability to do anything.
He didn''t need to speak the question aloud for the Puppet to answer it. "We weren''t given the ability to disobey," he said, absently. "Their Puppetry stole most of our emotions, yet left our intelligence intact. Some orders could not be challenged ¨C we were never allowed inside Castle Rockscale, for one, nor could we harm creatures of sapience. All they allowed us was the capacity to make independent decisions with their ultimate goals in mind. Wooden automatons...mindless soldiers...we were born to die for them. Except...well, as I said earlier..."
There was a pause, a slight flickering of his eyes, then the Grandmaster chuckled. "I am quite stubborn."
"Stubbornness probably doesn''t undo magic," Adam noted.
"No, it does not," the Puppet acknowledged. "But be that as it may, I was born with an...error, of sorts."
Adam leaned forward. "What made you different?"
"I do not know what caused the mistake, if that is what you ask. But if you ask what the mistake made of me...that, hmm, is a different matter altogether. My emotions never went away as it did for the others."
"So you''ve been conscious this entire time? Even when ordered to basically kill yourself?"
"Indeed. Rather sad, is it not?" The Grandmaster''s chuckle was drier than the last. "Even though I was given the ability to think, to feel, like none of my kind were...I still obeyed my orders without much question. Ah, I took pride in succeeding on those missions, but when everyone around me saw no issue in marching towards their deaths ¨C when my earliest memories were of being surrounded by those telling me my ''glorious'' destiny...I did not question them. It was only when most of my body became covered in Rot that an intrusive thought caught me by surprise: I don''t want to die."
He hesitated, as if delayed by the weight of centuries of emotions. "Fortunate, then, that I didn''t have to face that thought. Because overnight, the dragons disappeared from this world.
"It was a shocking, mysterious event. One that ¨C I must confess ¨C we have come no closer to unraveling. Only a handful of dragons remained afterwards, and of those few younglings, none appeared to have any idea of what had happened to their kind. Those survivors were located far away, and became uninterested in our existence the moment humans revealed their own methods of fighting the Rot."
Suddenly, the Grandmaster burst out into laughter that was outwardly genuine, yet betrayed an undertone of sadness. "Puppets were hated by most by then, you understand. Despicable, rot-infected creatures...people were all too glad to be rid of us once the human''s Emperor found a way to resist Rot without our assistance. Doubly so as the last dragon survivors were young, most of them born after our creation, meaning they viewed us similarly to how humans and elves did.
"And thus, we were abandoned to the Rot and death in Scalerock.
"My brothers and sisters accepted death. Without the dragons ready to produce more Puppets, the Rot was bound to overtake the castle eventually. And as it was their duty, they were ready to carry it out. Do you know why Puppets are made of wood, rather than steel? Because once we absorb too much of the Rot, we are meant to set ourselves ablaze, reducing the infection to mere ashes. Burning the Rot itself does little, but if it''s absorbed by a Puppet first..."
Intense, severe fury flashed in the Grandmaster''s gaze. "I saw...I saw many of my friends ¨C my family ¨C burn. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Every day, someone else embraced the cleansing fires. And slowly, but inevitably, my own body started to fail me. One night I woke up only to realize that my left arm no longer worked. My few remaining friends showed no sadness or fear at my impending demise.
"It was then that something ancient ¨C something primal awoke inside of me. I wanted to live! Orders be damned! Yet though I could harbor feelings, the dragon''s ultimate commands still burned deep inside my core. Disobeying them damaged my very soul. Even so, my desire to survive was stronger. Faced with the choice between remaining outside the castle and awaiting my death like cattle, or risking the shattering of my soul and going against my orders...I chose the latter.
"I entered Scalerock.
"Within its walls, I was safer than my brothers and sisters, who were horrified that I''d dared to enter our master''s domain. It still wasn''t enough for me to survive. I grew greedier, more daring, choosing to venture inside their studies. Dragonscript is hard to decipher, but my tenacious, desperate grip on life grew only tighter with every passing night. Each eruption of flames outside served as a reminder of what was happening to my people.
"There, I learned two things. The first one, you understand, related to the process of creating Puppets. I was unwilling to let my siblings die ¨C they lacked the desire to survive, but they still had a measure of feelings and individuality, no matter how much the dragons tried to strip it away from us. Call it selfish, call it foolish...but I didn''t want to be...the last Puppet. So I learned what I could about the process, and made up for the rest."
Adam couldn''t hide his surprise. All of that sounded different from what he knew of present-day Puppets. Nowadays, they were visually indistinguishable from humans and elves. Most kept their flesh during the transformation, only needing to have their soul moved to an artificial core instead. Tenver was among those. They also showed no inclination towards sacrificing themselves to stop the approach of the Rot, and Adam frankly had no idea if they even retained the capacity to do so, though they appeared still able to detect it to a degree.
"It must have been hard," Adam said, slowly. "But you did it. You saved your friends ¨C your kind."
When the Grandmaster replied, it was with an undercurrent of sadness. "I will grant you one, but not the other. Very few of my friends held enough of an inclination towards life that they accepted my offer to transfer bodies. There were over eleven thousand of us the day the dragons left. Only a hundred and fifty-seven chose to be given new bodies. Out of those...only eight survived the hasty process. Most of my friends died from the Rot before I gained enough understanding of Puppetry."
A sudden nausea overtook Adam as he realized the true purpose of the room. He glanced over at Serena''s body, the one that had accompanied him aboard the ship. The one whose face was covered in burns. He''d wondered before ¨C why, if the Grandmaster owned so many bodies, would he use one that was clearly damaged?
Adam didn''t want to ask the question, but it would keep him awake at night otherwise. "Serena...was she one of your friends?"
The Grandmaster nodded. "I took her out of the fire...but she was already gone. Most of my friends were."
Adam looked around at the darkness, at the hundreds and thousands of figures contained within, and trembled slightly. Those are his friends'' corpses. "Why did you take their bodies with you?"
"Because I was no master. Not yet. I...I needed a safe place for Puppets, and didn''t have the power to make one by myself. For a short while, we stayed at a city not too far from your own Penumbria ¨C it was built by humans who surrounded the mountain peak where Scalerock stood. Yet they too grew uneasy of our presence, and soon enough, we had to leave.
"Once I learned how to control the lifeless Puppet bodies, making Orbs was easy enough. I was just one mind, yet could perform the work of thousands. We formed our quiet little corner of the world, away from the Rot, away from the dragons, away from life itself. I worked day and night to create new Puppets ¨C to give them a chance to be reborn as we were. My goal was to make being a Puppet something to be proud of. Somedays, I still convince myself that''s my goal. But lately...surviving with dignity appears more urgent."
A certain Emperor had made even that much difficult as of late. Adam could piece together what happened afterwards: the remaining dragons disappeared as well, and with them gone, there wasn''t even a flicker of protest among the human nobility to stop the Puppets from being massacred. As the Rot worsened, so did humanity''s view on Puppets and elves. And due to having mastered the ability to resist the Rot in any way, humans retained a large advantage over elves in the disputes that followed.
Elven and Puppet blood was shed soon thereafter. Many times, in many settlements. Most recently...Greenisle and the mountain.
The Grandmaster, having amassed many Orbs over a long period of time, used both them and an Emperor-ranked Talent to protect the Mines. That was sufficient to safeguard them from any invasion the Emperor could muster. Even if the humans attempted to eradicate them, it would come at too large of a cost to ignore...especially when the Puppets were so gladly keeping themselves out of sight.
But you don''t want to stay out of sight forever, do you?
"What of the second point you discovered?" Adam sharply asked. "You said there were two things you discovered in the dragon''s castle."
"The second is what you already know, Painter." The Grandmaster''s eyes turned to ice. "This world exists inside a painting. Lawrence, the First Painter, used some unspeakable sorcery and inked it from your world. It was by his hand that the Talents were designed, that this world was forged...and mayhap why the world is now falling apart."
Adam leaped to his feet. That couldn''t be right. Surely he''d misheard the man somehow. Yet, at the same time, he was certain of the words the Puppet had uttered just then. "Grandmaster," Adam began, in a low voice. "Please...please continue. Elaborate on what you mean."
"Lawrence ¨C the First Painter. It all began with him." The Puppet sighed, gesturing around the cave. "Every molecule that comprises this world was birthed from his Ink. He painted this world and gave every living being within it a place to belong. I dare not claim whether he created life or whether he...imported it from elsewhere. Even the dragons weren''t certain.
"Their research, though unfinished, did leave us with a very interesting consideration, mind you. My dragon masters wrote thusly: ''With his Ink he painted our world, and with his Will he painted our souls.''
If that remark hadn''t inspired enough dread in and of itself, the Grandmaster''s piercing glare would have sufficed. "Do you know what this means, Painter?"
"No," Adam sincerely replied.
"Do you dare guess?"
"Yes," Adam said, just as sincerely. He frowned as a memory came to him. At the time, it had felt important, yet after hearing the Grandmaster''s words, even this concern now seemed banal. "Talents come from him too, don''t they?"
Every bit of magic in this world was codified with extremely precise descriptions and limitations. To an uncomfortable degree. Worse, the further up the Ranks his Talents advanced, the more...conversational their writing became. Adam had considered the possibility that someone must have written them, but he''d hoped that it was a different person than the creator of all magic.
But even if that''s true...what about the voice that sometimes speaks to me? The one that keeps trying to erase my memory? Is that the First Painter? Is he a different person from the Dark Sorcerer that other people have mentioned?
"A clever guess," the Grandmaster acknowledged, appearing mildly impressed. "And a correct one, at that. But there is one more point you''ve yet to hear. First, I must ask; are you familiar with how Talents are formed in a person?"
"They aren''t born with it," Adam quietly said. "Not exactly. While parentage may influence a person''s Talent, most of it comes from their exposure to specific teachings, or their personal circumstances. Children develop magic in their early years, but what form that sorcery takes depends on a lot of factors that...frankly, I don''t think most people fully understand."
From what he''d managed to observe thus far, it seemed as though ¨C for example ¨C a child trained by a blacksmith would be likely to awaken a Talent related to smithing. More complex Talents, however, required more factors than just upbringing. And in some cases...
"Trauma can also strongly influence a person''s Talent," Adam said, in a low voice. "Solara awoke the Talent of Resurrection after being covered in the corpses of her loved ones, and fearing for her life. Tenver awoke the Talent of Archery after what he referred to as the Arrow Eclipse, where I imagine his injuries led to him becoming a Puppet."
"Again, very good. But consider this ¨C as you''ve stated, the exact conditions necessary to awaken a specific Talent are vague and unknowable. But what if you did know? Can you hazard a guess as to what you''d be able to build with that wisdom, Painter?"
Adam twitched at the thought. "An Empire," he muttered. "The Imperial family figured it out, didn''t they? That''s how they managed to subjugate every human settlement, encroach upon elven territory, and fight the Puppets."
"It pains me to say that you are once again correct. If only you...if only we were mistaken about that assumption. Not even the Dragons seemed to know how the imperial family obtained that knowledge, although they certainly seemed to worry about how the family was using it." The Grandmaster shook his head. "Do you know, boy, why the Empire doesn''t have a name?"
Actually, Adam had seen a dozen different names for the Empire in the various books he''d read. The fact that none of them could settle on a singular name had certainly raised some alarm. "There''s a reason? I assumed it was just a linguistic issue, or that maybe the Empire was just called different things in different locations."
"The reason is because the First Emperor thought it pointless. He declared it thusly: ''Naming is a necessity for the sake of differentiation. There will be no Empires other than ours, and no Emperor other than my blood. Our past is meaningless, and our future belongs to me. Soon, the day will come when you need not hail my bloodline any more than you need to announce the air you breathe''."
The Grandmaster snorted. "Cocky bastard, isn''t he? He accomplished most of what he claimed he would, though. It didn''t take long for his armies to conquer city after city. Being able to forge Talents granted the Emperor more Orbs than anyone in the world ¨C which is to say nothing of the multitude of Talents he personally wields. And those Hangmen he created..."
At his own mention of the Empire''s strongest soldiers, the Grandmaster shuddered. After a pause, he turned to face Adam. "You appear...dazed." The Puppet spoke in a gentle voice that felt almost paternal, yet it did little to ease tensions. "It is a most understandable reaction. After all, you''ve just learned that a human like yourself, a stranger, painted the very world you find yourself in. I have some understanding of your home world, but¨C"
"That''s just the problem," Adam cut in. He bit his lip to force himself to stay calm. "That''s just the goddamn problem!"
The Grandmaster tilted his head. "What are you saying, Painter? Do you¡ª"
"¡ªLawrence," Adam interrupted. "Lawrence, the First Painter. That''s who you said created everything here."
He grimaced. "This isn''t the first time I''ve heard that name."
Maybe it was a coincidence. It could be. But deep inside...Adam knew the truth. Something more certain than death itself flared up within him, burning as it warned of a threat looming over his entire being. His very soul was shouting at the heavens, so loud that he couldn''t possibly deny it. He has to be the same person. He has to be....
"What a lovely painting," an older gentleman had told Adam back then. "Is this for a school project? Or something else?"
Adam had blushed humbly at the compliment. He wasn''t used to being complimented on his art ¨C professors seemed to make it a point of pride to phrase their criticisms as harshly and hurtfully as possible. "It''s a personal project. I guess it''s a little on the stupid side to paint something for fun when I''m already behind on so much schoolwork, not to mention my job, but...it keeps me sane."
"Is that so?" The older gentleman peered over Adam''s shoulder and let out a thoughtful hum. "You have talent, that''s for sure. Ah! Here''s an idea!" He grinned broadly as he produced a business card and handed it over to Adam. "I am an artist of some renown ¨C oh, don''t bother searching my name, it''s not in your native language ¨C and I happen to be running a contest to help me find an excellent local artist to aid me with a small project. Would you care to join?"
Truthfully, it sounded fun, and Adam loathed the idea of disappointing this polite old man. But...
"I can''t," he admitted, with a bit of shame. "I...I have schoolwork, and my jobs too. Have to find a new job, actually. If I don''t get enough money, I¨C"
"There''s a prize," the gentleman assured. "If you win, I promise to square away your debts, and to even finance your future for a short while. I take good care of those who study under me. Understand that this contest is not open to everyone, yet I have chosen to extend you an invitation. Think of what that means."
It was an absurd offer ¨C and a suspicious one at that. Before even entertaining the idea, Adam would need to closely examine the legal details of their contract, then speak with his college advisor about the matter. That was assuming he could find the time to participate at all.
"I''ll...consider it." Much as he hated to admit, Adam was desperate. He was behind on rent and couldn''t afford his tuition; a regular after-hours job wouldn''t be enough. "Yeah. I''ll consider it, but, um...thank you for the offer." He nervously rubbed the back of his head. "What''s your name, sir?"
"Lawrence," the gentleman said.
For a few long moments, Adam was unable to speak. A sense of astonishment had grabbed hold of his tongue. Eventually, he shook his head, summoning the vestiges of his Lordly persona to help pretend he wasn''t trapped in a daze.
It took every molecule of his being not to let his next thought show on his face.
I met the First Painter before...on Earth.
Chapter 31
Adam fell quiet. Despite his thought-addled state, he was able to recognize the value and importance of what he''d just realized. He shouldn''t offer any more information about Lawrence ¨C at least freely.
Which didn''t stop the Grandmaster from demanding it.
"Speak!" the Puppet thundered. "Your job is to speak to me, Painter! You want Orbs to save Penumbria? You can have them! I''ll give you five million Orbs right now if you tell me all you know about Lawrence. This is why you matter, Painter ¨C because you hail from the World of Ink. Information is the only true weapon you possess. Brandish it in a parry, or I will have you slain!"
Even in his confused daze, even while being yelled at by a man magnitudes stronger than himself, Adam refused to let himself be intimidated. Think on the details later. First, remember that you are the Lord of Penumbria.
He lifted his eyes to meet the Grandmaster''s gaze and dared to take a step forward. "You''re damn right this information is valuable," Adam shouted. "Which is why 5 million Orbs is an insultingly low offer. I want 10 million."
The Grandmaster had been sent into a state of pure shock. His ancient, wooden body seemed to twist and turn, as if his bafflement was such that the very sorcery that created him needed a moment to collect itself.
"Across the sacred oceans and the accursed mountains," he began, "there has never been a Puppet stronger than the one who stands before you. For centuries I have lived, and for centuries my Talents have sharpened into a weapon deadlier than your mortal mind could conceive. I am the last Son of the Dragons, the Last of the Dragon Puppets, the First of the Arch Puppets! Knowledge that extends beyond your kind''s existence flows through these veins ¨C veins that my might has created for myself. This, boy, is who you stand before."
He growled out in fury, smoke spewing from his wooden nostrils. "And you dare attempt to bargain with me?"
"Yeah," Adam frankly stated. "I mean..." He tried to find gentler, grander words to match the Grandmaster''s soliloquy, then gave up with a shrug. "I mean, my people still need to eat. And not get devoured by Rot. So...yeah. Orbs please?"
By this point the Grandmaster had grown so exasperated that it looped back into tiredness, prompting him to sit down and shake his head. "Though we know some details of your world, our knowledge is limited, Painter. Which is why I must ask ¨C what kind of monster raised you?"
"Capitalism." Adam sighed. "So. Do we have a deal?"
--
They did not, in fact, have a deal.
After much debating and a few death threats, Adam found himself exiting the Grandmaster''s Workshop and heading down its network of tunnels. Without a guide. He didn''t think the Grandmaster would let him die before extracting as much information out of him as possible, but he had pissed off the man enough that he was happy to let Adam stumble around aimlessly for a while.
Normally he''d be fine with that, but unfortunately, there were still a couple things he needed to get done. No matter what.
Specifically, there were two tasks left, and thereby lied difficulty within difficulty. First, Adam had to do what he''d been avoiding since his duel with the Ghost of Waters ¨C have an earnest conversation with Tenver. He wanted me to find out he was a Puppet...and I''d already been suspecting that for a while. Probably means we should talk about it. Finding the right words there wouldn''t be easy.
Still, it would be easier than his second task ¨C actually finding Tenver in the middle of a network of underground tunnels. Its pathways twisted and turned so much Adam that hadn''t found a single other living being for hours. Where were the houses? The people? Damn it all to hell, he''d even accept monsters showing up now, if only so he wouldn''t be alone. This was starting to drive him mad.
"This place is a bloody maze, eh?" Adam muttered to no one in particular. His tablet made for a very good flashlight, but being able to see was only one part of navigating a maze. "How the hell does anyone get around in here?"
"Oh, they usually don''t," Tenver said, from behind him. "It''s by design. Invading the Mines is difficult, but not impossible ¨C yet can you imagine an army fighting in these tunnels? Ah, my lord, it would be a rout!"
Adam bit his lip. Stay calm...this is his game. Pretend you''re not surprised. Pretend you don''t want to strangle him. After a deep breath, he spoke up with an even-keeled voice. "Have you been following me?"
"Why, I am your knight, Lord Adam!" Tenver''s exclamation sounded like a parody of an objection. "Your safety is my most sacred of duties ¨C nay, my only duty!"
"I''ll take that as a yes, then." Adam allowed himself a sigh. "Let''s go somewhere private. We need to talk."
"That we do."
If the request came as a surprise, Tenver didn''t show it. A moment later, he grasped his lord''s arm and started to gently pull them through a series of turns and false doors. Adam almost put up a token protest, but stopped himself. "Looks like you managed to get your arm attached back on," he noted, absently. "Good as new, I hope?"
"Sadly not." Tenver forced out an exaggerated sigh. He clearly was bothered by it, but wanted to appear otherwise. "It feels slower now...not that I''ve ever been a master swordsman. Much prefer to fight from a distance."
"Wouldn''t have guessed that when I first met you," Adam grunted. "Never saw you using a goddamn bow until the Ghost showed."
"I must apologize for that." For a moment, Tenver''s voice sounded strained. "But you must understand that if word of my...arm got back to the capital, my chances of wrestling my way into the Imperial court would be void."
Adam lifted an eyebrow. "Planning on betraying me? Thought you wanted to take down the Emperor."
"But I do." Tenver forced a smile. "If your aim is to rob a man blind of his titles, then empty his pockets of allies first. Trust me, I''d know."
"Considering what you''ve done before..." Adam trailed off, remembering the nobles that Tenver executed in his name. "You could mean this politically, or in a more lethal sense, and I''d have no way of knowing which."
Tenver shrugged, his right shoulder slightly lagging behind his left. "Either would be fine," he said, with a jovial tone. Too jovial to be honest, Adam thought, grimly. Then, as if reading his mind, the knight went on to speak in a more somber voice. "I cannot afford to be picky when I''ve already wasted my first chance like a coward."
"We''re past riddles," Adam snapped. "I know you''re a Puppet ¨C and I don''t give a damn. After that, you can''t really be afraid of how I''ll react to other things, can you?"
"You would be surprised," Tenver muttered. He furtively glanced around. "I''ll answer, but not here. Follow me."
The two continued their way down the path in silence. Once or twice, Adam thought to interrupt with a question, but just keeping his balance in these darkened caves was taking all of his focus. He''s right about one thing...no invading army could take over the Puppet Mines like this. Well, unless it''s vulnerable to some forced collapsing, or something of the sort. Considering the elaborate lengths they''d gone through with the maze, however, he doubted such a weakness existed.
At times, they would have to climb up an entrance Adam hadn''t even noticed. At other times, the two would reach a door, only for Tenver to smirk and show that it led to a hole so deep Adam couldn''t see the bottom with his flashlight.
Eventually, much later, they arrived at the spot Tenver had been leading them towards.
It took Adam a moment to react to the sight before him. His vision wasn''t the issue ¨C there were a set of glowing stones placed against each wall, emitting bright green lights, illuminating everything around with an ethereal sort of look. Rather, what troubled him was the sight beyond.
There was a river. It looked perfectly unremarkable, yet that just made it stand out even more. Seeing running water in an underground set of caverns felt alien, unnatural.
Adam''s eyes traced the river''s gently meandering slopes, its smooth surface reflecting the stones'' shining light, creating a surreal dance of color that captivated his senses. He took in the unexpected luxury of a table set for two amidst the rugged interior of the cave, its white cloth pristine against the raw backdrop, the chairs inviting, and an array of bottles shimmering subtly under the green hue.
"Why the extravagance?" Adam finally asked, his voice echoing slightly in the vastness of the cave. "We''re not drinking to my death, I hope."
"You did say you brought me here to have a few drinks," Tenver joyfully replied. He pulled out a chair for Adam, adorned with an old-world charm that seemed out of place in the cave''s otherworldly setting. "Besides, no one else knows how to get in here ¨C not even other Puppets. And the river," he gestured towards the flowing water at the cave''s end, "is a better guardian than any armed company. Its sound runs loud enough to deafen anyone who did manage to sneak up on us."
Adam hesitated, but curiosity and a desire not to back down won out over his fear. As he sat down, he was surprised by how comfortable the chair felt. How had Tenver moved a masterfully-crafted piece of furniture down here?
The knight took his place opposite of Adam, and with practiced ease, poured a deep amber liquid into the two glasses displayed before them. "I always liked coming here when staying in the Mines." Tenver smirked. "No Puppet, no Emperors, no blades out for my neck." He pushed a glass towards Adam. "In the Mines, it is customary that if you exchange a drink with someone, you will not harm them until at least the day after your farewell."
Adam''s gaze flicked from his glass to the knight''s unreadable grin. "You''ve been screwing with me for too long, Tenver. I already told you I want answers."
"And answers I shall give, my lord," he assured, his eyes locking with Adam''s. "But first, we need to be on the same page. What we say, what we do¡ª" he waved his hand, gesturing at the cave "¡ªit stays within these walls. Can you do that for me, my lord?"
Adam nodded. Tenver''s quivering lip didn''t escape his notice. You just want more time to prepare yourself for whatever you have to say, don''t you? He lifted the glass, a scent of aged spirit mingling with the damp earthiness of the cave.
"To trust, then," Tenver raised his glass slightly.
"To the truth," Adam replied. They both drank, sealing their pact of etiquette amidst the Puppetry.
Then, almost mercilessly, Tenver brought that calm moment to an end.
"You can probably deduce ¨C or at least guess ¨C most of my past," he began. "So, lord of mine. Care to elucidate me as to your thinking?"
"Oh, shut up already, Your Bloody Highness." Adam''s eyes narrowed into a glare. "Unless you want me to call you that, then answer me with my goddamn name."
That seemed to bring the man out of his hazy thoughts, dispelling the dark cloud of nostalgia with a knightly grin that seemed to be his signature as of late. "Ah...fine, Adam." He chuckled at the name, as if somehow it were a joke in and of itself. "How much do you know?"
"Well, your father is the former Emperor, you were effectively banished to middle-of-nowhere-Penumbria, and you were turned into a Puppet. Based on a few things I caught here and there...I''m guessing your father was killed by your dear old uncle, as you put it?"
"Correct!" Tenver exclaimed, raising his drink skyward. Adam thought it was a grim toast, but reluctantly clanked his glass against the knight''s. "It still feels strange to me. The man''s title has always been ''uncle,'' yet now he''s head of the Empire. Of my very family, even."
Adam nodded, then turned his glass a few times, studying the blood-red wine inside. "A little more than kin, a little less than kind, that uncle of yours," he absently quoted.
"Quite poetic of you." Tenver tilted his head. "Do you grace me with your own cleverness here, or are you quoting that which I have yet to read?"
"Let''s call it cleverness," Adam replied, not meeting his eyes. Interesting. The Grandmaster knows some Earth culture, but Tenver doesn''t, despite being a high-ranking Puppet. Well, either that or he isn''t very aware of our literature, but...come on. Doesn''t everyone know Hamlet? "And I presume the motive for your father''s murder was that he was too kind to non-humans?"
"So I have always thought ¨C though the official line is that my father was betrayed by Puppets." Tenver grimaced at the recollection. "My dear old uncle ¨C the so-called Emperor Ciro ¨C made it seem as if the very beings my father asked the population to show mercy to...were monsters. Mighty effective, that treachery."
He barked out a hollow laugh. "Even those who''d started listening to my father''s appeals turned against the Puppets once more. All out of a misguided desire to avenge someone who''d want nothing of the sort."
Adam restrained his impulse to blurt out the first question that came to mind. This was a delicate topic, and although indelicate questions would be necessary, there was no reason to be more callous than the situation demanded. Hesitantly, in a low voice, he asked, "What did happen to you and your father, Tenver?"
"We were supposed to meet with the Puppets to negotiate their fealty to the Empire. It was a serious possibility at the time, as there were enough Puppet settlements to make the matter vital. We had a mostly uneventful journey down the desert, until...well, our honor guard turned against us."
"Your uncle...Emperor Ciro," Adam tentatively said, seeing if the title appeared less hurtful to the man. There was no change in his expression. "He had your own guards massacre you?"
"That he did. We retained a small set of loyal guards, of course, but the Imperial Guard was but two dozen men, and we were riding down the desert without much in the way of protection. Despite a few brief skirmishes with some Puppet rebels who misliked the idea of unity between our people, it had been a relatively bloodless journey by the time we reached the oasis. Yet when he hailed Ciro..."
Tenver paused. His face betrayed no emotion, but his glass trembled in a vice grip. "He ordered his archers to eclipse the sun with his arrows. There was no fighting, no dance of Talents, nothing bards would sing of. Only death."
"But your father was Emperor. His Talent must surely have¨C"
"Not inside my uncle''s Domain. You know how the Lord Talent works, yes? While a highly-Talented individual may expand their Domain outside their own city, it is weaker, more limited. Ciro, however, was different. He chose to undo his entire Domain and reform it at the oasis, which gave him the advantage in raw power."
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Adam shook his head. "No, I don''t understand. If he did that, how did he keep his city ¨C the original domain he held ¨C from being swallowed by Rot?"
Tenver let out a bitter laugh. "That''s just the thing, Adam. He didn''t." At some point the knight had refilled his drink. He proceeded to finish it all in one motion. "Are you familiar with Aspreay''s birthplace? That is how it was overrun with the Rot. Its former lord abandoned it."
"How..." Adam trailed off. He daren''t finish the thought out loud. How many thousands died for that one ambush?
"My father survived, anyhow," Tenver quietly said. "Maybe if he''d continued to fight them fairly, he would have killed them all. Sometimes I tell myself that. But he didn''t. Do you know why, Adam? Because I was there. Because I was injured. Killed, maybe, who knows. It would''ve taken even father a long time to fight Ciro and his army. Instead, he grabbed me ¨C my corpse, perhaps ¨C and turned his back to the men trying to kill him.
"He dragged me all the way to the Airship. Captain Baltsar was one of the few who survived Ciro''s treachery. He set course for the Mines, and once I got there...they managed to treat my injuries, but father''s were too severe."
It took Tenver a few moments to continue speaking. His eyes flashed with a dull yet insistent pain, the kind that always came back no matter how many times it was suppressed. "Months, maybe a year later, and I was myself again. By that point Ciro had already solidified his position, eradicated the Puppets outside of the Mine, and led a massacre against the elves."
A burning question leaped to Adam''s mind, but he didn''t think it was time to ask it yet ¨C not the least because he didn''t think Tenver had an answer. How did they save you, while your father was somehow too far gone? "I imagine news of your survival didn''t give Ciro cause to celebrate."
"No, that it did not." Tenver smirked a little. "He invited me back to court, and I gallantly agreed. Ah, was I young at the time...still thought I could gather enough allies to fight for justice. Figured that even Ciro wouldn''t try to kill me in the middle of the capital, where so many supporters of my late father still lived. And do you know what the worst part of it all is, Adam?"
Adam hesitated. "That you didn''t find enough supporters?"
"No. That I did." Tenver didn''t bother refilling his glass. This time he just turned the bottle upside down over his mouth, letting too much of the drink fall into it. "Some people were on my side. Young nobles, with little power in court but an excess of righteousness in their hearts. They...they believed in me. Rallied to my cause, said that Ciro was only crowned Emperor because everyone had assumed I was dead. ''Tenver is the legitimate heir,'' they claimed. We didn''t touch on the murder accusations ¨C too heavy, too few survivors to serve as proof, and my youth and lack of power meant that my words would hold little weight."
An idea came to Adam. It was a loathsome train of thought to ride, yet he couldn''t stop himself from stepping aboard. If he were in Ciro''s position, the next logical move would be...
"He had your friends and supporters arrested, didn''t he?" Adam surmised. "On false charges, I presume, as to not give your faction validity. Your father had too many big name supporters ¨C although most didn''t rally to your cause so much as gently support it ¨C for Ciro to attack you outright. But your friends¨C"
"He tortured them," Tenver said, quietly. He gazed at the river with a haunted expression on his face, more ghosts about him than Adam had ever seen on a man. "When I refused to withdraw my formal claim, Ciro took me to see one of my friends down in the dungeons. Adam, what I saw there...he wasn''t human anymore."
For the first time since the two had met, Adam saw Tenver openly tremble at a memory. The knight''s face paled, and his wrist shook erratically enough for his metallic armor to clank against the wooden table, tapping in an eerie, harsh rhythm. "They had flayed him alive, Adam, His arms were mutilated, leaving just enough bloody stumps to hang him from the ceiling with rusty chains. Save for the dried pool of blood beneath him, there was little evidence that his legs, or even most of his lower body, had ever been there.
"Yet they kept him alive.
"He looked at me, I think.
"It was hard to know for sure, considering what they''d done to his eyes, but the way his body twitched made it seem as though he''d recognized me, even in that half-mad state. He opened his mouth ¨C and for a moment, I froze. Was he going to curse me for leaving him in such a state? Mayhap he''d ask me to avenge him? Somedays, I even dare to dream that he wanted to absolve me of my sins; to tell me that it wasn''t my fault.
"This knowledge will never be mine, you see, for they had cut off his tongue as well."
Tenver sank into a deep silence. His grip tightened around the bottle, and he chuckled, as if to make light of his sudden anger. A moment later, even the disguising chuckle was gone, the bottle shattering within his closed fist. "I begged my uncle to kill him, as a mercy, and to refrain from doing the same to any more of my supporters. That''s when the serpent bared its venom.
''Well, my boy, I would be happy to do so ¨C if you would accept a self-imposed banishment to Penumbria. None of your followers will think of it as me forcing it on you, especially if I bestow my doomed duchy upon your shoulders. Do you disagree?''
"I took his deal." Tenver''s voice was full of shame, and it cracked at the end. "Mayhap, had I stayed, much pain could''ve been prevented in the Empire. Would Ciro have still committed such evils if he was afraid that his brother''s son would rally to oppose him? Would I have been able to depose the usurper and deliver justice for all those he wronged? Mayhap so. Yet when I think of...of that skinless face...I couldn''t let anyone else suffer that fate because of me, Adam. I was weak."
"You were a child," the painter quickly replied. "No one in your position¡ª"
"I was Prince!" Tenver shouted. He refused to meet Adam''s eyes. "It was my duty to give my life to protect my people, to shield them from whatever or whoever might threaten..."
He trailed off and shook his head, a manic chuckle forcing its way into his voice. "I needed to stop Ciro ¨C no matter what! But I didn''t. I merely accepted my self-imposed banishment to Penumbria, then did what I could to help...whoever I could. Which, as you may guess, wasn''t much.
"Sure, I kept contact with the Grandmaster. My title was still vastly important to the Empire. We would talk of making a difference, of one day saving people from the Emperor. But in truth? We knew it would never happen. At least I did. Even so, I kept my Puppetry a secret, clinging to the notion that ¨C under the right circumstances ¨C I might make a comeback and usurp the title as Ciro did to my father. Yet in the dark of night, there was nothing to keep one persistent thought from entering my mind.
"There is no one in this world who can help me."
"And so I continued that miserable life I was given after my rebirth. The life that should never have been granted to me again. Day after day of helping a single person, all because I was too weak to save thousands by opposing my uncle. Aspreay doubted me, the common people whispered of me, and years passed this way. Then, one day, I heard news from the Grandmaster. A man from the World of Ink had arrived in our world. And that''s...when I met you, Adam."
Adam nodded slowly, recalling their first meeting. It had been odd for Penumbria''s guards to find a lone man outside the barrier so quickly. "You could feel the Stained Ink within me, couldn''t you?" he asked. "That''s how you tracked me?"
"I could, and I did," Tenver acknowledged. "After that, when I saw you deal with Aspreay...and most of all, your reasons for doing it...well, I decided it right then when I saw you sit upon that throne.
"Even if there isn''t anyone in this world who can bring justice to these lands...this man isn''t from this world, is he?"
He let out a sigh. "And that, Adam, is the full story. You could easily paint my entire soul now if you wished. I wasn''t certain I would survive a duel with the Ghost, but it was important to me that you knew why I have been ¨C why I am this person. If you want, you may speak with the Grandmaster; we were up all night using their Communications Talent to prepare my entire history in a spoken message to you. Mayhap if you require more detail¨C"
"Wait."
Adam sat up, a frown spreading across his face. He really wished his brain hadn''t narrowed its focus down to one singular detail. What he should have done was rise, embrace his friend, and give him...something to hold on to after recalling all those memories. Yet his mind was racing with possibilities, and he couldn''t stop the thought from arising. Worst of all, there was an amused twinkle in Tenver''s eyes, as if the man had expected him to notice that small detail.
"Wait, you bastard," Adam muttered, in an utterly baffled tone. "Is THAT where you were during the night of the murder? Back aboard the ship? That''s why you weren''t in your room?"
Tenver burst out with booming, relaxed laughter. The man must have laughed for what was a full minute, throwing his head back and needing visible effort to keep his chair from toppling over. He gave an elaborate shrug, tossing away the broken shards of the wine bottle as he did, and then smirked at Adam. "My lord, I did say I had a witness, didn''t I? You were the one who assumed it was you. I never lied."
"BULLSHIT!" Adam cried out, his voice cracking in a high-pitched mixture of disbelief and exasperation. "YOU LITERALLY SAID I WAS YOUR WITNESS!"
"Did I?" Tenver frowned in remembrance for a moment, then flashed a guilty smile. "Oh, yeah. I did. Sorry about that, my lord. Really tried to keep the lies to a minimum but, well, things worked easier that way. The ghost of truth was in my words, although its corpse lay elsewhere."
"Shut up and go become a ghost you fucking lunatic!" Adam shouted. "And why is it that you only call me ''my lord'' when being a sarcastic jackass?"
"I have never done such a thing," Tenver said, his voice a mockery of insult. He held their gaze for an extended, torturous moment. "...My lord."
"BASTARD!"
The two laughed and insulted each other for a long while after that. With every laugh, every mockery, the two grew more relaxed. It felt nice not to keep so many secrets from each other.
He knows I''m not from this world, Adam realized, in the midst of his seventh insult. I can actually tell him about...so much. Tenver, for his part, seemed back to his old self, acting just like when they''d spent those days together in Aspreay''s tower. Everything about his strange behavior up until now was easier to understand, and Adam could feel the tension leaving his body. While there was no alcohol left for them, they didn''t need it anymore.
Maybe... Did he even dare finish the thought? Maybe...I can actually trust him.
It was a forbidden thought, something he''d swore to never do again. But Tenver had revealed practically everything to him. His story. His arm.
His soul.
There was still an element of danger, of course. Tenver could easily betray him. Even if the knight had good intentions, there was probably an argument to be made that he could maneuver his way into the Imperial court by delivering Adam''s head on a spike. That way, he could try to help as many people as possible ¨C at the cost of one meager friend. It was a possibility. It was a risk.
But I still want to trust him.
Adam hesitantly opened his mouth.
"What is it?" Tenver asked, smiling. "Got something to tell me?"
"I...do." Adam drew a deep breath. "You already know that I come from somewhere else."
"Aye, that is correct."
The Painter heaved a heavy sigh. If just thinking about it pained him, talking about it would hurt a hell of a lot more. Not that he could complain ¨C Tenver had it much worse than him. "What you don''t know is what I''ve been...why I am the person I am," he finished, with a grin that his friend was happy to reciprocate. "Before I came to this world, I¨C"
"C''mon bro, that''s not fair," said a new voice. "Don''t go badmouthing me to your friends like that. I want to make a good first impression, eh?"
Adam and Tenver whirled around in a hurry. Neither of them had noticed the newcomer stalk into the room, nor had they noticed the sudden blue candle-fire that floated around him as he flew downward towards them.
"Man. Finding you was annoying as hell." The newcomer''s cloak fluttered as if it had a life of its own, colors shifting every second. One moment it was dark blue, the next, bright green. And wherever the stranger stepped, translucent petals seemed to bloom, shining a vibrant pink before vanishing into a saturated blue mist. "But I guess I finally found you."
This has to be a dream, Adam thought. He was beyond surprise, anger, or joy. His emotional core was numb ¨C he simply couldn''t process the sight before him. "Are you...are you serious?"
His tablet confirmed what his eyes would not accept.
Eric Gryphon
Imperial Hangman
"I''m always serious, bro. You know me," Eric said, flashed a grin and tilted his neck. "Come on ¨C you missed me, didn''t you, Adam?"
The question barely registered. Adam waited to see what emotion would take over his body first. Would it be sheer, undeniable shock? Perhaps relief would be the one. He had to feel some measure of comfort over someone else from Earth being here. It meant he wouldn''t have to wonder if he was just a crazy local who''d dreamt up his old life.
Anger was another good guess. It was a powerful emotion; the kind to easily overwhelm a man. Fear would have also been another strong contender, due to either Eric''s past as Adam''s friend, or his present as the Emperor''s Hangman.
None of those emotions seized upon the Painter''s body.
In fact, no emotions seized upon him at all. His heart was an unpainted, ill-cared canvas covered in dust, scratches, and yet untouched by ink.
Which meant that when Adam wrapped the Stained Ink around his wrist and rushed towards Eric with the intention to kill, he wasn''t blinded by his emotions.
"Eric..."
Rather, this was a cold, calculated decision of what simply needed to be done. Plans and considerations burned in the back of his mind, all taking second place to the cold call of murder from deep within his heart.
"The world is a better place without you, Eric."
Adam sharpened the Stained Ink into an arrowhead.
Chapter 32 (Part 1)
Adam was mid-air, leaping towards Eric with arms outstretched¨C
¨CWhen time stopped and the world froze.
He hung there motionless, his Stained Ink extended into a weapon and his feet off the ground, gravity refusing to pull him down. No muscle in his body could move. Adam''s first instinct was to assume that Eric''s hidden Talent was at fault, but the man appeared just as frozen as everything else.
It all stood still and ethereal, as if it was a painting conjured up by some otherworldly creature.
A memory and a thought came to him, just a moment before the answer announced itself. It''s like that time back in the carriage. When the world froze...and a voice spoke to me. I¨C
Painter.
It was violence in the form of sound. Like being shot with a voice. The words were loud enough that Adam''s skin trembled from the impact, as if he''d suddenly found himself amidst a music concert.
I see you have met your fated rival. The presence seemed to gesture towards Eric. Will you show me the Ink that bound the two of you?
I''ll tell you nothing, Adam snapped back. Who are you? Why do you keep erasing my memories of our encounters? What¨C
Any answers on my part would delay you from exacting violence upon the Hangman. Allow me to view your canvas, Painter.
Adam glared at Eric with hateful eyes. How could he just stand there, smiling as if nothing had happened? Fine. Get it over with. Now! I need to kill him!
Your hatred is plain; your reasons less so. I seek to learn where it all began. Did you always know your fates would be bound in such a way?
It took no small amount of effort for Adam to respond. No. That''s...not how it went.
He could see it taking shape around them. Much like the dream where he met with the Ghost of Waters, the world around them started to become enveloped in an all-encompassing, blindingly white sphere. Is this my canvas?
Yes. Reveal it to me ¨C the first Inking of your fate.
Stop it...stop forcing me to...
An artist cannot refuse his patron, Painter. Show me.
Show me the color of your soul.
¨C
There was no singular dramatic moment with which to satisfy the voice. No inciting incident of overwhelming tragedy.
In truth, the day it all began was much like any other.
Adam was getting ready to go to school, absently using foundation to match the purple bruising to his natural skin tone, and gazing into the mirror to inspect the length of his sleeves. There was hardly any swelling, and very little needed to be covered up.
Perfect ¨C these sleeves are long enough. "Alright, I''m off," he announced.
His parents responded like they always did. His father grunted in ambivalent acknowledgement, and his mother said something kind, cheerful, and devoid of feeling.
No one disliked Adam quite as much as himself. If anyone could challenge him for that title, however, it would be his father. Whoever was crowned champion between the two, his mother would have ranked as third ¨C although at least she loved him too, which was more than he could say about either of the two ranked above her.
It wasn''t an enduring, unconditional love. Ever since his earliest memories, his mother''s affection had always been like a candle''s flame; bright, yet fragile. The light warmed him while it lasted, yet the first sign of a challenge, be it from his dad or mere circumstance, was generally enough to banish it away. Then she''d tighten her smile, shorten her hugs, and resent him dearly, even if she never admitted it aloud.
Which was just fine.
Adam couldn''t really blame either of them, all things considered, and he still had a better life than other people did. He''d never felt especially jealous of his peers.
You didn''t curse others for possessing what you lacked?
Nah. Why would I? Despite everything, I still had plenty to be thankful for. I had food and a ceiling over my head.
The heart is greedier than the stomach.
Mine wasn''t.
Back then, Adam hadn''t even wanted to speak to anyone. At thirteen years old, he didn''t have much in the way of hobbies or friends.
Not that he was bullied or purposefully excluded. Adam just didn''t put forth much of an effort to make friends, and no one else extended a hand towards him ¨C which suited him fine.
Or at least that''s what he told himself.
You did want for much, Painter. The heart always does.
Hindsight is killer, isn''t it? Would''ve loved to have friends, but I don''t think I could''ve admitted that back then. Hell, not sure I knew what having friends actually felt like.
At the time, he didn''t even know what he was missing. Granted, this inability did not make the burning absence in that void any less painful. Pain was not enough to turn his heart to longing, however. After all, how could someone possibly long for something they didn''t know?
Knowledge pales before the human imagination, Painter!
I couldn''t even imagine how to talk to people, though. Only ever learned how not to upset people. Talking was...harder.
At least his presence was inoffensive. While he didn''t make any friends his first day of school, he didn''t make any enemies, either. Small victories.
English class was noteworthy, though. Adam entered the room and took the first empty seat he saw, which just so happened to be located at the back of the classroom. There, he sat beside the man ¨C then boy ¨C called Eric Gryphon.
They didn''t speak a single goddamn word to each other.
It''s only with the benefit of hindsight that Adam could remember that as their ''meeting.'' Back then, even calling them acquaintances would have felt presumptuous. Although they were classmates, both of them were quiet and antisocial, to the point where they barely knew each other''s names.
If Adam ever spared a thought about him ¨C and that wasn''t a certainty ¨C it would''ve been something along the lines of ''Hmm...another loner.''
The first time they took note of each other as individuals occurred shortly after the beginning of their second semester, when their school had them take a mandatory art class.
¨C
Adam the Loner,
Eric the Genius
¡ª13 Years old.
"Okay! Are you ready, everyone?" The teacher clapped excitedly. "Let''s get your drawings out. Remember, quality is optional, perfection is impossible, and following instructions is worth most of your grade!"
Adam was relieved that the expectations were based on his work being finished rather than decent. He certainly didn''t think of himself as artistically gifted...but then again, neither did most of his peers. Why spend more than fifteen minutes on some basic geometry?
Wasn''t like his parents cared so long as he didn''t fail his classes.
"Damn...that looks good. How long did that take you?"
"Did you actually do that in one night? It looks just like a picture!"
"Can you draw people too? Can you draw me?"
"Man, l couldn''t paint that well if I tried."
A number of their classmates had crowded around one of the students, enthusiastically asking about their finished artwork.
They weren''t talking about Adam''s art, of course.
It was Eric''s.
And for the first time in his life, Adam felt a burning sense of jealousy.
Even somebody like us can get attention like that? Be praised like that?
He hated himself once for the feeling, and twice for his reasoning. While Adam had always been able to feel happy for the success of others, it was mostly because he thought of those overly-social people as almost a separate species. Feeling envious of them would be like feeling envious of a bird.
Yet when he saw someone just as socially challenged as himself lapping up the attention of an impressed crowd...that hit different. It made him wonder, for the first time in his life, what it would be like to live in someone else''s shoes.
Maybe people learned to fly because they envied birds.
Maybe if he''d put that much effort into his art homework, he''d have people asking him things too.
It was that moment when Adam realized that people approaching him wasn''t as scary a thought as approaching them. This way even if he didn''t know how to talk to people, so long as they had something to talk about, a subject to cling on to, everything would work out!
It was with that thought in mind that he tried speaking with his father later that night.
A horrible place to start, really.
"Our art homework ¨C it was ¨C I mean¨C" Adam couldn''t stop himself from stumbling over his words. His heart was racing, and a cold sweat danced its way down his forehand. "I didn''t do great, but no one did, um"¡ªAdam swallowed nervously¡ª"I still passed."
"Yeah?" His father glanced at the drawing, then barked out a low laugh. "No kidding. It looks like shit. Good on you for passing with the bare minimum effort, though. That''s a skill."
Adam laughed nervously. That was a more positive response than anticipated. He''d already opened his mouth to continue the conversation when he saw a flash of annoyance in his dad''s face. Suddenly, as realization dawned on him, Adam''s eyes shifted toward the beer on the coffee table. "Mom isn''t here, is she?"
There was a long pause.
"No. With her mother." His dad shrugged. "She had one of her fits. No idea when she''ll be back."
"I''m sorry," Adam muttered. He didn''t expect his dad to say ''It''s not your fault'', but he still hoped for it. When that didn''t happen, he lowered his head, and said, "Can I cook dinner for you?"
His father nodded, then glanced back at the television. "Just don''t burn yourself again."
Even though his dad wasn''t looking at him, Adam made sure to apologetically bow his head before heading off into the kitchen. His dad was always in a terrible mood whenever Adam''s mom ran off somewhere, and he could be downright scary after drinking too much.
He was rarely violent and never dangerous, of course. Things could be worse. I''m lucky. But sometimes he would throw things near him, curse loudly, and complain even louder.
It wasn''t all bad. Adam never felt like his life was in danger. That counted for something.
Besides, he understood his father''s dislike of him.
Because that man wasn''t really his father.
Did you always know?
Honestly, I''m not even sure myself. Might''ve overheard it during one of their fights when I was younger. Maybe he told me one night and I blocked it out. Feels like I''ve always known that Mom cheated on him...and that I was the result.
Sometimes Adam wondered why they didn''t just get a divorce. Sure, they occasionally looked happy to be with each other ¨C for brief moments. But those respites always come to an end when they remembered all the unforgiven past between them.
Adam, of course, being the greatest reminder of that.
''I''m sorry. I''m so sorry,'' he''d mutter, time and time again.
His father could never love him, and who could blame him? Not Adam. They were basically strangers, and he was an eternal reminder of his wife''s betrayal. Adam''s mother, meanwhile, did love him...when convenient, at least. He didn''t blame her either.
After all ¨C it was his fault that the two of them had so much tension, right?
Well. At the end of the day, it didn''t matter. Regardless of whatever they did, and despite how much his existence hurt them, the two had still raised him. Adam was always very thankful for that.
Almost as thankful as he was sorry. Adam never asked for sports lessons, newest toys, or anything of the sort. For most of his life, he stayed out of trouble and inside his room, requesting little and expecting less. It seemed like his parents were happiest when they could forget he was around, and Adam was happy ¨C willing to give them that.
Make dad food...stay out of the way...let him drink...be quiet...I remember repeating those to myself every night like a mantra. Kept myself from forgetting it.
Was it enough, Painter?
I...
Even now, Adam didn''t really know for sure.
He did know that it appeared to brighten the mood at home some, at least. Then again, maybe that was a delusion conjured to think he had any control over his life. From his perspective, his dad noticed what he was doing, and tacitly approved of it, while his mom engaged in wilful ignorance and thought he legitimately enjoyed solitude as much as he claimed. It was all for the best, and in the end he knew that he should have been thankful for what he had.
But...talking to people would have been nice. And now, for the first time in his life, Adam shamefully found himself wanting something.
Maybe that was okay. While he couldn''t talk at home, at school, it could''ve been different. But where did he even start? Just imagining himself chatting to someone about sports or tiktoks felt borderline impossible. How were you supposed to just talk to people? What were the steps involved in that?
It turned out he needn''t have agonized over it. The next day, when Adam glanced at his neighbor''s desk and saw him working on another bit of art, the words left his lips without thinking. He didn''t really care about art in general. He didn''t actually think it looked that good. But he could still see the effort put into it, and it spurred him to say what he wished his father would''ve said to him the night before.
Stolen story; please report."That looks amazing," Adam told Eric, absently. "You''re a genius!"
The young boy blushed at the compliment, then looked up at him with an innocent look on his face. "Thank you," he managed, awkwardly. The two remained quiet for a moment, neither particularly skilled at the art of conversation. Adam felt his nerves fray as time stretched on. Why had he dared to talk to someone like he was a normal person? How arrogant was he to assume that¨C
"Are you interested in art?" Eric hesitantly asked him.
Adam hesitated less in his answer. "Yes," he said, with fast conviction.
Did you mean it, Painter?
I lied.
Why?
To protect myself.
From who?
I couldn''t...I didn''t know how to talk to people without common ground...
FROM WHO, PAINTER?
From myself.
Adam felt guilt eat away at him immediately after the words left his mouth. Eric was someone with real passions, who loved art from the bottom of his heart. He wasn''t an ''empty'' person like Adam was. Pretending to like the same things felt worse than lying; it was closer to cheating at life itself.
He knew this, deep in his heart, and still couldn''t stop himself.
I just...really wanted to talk to someone.
Adam had never desired something this badly before, and he hated himself for it. No wonder his parents liked him better when he didn''t want anything.
His guilt only worsened when he saw the way Eric''s eyes sparkled. "Have you been drawing for long?"
"No, I...I''m interested in it, but never got the chance."
"I can teach you!" Eric exclaimed. "If you''re interested, I mean."
Their friendship began that day.
It was ¨C in a word ¨C awkward. Neither of the two had much experience with interpersonal relationships. Adam could remember how they''d always fall into long silences after running out of art topics to talk about, hoping the other person would speak up first. Then one of them would try to say something a ''normal'' person should, like commenting on the weather or whatever, and neither would know how to respond.
There were...definitely some growing pains involved. Then again, it was as Eric said.
"Practice makes perfect," he told Adam, in a stubborn voice. "Even if you aren''t good now, just keep at it, alright? Do you know how rare it''d be to practice something every day and not get better? You aren''t that special, Adam, and neither am I! Get over yourself and get to work!"
Eric had meant it about their art. It was just a passing comment made during a hot summer day, both of them frustrated and stuck in a library as they attempted to draw something together. Nothing grander.
Yet Adam ended up deriving a lot of satisfaction from applying the concept to his entire life. Whether it was a wise life lesson handed down to him by his only friend, or something his ignorance created out of a misunderstanding, he didn''t care.
He still found peace in it.
Even if I''m the worst...even if I have absolutely no talent...so long as I keep at it, I''ll get there one day. If I''m as average a guy as I tell myself, it would be arrogant to assume I''m so special that practice won''t take me anywhere.
It wasn''t the kindest mindset, and maybe there would come ''tomorrows'' when he''d regret it ¨C yet it got him through his ''todays'', and that''s what mattered.
Strangest of all, Adam actually started looking forward to his ''tomorrows'' too once in a while. After a year of quiet practice and small talk, he''d changed, even if just a little bit. His art was better, which he had expected, and so was his ability to talk to Eric, which came as a surprise.
On one breezy day, the two found themselves having a conversation about dreams and goals that was enough to make just about anyone feel...normal.
"Can''t say I''ve ever thought about what I''ll be doing in the future," Adam slowly admitted. With his parents ¨C and especially his father ¨C his immediate future took up too much of his thoughts. "What about you, Eric? Planning on being a hotshot artist? Holding a grand exhibition, being hailed as the greatest painter since....I don''t know, some old Italian guy?"
Eric''s response still surprised Adam to this day. "Oh god, no, no, hell no!" he said, waving off the idea just as much with his laughter as with his hands. "Nothing good comes out of wanting to be number one, you know?"
"Wouldn''t have guessed that from watching you," Adam muttered. "The way you practice every day, I''d have thought you were set on being a professional."
"I am! But that''s that, and this is this. Do you know how absurdly hard it is to be really good at art? You know what, forget that, do you know how hard it is to even define what being really good at art is? Let alone make money off of it!"
Adam shrugged. "I honestly don''t."
"That''s the thing! You can know the basics extremely well, you can have good anatomy, understand color theory, do everything right ¨C and still be less popular than some fuckhead who draws half-naked fanart. " He shook his head. "Nah. That''s too much relying on the roll of the dice for me. Instead of chasing romantic dreams, I''ll take a solid, reliable job."
Sometimes the man had a talent for speaking a lot and saying very little. Even so, he nearly always had a point hidden...somewhere. "Okay, you lost me," Adam said, after a long sigh. "So you don''t want to compete with either the artists who are trying to become famous, or the ones going after short-term social media clout?"
"Damn straight!" Eric grinned. "I''m just going to gradually build up a solid portfolio while studying art with a focus on 3D. That''s the most employable field. I can worry about being famous after I''ve got money!"
Adam didn''t say it, but he got the impression that Eric wanted to be number one more than he was letting one. "Huh." Adam tilted his head. "I...that''s pragmatic? Probably? Don''t really know much about the job market. Never thought about it."
"You should," Eric insisted. "We only have a few years left in high school. After that, you''re gonna have to decide what you want to do with your life." His mouth widened into a cocky smile. "What, you plan on letting me go to art school alone? C''mon ¨C we can look down on those stupid twitter freaks together."
Adam had to bite his lip not to let the happiness show on his face.
Someone wants me somewhere.
He didn''t truly love art. Sometimes, after weeks of little visible improvement, he very nearly hated it. But it let him stay friends with Eric, and judging from that invitation, it would continue to do so in the future.
"I''ll give it serious thought," Adam told him, matching his only ¨C no, his best friend''s grin.
I won''t let you down.
Even if he couldn''t quite love drawing the way Eric did, he could put in as much effort as him. A part of him felt terrified of disappointing Eric, but another part, the larger one, simply felt too ecstatic to be afraid. He''d never earned the chance to disappoint someone before. This was the first time anyone had ever put any expectations on him to begin with.
Disappointing someone was a luxury!
"I don''t want the world, Adam," Eric told him that day, after further discussion. "Why would I want that?"
You never loved art, Painter?
At the time, I can''t say I did. But I also had a friend who I didn''t want to let down ¨C no matter what. So after that, I worked day and night on improving my skills. Drawing straighter, steadier lines, finding out more about general art theory...I did everything I could.
And how did he respond?
Adam hesitated at the memory.
--
Adam the Follower,
Eric the Rival
¡ª14 Years Old
It wasn''t entirely the reaction Adam anticipated, and it confused him now as it did then. Had it been his fault, fine, but that wasn''t it. Something just started bugging Eric the moment that both of them began taking art seriously together. At times, Eric looked furious when he couldn''t master a skill fast enough.
Adam hated seeing that.
He didn''t have Eric''s talent, but...damn. Wasn''t there any way to help the guy? Probably not. If learning new skills was already tough for a genius, how could a mediocre painter do better?
By spending more time than him on it.
Silently and decisively, Adam resolved to stay up a few nights practicing whatever possible, putting any amount of extra hours in he could. Hopefully, he could learn something Eric had missed and offer him some tips.
While Adam didn''t think of himself as special, that went two ways. He was no rare genius, but neither was he such an uncommon failure he couldn''t learn something if he put a frankly abnormal amount of hours toward it. Thanks to that, his efforts to learn were successful.
His efforts to help...less so. Eric barely acknowledged Adam''s hints, instead insisting on working by himself. It happened more than once ¨C with nearly identical results each time.
That''s why I could never believe him when he said he didn''t want to be the best, or that he just wanted a stable job. No one who thinks those things dreams of being an artist.
"Goddamn it!"
"I hate this Adam! I hate it so fucking much!"
"This¡ªis¡ªstupid!"
"Hey Adam, come here to bask in my genius? Yeah, I like how this one turned out."
"Adam, my man, so just confirm with me ¨C I''m the best, right?"
Eric never stayed down or snappy for too long. Adam couldn''t complain; this didn''t qualify as volatile by his standards, and Eric was a complete saint compared to his parents. If he was thankful to his father for one thing, it was that he''d trained him how to support a moody genius. After that, the two were able to practice happily together.
Even if those sporadic arguments continued to happen.
Eric...why did you never accept help? I always let you help me, man.
The Inked fate between the two of you began back then. You wouldn''t be standing here if not for him.
You''re probably right. Despite everything he''s done, I''m glad we met. If he wasn''t around...I''m not sure I would have survived when my mom died.
--
ADAM THE GRIEVER,
ERIC THE HERO
¨C 16 YEARS OLD
Had it been just the pain of grief, it would have been manageable. What felt nearly impossible to overcome was his father''s callousness.
There was a dark flame of a memory that burned ever bright in Adam''s heart, even today in the Painted World. It took place at noon; not that the pale white winter sky gave any indication. His mother''s funeral had just ended, his heart ached, and his tears were not yet dry.
Out of hurtful desperation, Adam risked a glance in his father''s direction, hoping to find some comfort. Even if he hates me, if he loved her at all, then maybe he ¨C maybe he''s in pain too.
Instead, he found something much worse on his father''s face.
Relief.
"Guess that''s done," he muttered, shifting his gaze towards Adam. "Let''s go, kid. No point in staying here any longer."
"I¡ªI¡ªCan I have a minute?" Adam begged. Tears flowed, and try as he might, he couldn''t stop them. "I want to say goodbye one more time."
"You already did," his father firmly stated. "That''s the point of a funeral."
At home, his father only grew colder. The change was gradual enough that Adam didn''t notice it immediately.
One day, he stayed overnight at Eric''s house and felt a sudden wave of fear upon realizing he''d forgotten to let his dad know he wouldn''t be home. He ran home as fast as he could, hoping that apologizing in person would be easier than a text.
Adam just hoped his dad hadn''t called the police over this. Not that he could blame him if he did ¨C he''d been missing for a day now. That was so stupid of him, so¡ª
"Huh," his father said, sipping from his can. He alternated his gaze between the front door and a side hallway. "Thought you were in your room."
"No, I...uh...I was..."
"Eh." His father shrugged and turned away. Adam waited with bated breath to see how his father would finish that sentence. Maybe, ''It''s good I didn''t realize it until now, or I''d have been worried.'' More realistically, maybe he''d flash a sardonic grin and say, ''Hey, at least you''re alive.'' Adam legitimately had no idea how father would finish his sentence. And so he waited.
He waited a long time.
Minutes passed until he noticed his father cursing at the television ¨C and realized that there was nothing else to say.
"That''s...all?" Adam muttered. If his father heard him, he didn''t respond. "You really don''t even care enough to pretend?"
In some ways, he felt crushed. In others, he felt relieved. Most of all, he didn''t know which feelings were truly his, and which were his mind''s desperate escape from its overwhelming grief. He wanted to get mad at his father, at himself, to feel relief, joy that he could do whatever he wanted without worrying about that bastard...and despite it all, that simple terror wasn''t enough to make him miss his mother any less. No amount of hatred could.
But Eric...Eric somehow found a way to do that, just a few hours later.
"You don''t have to say anything." Eric tapped him on the shoulder and passed him a controller. "How about we just play some games until you want to talk?"
"Might take hours."
"Might be I have the time." He shrugged. "I''ll be here."
He wasn''t lying.
Even all these years later, I still feel thankful to him for that. If not for him, I don''t know how I would have managed.
Ah, but in spite of your gratitude...you still cannot forgive him.
Life is odd that way.
Chapter 32 (Part 2)
Tell me, Painter. Did you chase the Hangman after this?
You mean follow him to college? No. That was my plan at first, but I hesitated for a little.
Why?
Because my father...after mom died, I couldn''t just leave him. Even after everything he did.
Ah. Was he dying?
No. But we believed he was. That''s where the problems started.
"What do you mean he''s your biological father?" Eric asked, awestruck. "You said your mom¨C"
"Yeah." Adam cut him off, then flashed a bitter smirk. "That''s what I thought. That''s what they thought, too."
Eric shook his head and sighed. "Now you''re just being mysterious for no reason. C''mon, explain. Don''t give me any ''it''s a long story'' bullshit, I have all day."
"It''s not like I''m trying to be mysterious, it''s just...man." Adam chuckled weakly. This was all such a sick joke. "Remember when my father collapsed a while back, and I took him to the hospital? I didn''t go into detail at the time, because it was kinda heavy, but he didn''t look good. At all. Our doctor was talking about considering a liver transplant, the potential issues with finding donors ¨C you get the point. The important thing is that liver donors don''t have to be dead. A person can just give part of it, and the rest regenerates."
One of the nice things about talking to Eric was that even if you rambled, he''d cut straight to the point. "I don''t know much about liver transplants, but I''m guessing it''s easier to get a successful donor match from immediate family members?"
"Easier, but it''s not the only way. Still, I got tested, and it turned out that I was a match." Adam laughed in disbelief at the memory. He''d volunteered to take the test because it seemed easier than explaining to the doctor why he wasn''t interested. Well, and maybe out of some irrational sense of obligation, but he figured there was no way in hell he''d be a match! "That...was awkward."
"Yeah, I can imagine." Eric bit his lip, then shook his head. "Actually, I''ve got no idea how fucking awkward that would be, bud. Anyway, is that all? Like you said, a successful donor match doesn''t mean you''re related."
Adam sank in his chair and rubbed his temples. "Wish it was that simple," he muttered. "Doctor said something about how it was good luck, made an offhand comment about how my dad and I looked similar and ¨C look, my father got us tested again, okay? And didn''t even tell me he was doing it!" Adam shouted that last bit, as if it was the specific point that offended him the most. "He just told me one night, like it was no big deal that...that we''re actually father and son. They either screwed up the first test, or someone screwed it up on purpose. Who knows. Who cares."
For the next few moments, an unspoken sympathy ruled the silent air. Arms crossed, Eric opened and closed his mouth several times, a sort of playful frown repeatedly forming then disappearing, as if he were unsure how playfully callous he should be in a situation like this. "So...this is a good thing, right? Your shitty father might get a little less shitty now? Maybe?"
"Eh." Adam threw his arms up in an exaggerated shrug. "Not like anything changed. He really shouldn''t treat me better just because of some piece of paper that says I''m his son."
"So, are you giving up part of your liver? You shouldn''t, if you ask me."
Adam shook his head. "Don''t need to. Turns out his condition isn''t as bad as we thought."
Eric picked up on the part not said out loud ¨C that Adam was still distraught about what was coming up soon. "Then why are you thinking of not going to university?"
"I never said that," Adam shot back.
"But you''re thinking it," Eric pointed out, sharply. "Let''s skip the denials and get to the point. Why? Even if you give a shit about your old man, he''s not dying, right? He can take care of himself."
It was here that Adam wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. "It''s...hard to explain."
Did finding out that the man was your father by blood color your feelings for him, Painter?
Not at all. I hate admitting this but...despite everything, even before this, I always wanted him to treat me like a son, to ¨C to love me. That didn''t change. Guess a part of me was hoping that he''d get his head out of his ass, and that we could rebuild our relationship.
There was more to it, was there not?
Yeah. I also still felt guilty over intruding upon Eric''s world. I didn''t love art like he did. An out-of-state school would have been expensive, and spending so much on something I didn''t love...
I was just an empty canvas, clinging onto my friend''s passions to avoid feeling like myself.
And I didn''t like it. Neither art, nor the feeling.
You thought that taking care of your father would change things?
I thought it might teach me something about myself. Like who I am when nobody else is looking, you know?
When there''s no need to put on an act.
--
Adam the Wanderer,
Eric the Scholar
¡ª18 Years Old
Adam''s gap year was a bittersweet experience that grew evermore bitter with the turning of seasons. He''d been lonely after Eric went off to college, but the two kept in touch well enough. Things at home had gotten much better, too.
Which was exactly the problem.
"I''m not much of a cook, but I managed dinner today," his father said with a grunt. After a brief pause, he somewhat awkwardly added, "Hope it''s to your liking." The man truly meant it.
"That''s thoughtful of you," Adam replied. He paused. "Even if I end up not liking the taste, the effort is what matters." He truly meant that as well.
I could forgive him for treating me badly. But when that jackass started treating me kindly...
How marvelously unusual! His hatred you could bear, but not his love?
I couldn''t TRUST his love.
If all it took was a piece of paper for him to change, if the way he treated me for all those years was because of a mistake someone else made...then what if this was a mistake too? What if he started hating me again?
Not only that, but the way he started acting like we were one big happy family, like we''d always been like that, like he never¡ªI just¡ªI just couldn''t let that go.
So you hate the amends more than the criminal. Why?
Because it means he was always capable of being better.
He just chose not to.
Adam had prepared himself for his father''s behavior not to change. It would''ve been mildly annoying, but at least he wouldn''t have felt guilty if something happened to his old man''s health.
He wasn''t ready at all for the awkward attempts at father-son bonding. Without school or anything else to distract him from the situation at home, Adam spent his days crushed by that draining, farcical routine.
"Kid, uh, I got tickets for the game. How do you feel about football?"
"Honestly can''t stand it." Used to like it as a kid. You told me I was incompetent and shouldn''t play. Never got back to it.
"Ah."
At night, Adam poured over his sketches. He still didn''t like art, but his rituals from when Eric was around were part of him by now. Even though the two weren''t comparing drawings anymore, this solitary habit brought him peace. And there was something innately satisfying about watching his skills get better.
Then day would rise.
"Hey kid, I got you a skateboard. You love that, right?"
"I did. About eight years ago." Then you broke my skateboard because it was too loud on the driveway. Because I annoyed you by existing.
"Ah."
One night, a few months later, Adam ran into a problem: he had no idea what to draw. Until then he''d just been going with whatever Eric suggested. The two still kept in touch, but now that they were far apart, and mostly talked over text...there was no way to get as much guidance from him as before.
Besides ¨C he didn''t want to bother Eric while the guy was busy with college.
God, that was stressful. Part of me wanted to drop drawing altogether, truthfully. But it was also what kept me sane that year, so...I clung onto it once again. That''s my best trick. Clinging onto things that keep me safe.
What pushed you toward the Academy?
Nothing.
There wasn''t anything.
One day I just...decided to.
"I''ll be going off to college next year," Adam told his father over breakfast.
There was a long pause. "Well, I wish you the best." Silence fell again. "I''m sorry."
"I know you''re sorry," Adam said, his voice surprisingly lacking in bitterness. He hesitated, then shrugged. "It''s just...not enough. I don''t think fixing this is that easy."
"That makes sense." His father''s voice sounded grave, weary, and...guilty? "Do you think we can get there someday?"
"Maybe," Adam acknowledged, with a casual tone. He let out a quiet, sad laugh. "But I''m not sure I even want to bother."
"That''s fair." His father nodded along. "That''s...more than fair." Adam could swear he heard his father''s voice catch in his throat for a moment, but when he continued, it was as firm as it had ever been. "I stopped drinking, you know? Since¨C"
Adam held a hand to cut him off. "I know." Almost apologetically, he said, "It doesn''t change anything."
"I suppose it wouldn''t." His father shook his head. "You''re going off to art school, right?"
This was the first thing that caught Adam off guard. "How did you know?"
"You liked drawing. I...remember you showing me some of the stuff you drew when you were younger."
--
Was it an easy decision, Painter?
No. There were logistics involved that I couldn''t ignore. I didn''t have the money for an out-of-state college, and I didn''t want to rely on my dad for it ¨C not that he had much money to spare either. On a pragmatic level, going to university was an insane decision. Especially for something like art.
What an odd, empty canvas you have! So, you possessed little love for art, knew it was a poor investment of your Orbs, and went there all the same! Why?
Because I didn''t have anything else. My only friend was there, and he kept asking me to come. Things at home were so awkward that it made me want to die.
Where else was I supposed to go?
"Fancy seeing you here," Eric said. "How''s it hanging, weirdo?"
"What are the odds?" Adam dropped his bags on the floor. "Think things are pretty good...now."
The two grinned, then engaged in what was either a competition over who could suffocate each other more, or a genuine hug. Either or both could have been correct. "Man," Adam muttered. "I missed you, you bastard."
"Sorry things didn''t work out at home," Eric muttered in response, putting his back. He ruffled Adam''s hair before letting go of the hug. "It''s gonna be okay now. You''re safe, you hear me? Just let me take care of you."
Funny thing is...I didn''t want him to. I didn''t go to college to create trouble for my best friend; I just wanted to hang out like old times. Even chose a slightly different major so he wouldn''t feel like he had to help me."
Sometimes, though, I wonder...would anything have gone differently if I''d played along?
Even in the hazy mist of his soul, even having the very ink of his being witnessed by the Voice, Adam felt himself hesitate before answering. It would have.
--
Adam didn''t get to see Eric as often as he''d hoped. They were in different programs and a year apart, so despite living close to one another, their time together was limited. Even so, whenever they did manage to meet, it felt like nothing had changed.
Well, mostly.
"And there we go," Eric said, throwing his latest sketch over to Adam. "What do you think? Looks great, doesn''t it? Say it for me. Let me pretend to be modest."
"You know I can''t lie to you," Adam lied. "It honestly looks amazing. Damn man ¨C art school really improved your skills, huh?"
Though his acting was convincing, he bit the inside of his lip to mask his surprise. Worse, his disappointment. At first Adam hoped that he''d just caught Eric on a bad day, but their following weeks of joint art practice merely confirmed his first impression.
Eric''s art had gotten worse.
It made sense, to a degree. A person''s art would inevitably degrade without consistent practice. But...the guy had been at art school for a year, so that didn''t add up. At all.
Ah, but that''s a lie, isn''t it? You could guess.
I...I didn''t...
You cannot lie to me, Painter. Not when I stand before your canvas.
It...looked to me like Eric had fallen out of love with art. Just a bit. He didn''t seem as interested anymore in our talks about famous historical painters, and whenever he mentioned homework, it was always in this vague, disdainful tone.
Interesting. Why do you think the Hangman lost his passion?
That, I legitimately don''t know. Although I have heard that art school crushes a lot of people''s interest in it. Doing mountains of soulless work, being unable to focus on your true passions, and dealing with uninterested, resentful professors assigning you grades on a whim...that could kill anyone''s love for anything.
Did that happen to you, Painter?
See, that''s the funny thing. It didn''t. You can''t kill what doesn''t exist.
Then what happened instead?
Adam surprised even himself with how little Eric''s disinterest in their shared passion affected him.
By all logic, taking on student debt in the hopes of relieving his loneliness, then finding out things were no longer as they used to be, should have crushed him. But Adam refused to worry about his own feelings, more concerned with his friend''s.
Eric wasn''t doing great right now, for reasons that he didn''t feel like divulging. His tone had a meandering listlessness that often preceded someone quitting their field entirely. But, no, that couldn''t happen. He would definitely get back to loving art at some point, because, well...he was Eric! The guy was as talented as they came. Whether he realized it now or not, there was no way he wouldn''t end up as a famous artist someday.
Everyone felt down about their passions here and there, right?
This was gonna pass.
And when it did, Adam wanted to be ready to pick things up where they''d stopped.
"You''re attending those workshops?" Eric said, one day at launch. He bit into his bread and lifted an eyebrow. "Dude, I know how much work you have...are you insane?"
Adam smiled. "I might be. They have this guest artist from Germany though, have you heard of¡ª"
"¡ªNo," Eric cut him off. He let out an exasperated sigh, followed by an incredulous laugh. "You really have to slow down."
But Adam didn''t have the luxury to go any slower. He was closer to aggressively mediocre ¨C at best ¨C than to a genius. It was like Eric had told him many years ago; he wasn''t anything special. For an average person to catch up to the prodigies of the world, effort was needed. Relentless, repetitive, single-minded effort.
In truth, Adam had no idea how long Eric''s disillusionment with art would last. Yet when his passion finally did return...it would be nice for Adam to greet him with the new things he''d picked up along the way. Like going for a long road trip and getting to tell his hometown friends all about it after coming back. Maybe those topics would get him at least a little interested.
Whenever I brought up the things I''d learned, though, it almost seemed to annoy him. As if it was a chore to talk about art, despite that being all we ever did as kids.
"Ugh, man, I just finished four hours of homework. Can we talk about literally anything else right now? Like sports? Our college is playing¨C"
Our conversations grew...shallower. We still talked, but not so much about art.
"Adam, did you see the new Marvel movie?"
And when we did, it was about how to make money from it.
"I think someone could really make a killing on commissions if they used AI for¨C"
Even when I was proud of something, Eric never seemed in the mood to appreciate it.
"Yeah, sure, it looks good. Don''t be a showoff ¨C I''ve got homework piling up."
After a while, Eric appeared so tired of drawing that our weekly study sessions became monthly. We hung out, yet not as much as before. I didn''t want to rely on him and make him feel even more overwhelmed, so I pushed myself to branch out and find other people to talk with.
Adam was hardly a social butterfly, but college dorms are an environment that produce social contact ¨C forcibly, if necessary. Although he was blessed with a single room, he still regularly crossed paths with the students on his floor. Enough to share a few conversations with them.
While not like his friendship with Eric, those acquaintances were fun to spend time with. More fun than he would have assumed, actually. They kept him from feeling isolated.
The money issues were always difficult, but that was no excuse for me to sit back and wallow in my misery. So I continued to study everything I could, entered as many optional workshops as possible...just completely dedicated my life to art.
For Eric''s sake, Adam studied a variety of different topics that weren''t covered by his curriculum. His degree barely touched upon watercoloring, but he still did a deep dive into the topic so that he could tell Eric all about it one day ¨C that would be so fun! Next was sculpting, and damn, that was a fun one to learn too! Eric would love hearing ab¨C
"Oh, right...Eric hates sculpting," Adam muttered to himself. "Even when we were kids, he never saw the appeal. This isn''t going to be something he cares about."
Adam sighed at the realization. This topic was useless, then. He might as well stop studying it.
But he couldn''t, and he didn''t.
Try as he might to shift his focus, Adam still felt interested in sculpting. He couldn''t even begin to imagine how someone could get so precise with a chisel. There was something entrancing about how, with skill and time, a hunk of stone could be transformed into anything you desired.
"Why am I still interested in it?" he asked no one. "And now that I think about it, Eric wasn''t into the whole thing about titles and art, either. Always said titles were stupid and the work should stand by itself. Guess I wasted my time with that one."
Despite hearing his own words aloud, Adam couldn''t make himself believe them. But why? He was learning all of this to speak with Eric, wasn''t he? If this wasn''t something Eric would care for, why did he want to study it anyway?
"Oh." The word suddenly escaped his lips. His soul could contain it no longer ¨C nor could it contain the ones to soon follow. "I...I''ve started to enjoy this, haven''t I?"
He had.
Not just so he had something to talk about with Eric.
Not just so he had something to help forget about his life at home.
Not just so he had something to fill his empty heart.
When was it, I wonder...after I came to art school? No. It was probably way before that. The gap year? No, that''s not right either. Maybe I''ve been this way since I first saw Eric''s drawing, and it''s just taken me this long to admit it.
On some level, he had always known. He just couldn''t allow himself to admit it ¨C even to himself. Like he was unworthy of loving something so much. As if he was too broken of an individual to feel genuine passion towards anything.
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But he wouldn''t, couldn''t deny it to himself any longer.
Adam covered his eyes, tears sifting through his fingers.. "Goddamn it," he whispered, "I really...I really like art."
--
It was cruel that the realization came so late.
Although he was a year into art school, Adam hadn''t made any plans to actually finish his degree. He''d entertained vague aspirations of what to do if he somehow graduated, but to be blunt, it was never a serious goal of his. Deep inside, he''d made peace with the idea of dropping out after spending some time with Eric, intending to figure out what he wanted to do with his life afterwards.
But now he knew.
Adam wanted his life to revolve around art. Not because he had no choice, not because of his friend, but because it was what he himself wanted. For the first time in his life, he''d found something he truly loved ¨C and he wasn''t about to let it go.
How did you obtain the Orbs to stay in your castle, Painter?
I worked wherever and whenever I could. Online art commissions were good, but unreliable, and mildly traumatizing at times. Also did any part-time jobs I could find, schedule be damned. Most of my second year classes were pretty flexible with attendance, so sometimes I skipped them to squeeze in some work hours. The school did have support funds for students like me, but...it just wasn''t enough.
Did you limit your scholarly endeavors, then?
No. If I was fighting to stay there, I wanted to get the most out of it.
And it nearly killed him. Adam scarcely ever slept for a full six hours, and when he did, he''d wake up so exhausted he could barely drag himself out of bed. His budding social life died almost as soon as it started. His entire body ached, and after a certain point, it was anyone''s guess whether he was just getting sick more easily or whether the eternal sleep deprivation always made him feel sluggish.
Even so, he struggled on.
It was a hellish year, and Adam fought to keep a growing sense of bitterness from taking over. So many people were waltzing around campus like they owned the place, unconcerned about how much money they were spending, clearly spoiled rotten by their goddamn parents. If only¨C
Adam never allowed himself to finish that thought. He already knew that life wasn''t fair; allowing himself to feel jealous over it would just make his mind a less welcoming place for himself. And considering how often he was alone these days...
"You hanging in there?" Eric asked one day. "Seriously dude, you''re gonna get yourself killed. Take a break, maybe a year off to make some money, then come back later."
"I can''t," Adam told him, stubbornly. "No way in hell I can wait that long!"
Eric slammed his hand on the desk. "I''m telling you that you can!" He glared straight at Adam. "You think I''m that dumb? I know you''re doing this for me, okay? I know my art is getting worse, and that you think you can get me to snap out of it. Broski, I''m just not feeling it right now, ''kay? Just a little. School drains the life out of people, you maniac. This is normal. I''ll bounce back."
Adam widened his eyes in surprise. He held Eric''s gaze for a moment, then laughed. "Yeah, that''s part of it. Sorry, thought I was doing a better job at keeping it a secret from you."
"You weren''t." Eric grinned. "So you''ll take it easy? Maybe take a year off?"
He shook his head. "To be honest...even though I started doing this for you, I..." Adam grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head, trying to hide a burning embarrassment that couldn''t stop a smile from seeping through his best mask. "I actually like art. A lot. Even though this whole situation sucks...I really want to keep learning more. Not just painting, not just digital art, not just sculpting ¨C everything! I just love it so much I don''t want to wait a year, you know? That would be depressing as hell."
Adam couldn''t look Eric in the eye, feeling embarrassing over how silly he probably sounded. Spending time with fellow artists ¨C and god forbid, the theater majors ¨C had obviously given him a flair for dramatics, much as a part of him found that mortifying. During moments like these, he preferred to keep his head low and wait for the other person to respond..
Eric needed more than a minute of complete silence. "If that''s how it is, guess I can''t stop you, eh?"
Adam had no idea what Eric''s face looked like when he said that. At the time, he''d thought of it as encouraging, like he was being accepted into his friend''s world as a peer rather than a guest.
Do you think differently now?
Yeah.
I do.
His next year was a nightmare he was thrilled to be in, a gothic horror to marvel at while darkness swallowed him whole. Even when losing sleep, even when being driven sick from overwork, even when unsure if he could keep paying for college...Adam enjoyed every single moment he had there. The few acquaintances he''d made, the knowledge he''d learned...
I felt like a person for the first time.
Unfortunately, it couldn''t last forever. His finances soon reached the point where daily living was becoming an issue, and where he''d have to contemplate quitting ¨C or at least taking a break. Both thoughts were abhorrent, but there was no third option.
I was frustrated, yet at the same time, content. Almost. I had given it my all. Thought that if I had to take a break...or even if I could never come back...well, then there was no way to blame myself for what happened, yeah? I didn''t want an ending to my life as an artist, but if there had to be one...this was fine.
THAT IS WHEN YOU MET THE FIRST PAINTER.
The voice screamed inside his canvas. It wasn''t a question. There was something about this point that interested the voice more than anything else thus far. Adam instinctively knew that he should feel lucky his very soul didn''t break apart at the sound. That he could only keep what he thought of as his ''self'' because this voice graciously allowed him to. That he should fall on his knees and beg for its favor.
Instead, he took this chance to question it.
You''re not the First Painter, then? You''re not Lawrence?
NO. I CAME AFTER.
"Hey, Eric ¨C how about entering this contest with me?" Adam excitedly asked one day. "C''mon, I know you haven''t been doing much besides schoolwork lately."
Somehow, Eric seemed like the more tired of the two, despite having much more free time. "First of all, you''re insane if you think either of us can win that. Second of all, I know how much you need the money. What if I win and you don''t? You shouldn''t be bringing on more competition, man. Think it through for once."
"If you beat me fair and square, then oh well." Adam smirked and gave a mighty shrug. "I''d be satisfied if it came to that. Would just be fun to paint together like we used to."
Eric grunted with annoyance. "I haven''t even touched ink in a semester, save for that one class. Everything I''m working on is digital right now." He sighed. "Do you really think you can win? Are you that delusional?"
"I probably can''t," Adam confessed. "But either way, I still want to give it my all. Just to set my feelings straight, you know? To be happy with the end result."
"Bullshit," Eric said immediately. "You say humble crap like that all the time, but you actually think you''re hot shit, don''t you? Deep inside, you really believe you''re better than everyone else in that contest ¨C and that if it''s judged fairly, you''re gonna be the one to come out on top."
Adam''s eyes went wide. A second later, his expression exploded into laughter. That''s when I thought...Eric knows me better than I do. Until then, I hadn''t even admitted my ego to myself yet. "Damn man, you didn''t have to call me out like that," he said, in a guilty, albeit unrepentant tone. "Hey ¨C you''re the one who said you need to be a bit delusional to make it as an artist."
"Fine," Eric reluctantly groaned. "Let''s do it. I''ll enter it with you. No way either of us wins, though. And for the record, if you''re gonna quit college, there''s better ways of spending the little free time you have left."
What Adam wanted to point out ¨C but didn''t, so as to not give Eric more ammo ¨C was that he didn''t have any free time. His part-time jobs ate up a big chunk of his schedule, and just because he needed money to come back next semester didn''t mean he could afford to neglect this year''s studies. Whatever time he had left after all that wouldn''t be nearly enough to work on an original, contest-worthy art piece.
He did it anyway.
Eric had been right. Deep inside of me, there was an arrogant, delusional artist who thought he was better than everyone else. The thing is...art contests are crapshoots. Even when judges attempt to objectively evaluate your technique, subjective bias will still influence their final decision. Just being the best wasn''t a guarantee that I would win.
So I went in with the intent of leaving no regrets behind.
My body became a machine dedicated to converting every molecule of my soul into ink. Each sweep of my brush was dedicated to that purpose, and that purpose alone. Every single thing I learned, every technique I absorbed, every painful lesson I learned, every bit of my life, good and bad....everything I cared about...it was ALL going into that one painting.
I could accept losing after that.
Adam worked day and night. He neglected sleep and food in equal measures. At times, he would find himself pleased with his progress, thinking himself a prodigy. Other times, he would be the worst of idiots; a maniac for thinking of painting what he''d just tried. He should''ve gone for something simpler ¨C what was the point of doing this if he couldn''t even reach his deadline?
Round and round he went. Adam was so busy that Eric was his sole point of human contact during those days. Fortunately, those visits often came with fresh food as well. Eric only stopped by every few days, but it was what kept Adam going whenever he felt the contest''s looming deadline start to crush his spirit.
You used this color to shade another memory of yours. Are you aware of which one?
The question caught him by surprise. Adam had almost forgotten that he''d already lived past the point he was being forced to recall now. His mind strained as it raced through the future to come.
It felt very similar to being trapped in Aspreay''s tower and forced to finish all those paintings of him. Except that Tenver was the one visiting me, not Eric.
Do you think you will come to hate the Prince of Puppets as you have the Hangman?
I hope not.
--
"I''m finished."
Adam mumbled the declaration in a low, shaky voice. He stepped back and glanced at the painting before him as if witnessing the face of God. The laughter that followed was more than just hysterical; it was maniacal, with loud sobs interceding each peal of laughter as he fell to his knees. Whatever happened now, even if he wouldn''t be allowed to stay in school...Adam would always have this painting. It looked so beautiful ¨C so full of meaning ¨C that he could hardly believe it was he who''d made it.
But he had.
"I made this," he mumbled again, in disbelief. "I made this...and no one can ever take that away from me." He turned to Eric with a wide grin. "What do you think? Pretty good, eh?"
"Yeah."
The reply sounded distant, for some reason. Adam only realized how bone-deep tired he was when he turned to look at Eric. His friend''s face seemed blurry, and just the act of moving his head sent a spike of nausea racing through his stomach. How long had he gone without sleep?
"It really looks amazing, Adam."
At that moment, Adam stopped caring about how exhausted he was. Being praised by the person who''d first motivated him to enter the art world meant more than he could say. Even if they''d grown a little apart in taste recently, Eric was always going to be his best friend.
"Thanks, man," Adam professed. "I just have to...let it dry now, and take it to the submissions place thingy." English was getting strangely difficult. "Everything has been dry for a while, it''s just this thin layer of¨C"
Eric cut him off sharply. "You need sleep. Relax, your painting isn''t going anywhere. Let me handle it. Not like you''re varnishing it ¨C I just have to transport it safely, right?"
"No way. You need time to finish your...your own..." Adam shook his head, trying in vain to stay awake. All of a sudden, the adrenaline seemed to be deserting his body. "I can do it, okay? It''ll be..."
"I already finished mine," Eric assured. His voice had a soothing quality to it. "Just sleep."
Adam hesitated for only a moment before nodding.
I felt so guilty taking advantage of him. I knew how much work it would be to do that. Moving a painting before varnishing it is a pain, but when a contest like this pops up and asks that you submit things quickly...you do what you have to do.
How long did you sleep for?
A full day. Missed classes and work, but my body was so tired that I didn''t even care. Spent two more days after that resting. Probably got a fever at some point. If the contest results weren''t out so early, I probably could''ve slept for weeks after that.
Was it normal for those duels to be sorted so quickly?
No. No, it wasn''t.
Ah...Lawrence...
When the day of judgement arrived, Adam feverishly stumbled his way through campus towards the exhibit where the contest winners were being displayed. His phone had died earlier, so he had no way of knowing how his painting performed.
He entered the exhibit in a sort of panicked fugue. So many submissions, but where was his? Adam looked left and right, back and forth, searching, pleading. And then...
He saw it.
Proudly displayed.
The Empty Canvas ¡ª 1st Place
Adam fell to his knees and sobbed.
He didn''t care how lame he must have looked, crying in public like that. It didn''t matter. Exhaustion, pride, relief, and adrenaline all violently competed with each other to take over his body. A vindicated sense of relief won out, a lone desperate thought ringing in his head:
It was all for something. Everything. His life at home. His painful, empty days without a passion. His suffering as his bank account gradually dwindled to nothing. My life...my experiences...they''re what let me create this. It was all for something.
It didn''t erase his past, and it didn''t justify his pain. But for that one moment, for the first and only time...
Adam felt at peace with everything.
Then, through his tears, he saw the plaque beneath his painting.
The Empty Canvas ¡ª 1st Place
By Eric Gryphon
"Wh...at?"
Unbidden, the word slipped out of his mouth. The air grew hot, and his throat tightened. "Did...did we have the same idea or...no. That''s my painting. I can see everything, it''s literally¡ªit''s literally what I¡ªthat''s¡ª"
Adam refused to acknowledge it. He rapidly shook his head, laughing nervously. "Well, someone must''ve really screwed this up! What a stupid mistake!" He laughed again, louder this time, attempting to suppress the thought he wouldn''t allow himself to have. No way. That can''t, that can''t be what happened.
Feet shuffling, Adam turned a corner inside the exhibit, following the crowd. He soon found the man who''d invited him to compete. Lawrence was shaking hands with...with Eric, and handing him something.
I couldn''t believe it. Kept trying to think of excuses in my head ¨C anything that would explain what had happened. Justifications. Ways I could be mistaken.
But you weren''t.
"ERIC!" Adam forced his way through the small crowd and stood before his friend. He looked at him, desperately hoping for an explanation. Instead, he found what appeared to be the cold face of a stranger. "Eric please," Adam begged, feeling his knees weaken. "Tell them¡ªthat''s not¡ªthat''s my painting. There''s been a mistake, right?"
Lawrence, the one known as the First Painter, looked over his shoulder at Eric. "Is that true, young man?"
There was a long, cold silence. Then, Eric tilted his head to the side, and flashed a cocky smirk. "Please, Adam. Do you really think you could''ve made something like this?"
No...no...you can''t...
"That''s my painting, man. I know you''re desperate for the prize money, but come on! Have some dignity."
Out of everyone...you...you, most of all...
"Do you have any idea how hard I worked on this? For fuck''s sake, what''s wrong with you!" Eric shouted. "Don''t you dare accuse me of stealing my greatest work, Adam!"
"E...Eric...Eric...Eric! EEEEERIIIIIIC!"
Adam knew what would happen next. Security would rush in to stop him no matter what he did. Besides, he was tired, weak, and hungry ¨C Eric himself was more than enough to knock him flat.
He also didn''t care.
Adam rushed at him.
--
And that is the source of the Painter''s hatred for the Hangman.
Are you...satisfied?
Oh, of course not. This was but a prelude. Show to me how your tale proceeds from here. Where will you take it? What color will your canvas paint next?
Now, time begins¡ª
¡ªTo move again.
As if it was parchment fed to flames, the white void of the soul canvas dissolved around them, fading out of existence and revealing the cavern where they''d once been.
Tenver.
The river.
The cavern.
Eric.
And Adam, midair and with his Stained Ink wrapped around his hand.
Time was starting to flow again ¨C yet it did not resume immediately. That momentary pause was enough for Adam''s hatred to give way to cold analysis. He''s stronger than me. I can feel it. If I try to kill him with Stained Ink, his Talent will just make it bounce off, like nothing happened.
Was he supposed to accept that he couldn''t hurt Eric right now? That he was just as powerless as he''d been months earlier?
No.
He wasn''t the same poor college student from before. Now and forever, he was Adam, Lord of Penumbria.
Time resumed, and Eric grinned."¡ªAdam, you can''t expect to hurt¡ª"
"¡ªShut it."
Eric held his hand forward with practiced ease, as though he expected to deflect the attack. There wasn''t a trace of fear in his expression. It wasn''t a bluff.
And that was why Adam opted not to strike.
Just as his Stained Ink was about to clash with the Hangman''s hand, Adam unfurled it from a sharpened spear into a set of vines, then used it to wrap itself around Eric. If I''m not trying to injure you, then can''t block it, can you? Immediately after, Adam pulled himself forward with the Vines.
"Your Talent can''t hurt me¨C"
I know. You''ve always been the more talented of the two of us. Which is why Adam didn''t plan on using any sort of sorcery. There was no Talent, no magic, nothing otherworldly in what his fists did. With the momentum of his vines pulling him forward, Adam connected his fist against Eric''s nose with the strongest haymaker he''d ever thrown in his life.
The Hangman fell back, his head hitting the ground, and his nose broken. "Talents don''t protect you from getting punched in the fucking face," Adam spat out.
Chapter 33
Eric spat out blood, a frown settling on his face. "Look. Adam. I know you think I deserved that, but what happened wasn''t my fault. I had no choice!"
His plea went ignored as Adam considered what to do next. Sure, Eric had a stronger Talent ¨C but no one was invincible. Hmm. Maybe I could steal his soul with a painting...wait, can he block that too? Eric should have a Talent of similar ''quality'' to mine.
He wouldn''t know until he tried. For now, he just had to fight until an opening presented itself. There wasn''t time to make a plan any more detailed than that. No way he came in peace.
Adam fell into a battle stance ¨C just as Eric, still on the ground, wobbled around like a worm and cried out, "Wait, wait! Hear me out! It really wasn''t my fault! C''mon, man!"
"Why would I bother listening to you?" Adam seethed. Although his voice raged with fury, his thoughts remained frighteningly calm. Eric is strong. Even if he''s just pretending to be apologetic, it might be worth playing along instead of escalating.
Which was easier said than done.. His fists trembled, demanding more blood. "You had your chance right after the contest ¨C and you threw me under the bus!"
"I couldn''t have explained it there!" Eric exclaimed, seeming to lose patience. "Listen...can we talk? Please? C''mon." He looked up at Adam with a pleading gaze, smiled nervously. "It''s totally fair if you hate me for what happened, but I promise that I hate myself way more for doing something so awful to my best friend."
Guilt stabbed at Adam''s heart. Self-loathing launched a follow-up attack immediately after. Why should he have to feel guilty? It was ridiculous ¨C bordering on pathetic ¨Cfor his hatred of Eric to waver for even a single second.. How long had it been since Adam had managed to go to bed without thinking of how much he resented his former friend? Almost a year now?
No...less than that. The thought was both abrupt and surprising. Sometimes, lately, I''ve just been so busy that I forgot to hate him.
Huh.
Adam chose not to unpack that thought just yet. Instead, he shook his head and refused to let go of his anger. "No. Get out of my sight."
"See, I can''t do that either," Eric said, apologetically. "Had to write to the Emperor to get an excuse to come to the Mines ¨C which means I''m now here on official business. Just leaving isn''t an option."
"On that," Tenver said, suddenly appearing with his sword drawn, "we agree."
Whether it was due to the knight''s stealth or Adam and Eric distracting each other, Tenver had quickly stepped up beside the fallen Hangman, lifting Eric''s chin up with his blade. "A Hangman should not be allowed in the Puppet Mines, by either law or reason. How did you come here?"
"And you are..." Eric squinted his eyes, chin still resting on the edge of Tenver''s sword, then smiled in belated realization. "Oh! You''re the kid of the former Emperor, right? Fancy seeing you here. Sorry, you don''t have clearance for this conversation. Can you go?"
Adam heard Tenver''s gauntlets grip his sword handle tighter. "I asked a question."
Eric sighed. "And in return, I''ll ask you one of mine. Do you know what Hangmen are capable of? Do you know how useless any serious attempt at hurting me would be? Do you really think you can order me around, pretty boy?"
"Aye, Hangman. Neither my lord nor I could hope to hurt you with our Talents." Tenver''s voice was nonetheless unperturbed. "However, you might not survive if this cavern was to experience a sudden cave-in."
"Well, maybe not," Eric said, laughing. "But you definitely wouldn''t survive." His laughter faded slightly when he saw Tenver''s smirk. "And you...don''t care."
Tenver''s grin only widened. The two held their gazes for a time, until finally, Eric gave an aggrieved sigh and shrugged. "Great. Just my luck that Adam was having tea and biscuits with a suicidal bastard," he muttered. "Fine ¨C what do you want? I need to talk to my friend here!"
"You have not my lord''s permission to address him," Tenver said, with an overly-amiable tone, "so I shall speak in his stead. Unless I''ve mistaken my lord''s intentions?"
Adam shook his head. "No. Go ahead." If anything, he was glad to have some extra time to process his emotions.
And his knight was happy enough to take the lead. "Answer my question, Hangman," Tenver began. "How and why did you get here?"
"I''m like Adam," Eric said. "I''ve got more than one Talent. One of them lets me breathe underwater, sort of. Also have some stealth Talents that let me sneak by unnoticed. I''m sure Adam has similar things. Lucky us, eh? Wonder if it happens to everyone from Earth."
YOU GODDAMN IMBECILE! Temporarily, Adam forgot about his fury over Eric''s past sins, but only because his present transgressions were even more infuriating. While Tenver had alluded to being aware of Adam''s origins, there was no way Eric knew that fact. This idiot was just spouting out secrets like they didn''t matter. Had he always been that dumb?
Thankfully, Tenver didn''t appear concerned about this particular point. "What of your reasons for coming here?" he insisted. "If you can''t convince me that they are sufficiently reasonable, then I might just have to drown us in the rain of a crumbling cave."
"C''mon. I know you''re the serious, royal type and all, but..." Eric let out a dismissive cackle. "Like, you''re not really gonna kill yourself on a whim just on the off chance I came with bad intentions, right?"
"Earlier, you asked me if I knew what you were capable of. I am. And you ¨C a Hangman ¨C have entered one of the last bastions for Puppets. Should you prove a risk to them, why..."
Tenver copied Eric''s cackle, then finished it off by raising his chin and flashing an eerie sort of smirk. "Mayhap I would call that gamble a bargain."
Adam had no desire to intervene in the conversation just yet, but his past with both men told him that things could and would escalate if he didn''t say something. "Eric," he stated, in a dry tone, "don''t test him. Tenver isn''t lying."
"You''ve gotta be fucking with me," Eric said, gaping open-mouthed at them. "That''s a bluff. You just don''t want to talk to me."
Images of the numerous decapitated heads inside leather bags flashed in Adam''s mind. "Really, really not bluffing. He''d do it."
Eric alternated between sending a disbelieving stare at both men, before eventually throwing his arms up in exasperation. "Okay, then what do you suggest?" he demanded. "I have an explanation, but what if it''s not enough to convince that pretty psycho over there?"
An idea came to Adam''s mind. "Let''s bring you to the Grandmaster. You can make your case to him."
"Hold on. You think I''m a danger to the Puppets, so you want to...take me to their King? Seriously?" Eric cackled again, veering into a sneer at the end. "For the sake of all that fucks, please tell me that at least you aren''t that dumb, Adam. The robot lover over there ain''t gonna go for it."
"Actually, in fact I find my lord''s idea to be most splendid," Tenver said, sharing a quick glance with Adam. "Let us go at once."
This would have been a terrible plan under any other circumstances, but right now it was their best chance at getting Eric under control. Even now, Adam couldn''t forget the overwhelming pressure he''d felt when standing near the Grandmaster. If anyone here can kill Eric...it''s him. There was always the chance Eric might be able to kill the Grandmaster, but in that case, there was no real plan B, regardless. Not one with any chance at succeeding.
Furthermore, Adam also had another reason for his suggestion. I think I can use the presence of a Hangman in the Mines as a bargaining chip. Even if Eric was bullshitting them ¨C which he probably was ¨C Adam could pretend to play along, get him out of the Mines, in exchange for the Grandmaster agreeing to some concessions.
"Alright, then let''s get going," Eric grunted. "It''s been a long fucking day. I want sleep."
At that, without waiting for a response, Eric leaped to his feet, pushing Tenver''s blade away from his neck like the weapon was a mild inconvenience. He started walking towards the tunnels, only turning around to say, "Yo, start moving. I''m tired, remember?" before leaving without a care in the world.
As if he''d never considered that Tenver or Adam might attack him while his back was turned. Or worse, maybe he had considered that ¨C and came to the conclusion that it wouldn''t matter if they tried. Also, where is that stupid fuck going? He doesn''t know where the Grandmaster is!
"Let''s get going," Tenver murmured. "I don''t want him alone in the tunnels."
"I''m with you on that one." Adam paused. "I...may have to catch you up on a few things at some point."
"Later," the knight said, with a dismissive wave. "More importantly, thanks for backing me up when I was bluffing."
Adam laughed. "Please. You weren''t bluffing. If you really thought he was about to go on a rampage, you wouldn''t have thought twice about killing yourself to try and bury a Hangman alive."
"True," Tenver acknowledged, gesturing for the two to start walking. "Not sure if I could''ve killed you to do that, though."
--
It was an oddly quiet walk to the Grandmaster''s Workshop. Eric didn''t attempt to explain himself further, Tenver made no further threats, and Adam was more than content to have some time to sort out his feelings.
Eric...why did you do it?
Adam knew that was a silly question with an obvious answer: jealousy and greed. No matter how many times he thought of the whole thing, that was the only possibility that made sense. Eric had believed that Adam''s painting looked amazing, and wanted to take credit for it ¨C whether for the glory, the prize, or both.
Even so, there was a part of him that hoped he was wrong. A part deep, deep inside him that still wished, still begged for there to be a good reason why Eric had done it, always searching for any sort of justification that would let the two be friends once more.
Worst of all, if he was being fully honest...he didn''t have to dig very deep into his heart to find that wish.
Don''t hesitate, Adam told himself. He gripped his shirt over his chest, as if threatening his heart to stay quiet. Don''t you dare trust him. Never again. He had repeated that last thought to himself countless times over the past few months. Occasionally, he would drop the ''him'' from it.
Their trio didn''t take long to reach the Grandmaster''s Workshop. Once they''d arrived and introduced themselves, Eric stepped forward, leaning into a grandiose bow. "Allow me to make things clear, Your Puppet Majesty," he said. "This is all in our best interests, you see."
To Adam''s mild surprise, the Grandmaster didn''t appear surprised at the three requesting an emergency audience. Then again, even if he was surprised, chances were that the Puppet''s expression was hidden by the dark shadows in his throne room. And considering how he seemed to have eyes everywhere, maybe he was already aware of Eric''s presence in the Mines.
Which raises the question...why let him come talk to Tenver and me? Why weren''t we warned?
But this wasn''t the time to think about that ¨C not while Eric was trying to explain himself. Adam had to listen closely.
"My story starts on Earth," Eric began, in a theatrical tone, prompting Adam to cringe at his openness. "I met with a man you know by the name of Lawrence, the First Painter. You, ah, do know him, yeah?"
From atop his throne, the Grandmaster nodded. "Aye. Our paths have crossed before."
"Well, I met him after Adam told me about the contest. Lawrence told me everything." Eric shrugged both shoulders and raised his hands, as if that was explanation enough. When no immediate praise followed, an annoyed smile crept up his face. "Oh, for fuck''s sake ¨C let''s not play riddles here. The guy told me about the Painted World, and about how he was looking for a Painter to come help him fight the Rot."
In the near-total darkness of the Grandmaster''s Workshop, Adam couldn''t make out Eric''s face as he said this. However, he could feel the Puppet King''s oppressive aura stirring in disarray, like a flame that grew wilder and stronger after a gust of wind. "You claim that to be his goal? Speak, Hangman!" the Grandmaster demanded. "Lawrence wants to fight the Rot?"
"I mean, yeah, why wouldn''t he?" Eric asked, scornfully. "Have you seen it? Rot kinda sucks. Thing is, the plan sounded really dangerous, and when I saw Adam''s painting..."
Eric trailed off, a hint of regret entering his tone. "I knew he was going to win. And I just couldn''t let my best friend get himself involved with something life-threatening, you know?"
Never had Adam wanted something as badly as he wanted to see Eric''s face while his former friend uttered those words. Are you...are you serious? Or is that more bullshit so I''ll buy your explanation? He strained his eyes, but the darkness was unrelenting, shrouding Eric''s expression in a mask of dusk.
Not that it mattered. Even if Adam could see his face, and somehow found a sorrowful expression there, he wouldn''t have been ready to believe it just yet. Eric fooled me into thinking he was my friend for years. How hard would it be for him to trick me one more time? I can''t listen to my emotions ¨C I have to listen to cold, hard reason.
"Why didn''t you explain that to me before?" Adam asked, softly. "And why did Lawrence tell you everything before you won his contest?"
"You wouldn''t have believed me!" Eric protested. "At the time, you were desperate for money, driving yourself crazy, seeing things that weren''t there, thinking I didn''t love art anymore ¨C no way you would''ve been objective about it, man."
Yes, I would have. If you had told me that my room was on fire, I''d have jumped out the window without a second thought. That''s how much I trusted you. You knew that. You know that. "And what about Lawrence?"
"Don''t ask me!" Eric fired back. "Look, we''re talking about an insane sorta-immortal magic man who owns paintings you can jump into. I don''t understand why he did any of this shit. Maybe he revealed his secrets because he thought it would motivate me? I mean, I was sort of in a slump at the time, and Lawrence wanted the best possible artist he could get."
His tone brightened. "Of course, back then, the best was you, Adam. And I couldn''t let you get dragged into danger because of that."
Adam wanted to believe him. If it was true, then not only did Eric not betray him, but he''d done what he did out of a sense of friendship. There were discrepancies in his explanation, but it was so tempting, so easy for Adam to just push it all into the back of his mind...
He said I was looking for things that weren''t there, that he always loved art ¨C but he also just admitted he was in a slump.
...So easy to not think about it. All he had to do was set aside his doubts, and he could have his best friend back. The man he grew up with for years. The person who comforted him when his mom died. The genius he followed to college. The artist who inspired his passion. So tempting, so easy, so much to gain...
If he just ignored that feeling of wrong screaming inside him.
"Of course, you ended up here anyway," Eric said, with undisguised bitterness. "It was all for nothing. Figured the least I could do is try to help out in any way I can. So...you know. Here I am. Heard the Emperor wants you dead for treason, and I decided to fix that."
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
The Grandmaster spoke up first. "How? A mere Hangman cannot raise his voice against the Emperor."
"No ¨C but he can ask for a prize." Eric tossed an envelope at the throne. It was a long distance, yet the letter smoothly flew across before it came to rest in the Puppet King''s firm grasp. "I did some research and found out about a Ghost killing travelers to the Puppet Mines. Wrote to the Emperor asking what kind of reward the person who killed it could get. That was my excuse for chasing after Adam, yeah?"
The Grandmaster opened the envelope with a thunderous, clashing motion, as if he were splitting the very skies rather than reading a letter. "The Emperor''s seal," he whispered. "It is real."
Beside Adam, Tenver''s fist clenched fast and violently enough that he could hear the motion in the dark.
After a brief pause, the Grandmaster pressed on. "The Emperor claims to find the Ghost not only distasteful, but also most concerning, as it could easily escape the ship and attack..."
The Grandmaster hesitated. When he continued, it was in a harsher, more severe tone. "...And attack actual people." A heavy silence fell over the room. "As for your reward: the Emperor says he would grant amnesty for any crimes committed against the Empire."
"An odd prize to mention in a letter," Tenver sharply stated. "Treasures, land, marriages...there''s so much more an Emperor can promise a man. Crimes? How oddly convenient."
Eric laughed with renewed bitterness. "Yeah, see...I may have committed my fair share of, well, I don''t want to say crimes, but let''s say the Emperor has been mildly inconvenienced by some things I might have done. And let''s say that maybe the fines are getting heavy." He shrugged. "Would you believe that''s why the Emperor used amnesty as bait for me to do his dirty work?"
That, Adam could believe.
"It''s not like the other Hangmen would''ve wanted to mess with Puppets," Eric said, through a huff. "I mean, look at me! I''m practically a hostage right now. Who''d want to risk their lives for this?"
No need to risk your life, though, Adam noted. You could''ve raided Baltsar''s ship while it was docked somewhere, killed the Ghost of Waters, and never gone into the Mines at all.
"Clarify your purpose," the Grandmaster ordered. "Make yourself plain."
"Haven''t I done that already?" Eric sighed again, as if he found the Grandmaster beneath his intelligence. "Adam is my best friend. I tried to keep him away from this world, and failed. Since he''s here, I''ll at least try to get him forgiven for stealing Aspreay''s soul and taking over his city. He happened to kill the Ghost before I could, which, hey, means less work for me."
The Grandmaster didn''t allow Adam to respond. "Then is your business here done?" he asked, dryly. "Will you take your leave, Hangman?"
"Oh yeah, of course...as soon as Adam agrees to leave with me. If he insists on being stubborn, I''ll just hang around here for a little while longer ''til he changes his mind. You won''t mind if I abuse your hospitality, will you?"
It was a loaded question. Eric was capable of besting nearly every single person in the Mines, except for arguably the Grandmaster himself. And considering how much restraint the ruler was exhibiting right now, Adam doubted that it would be an easy battle. Eric is being brash because he knows that a fight, win or lose, would result in lots of collateral damage. Enough that the Grandmaster just wants him gone.
A heavy silence stretched on. Eventually, Eric broke it by clapping his hands together. "Fine. You want more incentive? How about this ¨C I stole an ability off that fuckhead from Gama''s corpse. I can control Curses."
Baffled, Adam stepped towards him. "Wait! You...you stole Belmordo''s Talent? I thought you killed him!"
"I did!" Eric beamed. "You''re welcome for that, by the way."
Don''t thank me, I played you for a useful idiot. "You can steal Talents from corpses?"
"You can''t?" Eric sounded sincerely surprised. Then, with more hesitation, he added, "Well, only for a few minutes after death ¨C if their soul hasn''t completely left their body. Even then, the Talent tends to be weaker than it would''ve been if they were alive. Sometimes there''s also glitches that...anyway, doesn''t matter! Know what does? That I can place Curses on myself. Get what I mean, King of the Puppets?"
The Grandmaster let out a low, thoughtful hum that reverberated through the workshop. "You mean to use it as a bargaining tool?"
"Yes. Watch me!"
Eric Gryphon
Curse:
If Adam accompanies Eric Gryphon out of the Puppet Mines, and meets with the Emperor regarding the absolution of all crimes committed against the Empire, then Eric Gryphon shall never set foot inside the Puppet Mines again.
Adam blinked in disbelief, glancing at his tablet a couple times to make sure he''d read it correctly. Had Eric just willingly placed a curse on himself? No ¨C that''s not all.
"If you can convince Adam to let me take him to the Emperor," Eric joyfully explained, "then you''ll have a guarantee, on penalty of death, that I will never burden you with my presence again. And as I''m the only Hangman who can easily go through your multiple layers of natural defense...it''s a pretty good deal, isn''t it?"
It was, in fact, an extremely good deal for the Grandmaster. Yet that wasn''t what caught Adam''s attention the most. Rather, it was how this was also a good deal for him.
The curse would force me to go with him to meet the Emperor, but it also acknowledges that the supposed prize for having killed the Ghost is real...and I have killed the Ghost, so that could be good for me, but...
But going along with it would mean trusting Eric.
"Well, feel free to think things over," the Hangman announced. "I''m going to get some sleep."
"I shall walk you to your quarters," Tenver said, with zero inflection. Even in the darkness, Adam could make out his knight''s shape walking toward the plagiarist. "You are prohibited from exploring the Mines unattended."
"Ah, right, right. Guess I''m technically your prisoner for now, huh?" Eric barked out a mocking laugh. "Isn''t it funny? You gotta find this at least a little funny. I''m your prisoner, but only because I''m allowing you. Isn''t that kinda odd?"
"Walk," Tenver said, in a blunt monotone. "Now."
Eric laughed again, as if Tenver had been joking around with him. "Yeah, of course. Let me just give my good friend a hug before I leave."
Without waiting for a response, Eric started making his way toward Adam. And without waiting for consent, he wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. The embrace brought Adam back to his first day of college, when they''d reunited after a year of separation. "I missed you, buddy," Eric said, in a low voice.
It took everything Adam had not to hug him back. Don''t trust him. Don''t trust him. Don''t trust him. Don''t¨C
"One more thing," Eric added, in an even lower voice. "Be sure to extort as much money from the robot as you can. Your city needs it, right?"
Adam stared at his vague shape in the darkness. Even without being able to make out his expression, there was no mistaking that smirk anywhere. For a while Adam stood there in silence, processing what he''d just heard. It was only after he heard Eric and Tenver''s footsteps disappearing into the tunnels that he let himself reach a conclusion.
He placed that curse on himself so that the Grandmaster has reason to give me anything I want in a negotiation, Adam reasoned. Eric is trying to...do things for me. Show me that he cares.
That wasn''t necessarily a good thing.
But it could wait.
Such things were the problems of Adam, broke college student. Right now it was time to stand as Adam, Lord of Penumbria. "Grandmaster," he began, in a serious tone, "how should I address you? It occurs to me now that I know not whether to call you Serena, your title, or something else."
The Puppet let out an amused chuckle, with the slightest hints of bitterness at the end. "Pity that even I don''t know sometimes. My original body seems so distant...yet my existence persists nonetheless. Life has this ever-annoying habit of forcing you to bear with reality. But you know that as well as I, don''t you, Painter?"
"Less so than you," Adam politely replied. "But to a degree? Yes."
He nodded, seeming to straighten his posture. "My title is Grandmaster, and that is how you will refer to me." There was a pause. "Although this generation knows me as Armando."
"This generation?" Adam asked quickly. "They''ve known you as other things?"
The Grandmaster ¨C Armando ¨C laughed. "It''s better to fool your friends if you can. As far as the Puppets are aware, we''ve had a new Grandmaster every hundred years or so, each after the last perishes. My eternal bodies are a secret to all."
It didn''t escape Adam that the Grandmaster had seen fit to inform him regardless. Why? A show of trust, an allowance given his demands to know more of Earth, or...was there another reason?
Either way, another thought stood out to him even more. And it was the perfect starter to put the Grandmaster off-balance during their negotiations.
"Surely you jest!" Adam loudly exclaimed. "Grandmaster, do you truly mistake that absurdity for truth?"
Armando remained impassive. "No one knows of this ability, or of my multiple identities. It is much easier to control the Mines this way."
"You really think so?" Adam began. "Then let me ask you a question, Grandmaster. How do you think Valeria meant to kill the Ghost of Waters?"
"The detective woman? What does she have to do with¨C"
"Valeria admitted multiple times that even if she managed to solve the mystery behind the murders, she wouldn''t be able to kill the Ghost. Yet she also seemed content to force it out of hiding anyway. Why do you think so?"
The Grandmaster''s laughter echoed throughout the room, emanating from multiple bodies within the cavern walls. "She knew of your skill, Painter."
"But she didn''t know I was going to be there," Adam pointed out. "And she still boarded that ship with the intention to slay the Ghost of Waters. With that in mind...what do you think her original plan was?"
All dozens of bodies fell silent at once. "Make your meaning clear."
"Maybe you missed her declaration. I believe you were hiding somewhere as Serena at the time. See, at one point, Valeria attacked the Ghost of Waters in a rage."
Ferrero cried out in shock as Valeria cried out in revenge, the Detective raising her sword and ignoring Adam''s order. "DAMN¡ªYOU¡ªTO¡ªTHE¡ªROT!" She leaped forward. "GRANDMASTER IF ONLY YOU¡ª"
"Curious choice of words, wasn''t it? ''Grandmaster if only you¨C'' Now what could she have meant by that?"
Adam let his words hang in the air for a cruel moment. I want you to feel curious. To want me to keep talking. To feel like I know more than you. To feel like I''m your equal.
It was a tall order when confronting a nigh-immortal being with multiple bodies, but Adam lacked enough shame to attempt it. "I''ll tell you what she meant ¨C you were absent from the room, and thus couldn''t help with our fight. Her original intention was to corner the monster, then force you to reveal yourself."
"That''s not possible, that''s...that insolent detective!" The Grandmaster''s fury was sincere, burning bright red. "For what reason would she do so?"
"Leverage, most likely. You forbade her from leaving the Mines without your say-so." Probably because she was nosy enough to have discovered some inconvenient truths. Every ruler had a few of those. "Valeria planned on forcing your secret out in front of Ferrero, who she planned to use as an extra witness."
I''m not sure if she''s aware that Ferrero is in love with her. She might just think of him as an old acquaintance that would be amicable to a deal like this. Either way, it''d be easy for her to keep him on her side.
"Understand, Grandmaster? Your secrets aren''t as safe as you think." Chances were, only Valeria knew of it. "Your power is not as mighty as you presume." Truthfully, just standing in his presence made Adam want to pass out. "You don''t know half of what I do." This would only be true if the Puppet was more ignorant of Earth than it seemed. "And I''m offering to help the Puppets establish relations with the Empire. Do you really think you can refuse my price now?"
It wasn''t the silence that hurt, but what it heralded. Every time Grandmaster Armando contemplated something, the atmosphere ¨C the sheer aura of his strength ¨C seemed to burn the air around them. As more time passed, Adam found it harder to breathe, his vision started to blur...
And still his knees would not bend..
"What number did you specify before?" the Grandmaster said, at last. "Ten million orbs?"
"I believe so."
"Fine," he grunted. "You can have them."
Adam shook his head. "Yeah. So. The price changed. It''s 20 million now."
"PAINTER!" The Grandmaster cried out in disbelief. "Do not mock me."
"That''s my line, Armando. 20 million, and it won''t go any lower."
"I already know the original price is sufficient. Before, you said it was an acceptable amount¨C"
Adam held out his hand to interrupt the Puppet. "And when I said that, you didn''t have the safety of your people hinging on me leaving the Mines peacefully with a Hangman, did you?"
Even now, Adam couldn''t bring himself to trust Eric ¨C which didn''t matter much when it came to negotiations. Whether the man was sincerely trying to make amends, or was using this ploy as bait, Adam would gladly milk it for all that it was worth. And if I''m forced to see the Emperor...I''d rather greet him with more Orbs in my pocket.
"How dare you!" The Grandmaster bellowed. "You would use my people''s lives as bargaining chips?!"
"Why not? You seemed perfectly happy to use my people''s lives as bargaining chips a moment earlier. Weren''t you trying to convince me to accept the deal for their sake?"
Adam stared unflinchingly into the darkness. After a while, he felt as though the darkness stared back at him. His heartbeat raced, his breath caught, his world started to spin, and he heard the Grandmaster say: "Accept the deal, Painter. 20 Million Orbs¨C"
"¨C21 Million," Adam replied, firmly. "Every time you reject my offer, the price goes up."
"Do you have any idea how easily I could kill you, Painter? Do you understand how a mere snap of my fingers could compress your body into specks of dust so small that your loved ones would be unable to throw them to the wind at your funeral? Do you understand¨C"
"¨C22 Million."
"¨CPuppets would never let the secret of your death get out. We will face no repercussions. Penumbria would be hunted down, burned¨C"
"¨C23 Million." Adam smirked at the darkness. "Kill me if you must. It won''t be good for your people, though."
The silence that followed was contested only by the angry grunts muttered by the Grandmaster. "Painter...my own people need Orbs as well. I cannot afford¨C"
"¨C24 Million." Adam let his declaration sink into the Puppet''s mind for a moment. "You''re free to make any speeches you want, Grandmaster. I won''t stop you. But it will cost you to make me listen to them. 24 Million Orbs, and I''ll tell you everything I know about Earth, then leave the Mines with Eric."
At this, the Grandmaster surrendered.
Chapter 34
When the time for farewells came, Ferrero took Adam aside. The steely glint in his eyes made him seem like more of a duelist than ever before. He grasped Adam''s hand, shaking firmly.
"Be careful of the Hangman," he warned. Even during their handshake, Ferrero''s eyes were following Eric as he entered the ship. "One wrong move, and you will die."
Adam slowly nodded. "Any reason you think I shouldn''t trust him?"
"He''s a Hangman of the Empire, for one. Means he''s a dog of the man who ordered the extermination of my kind." Ferrero frowned, then glared at the door where Eric had disappeared into. "And it means he''s virtually unbeatable, for another. Few could survive a Hangman, and even fewer could best one."
I suppose that would be his opinion, wouldn''t it? Too biased though. Can''t take it as evidence that I should distrust Eric.
There were plenty of other valid reasons to do that.
"Really now?" Adam asked, trying to force his expression into a playful grin. "That means a lot coming from the man who was styling on the Ghost of Waters. Especially since it almost killed everyone on Baltsar''s ship. You think that even you would have trouble with the Hangman in a one-on-one match?"
The question was meant as a joke, but Ferrero answered it in complete earnest. "No," he replied, his grin matching Adam''s. "I''d certainly win."
Adam flinched at the declaration. Immediately, his brief concern turned to relief. Damn. I''m just glad he''s on our side. For now, at least. Ferrero''s Talent had limitations, true, but if someone engineered a situation where he could make the most of it regardless...
"We''ll meet again," the duelist promised him. "So keep your guard up around the Hangman. I can''t teach you to fight if you die first."
"Don''t worry about that," Adam assured him. "I have no intention of letting my guard down."
No matter how much a part of him wanted to.
--
It felt eerie to step back onto the ship. Last time, Adam had boarded the strange vessel knowing full well that he could be walking into a trap. This time, he was the one who could set a trap if he wanted to.
And honestly? The jury was still out on that idea.
While trying to assassinate a Hangman was ill-advised, if you were set on it...there were few places better than aboard a flying ship you had total control over. Then again, Eric had apparently swam after the ship using his plagiarized Talents, so it wasn''t as much of an advantage as it initially seemed.
On the other hand, the ship''s barrier would keep Eric trapped inside until they arrived at their destination ¨C or the entire thing was destroyed. Maybe that could be exploited somehow.
Wonder if he''d survive if I flew this thing straight into the sun, Adam pondered, gazing out the window as the ship submerged. Actually, does the Painted World even have a sun? Is it just a yellow dot in the sky? Are there other planets? How does any of this work, exactly?
There were plenty of questions that Adam hadn''t enjoyed the luxury of considering until now. If Lawrence, the First Painter, did indeed create this world, then maybe there were unfinished¨C
"Whatcha thinking about, broski?" Eric asked, tossing an arm over his shoulder. "That''s way too serious a look on your face, you know?"
There was an almost invisible tightening of Adam''s jaw before he relaxed into a smile and carefully removed Eric''s arm from his shoulder. "Personal space, man," Adam said, in a friendly tone. Don''t you dare act this close to me. You think I believe you? That I forgive you? Burn in hell, jackass. "I wasn''t really thinking of anything important."
Eric forcibly put his arm around Adam''s shoulder again. The strength of a Hangman abruptly manifested itself, and Adam realized with mounting horror that he could no longer free himself.
Despite this, Eric still looked relaxed. When he spoke, it was as if the whole thing was a joke. "C''mon man ¨C you don''t have to hold out on me. I know all your dumb past, yeah? Whatcha thinking, c''mon, spill!"
Aside from the supernatural tightening of his grip, Eric still seemed intent on passing this off as friendly banter. Worst of all, maybe to him this really was just friendly banter.
Fine. I''ll play along. "I was just thinking about how to kill you," Adam said, with a wide smile.
That elicited the slightest of hesitations from Eric ¨C before the Hangman burst out laughing, so suddenly and so close to Adam''s face that he nearly spat on him. "You''re hilarious sometimes, dude. Man, I missed you."
Adam''s heart tightened for a moment. I missed you too...but nostalgia just makes the scars ache more. "I wasn''t kidding. I really was wondering how to kill you."
Eric only laughed harder. "Some people just always gotta be annoyingly practical, eh? Don''t bother, though. Not like you could."
At that, Adam wrapped his Stained Vines around Eric''s hand to pull it away, then shot a glare at him. It was partly performative. He wasn''t truly set on killing Eric ¨C even if he couldn''t trust the man, there was merit to playing along with this theater.
With that said...more than anything else, Adam couldn''t stand the idea of being underestimated.
"It would be pretty easy if I wanted to." Though Adam''s tone was matter-of-fact, he meant it as a taunt, and it was received as such. "Your curse will kill you if I don''t go see the Emperor with you, right?"
"What about it?" Eric replied quickly. Too quickly. His smile was still on his face, but there was a certain uneasiness to it now.
"You rushed when making your move. If you''d taken your time, you probably could''ve negotiated better terms." Adam wasn''t just criticizing him with empty words. Eric had all the cards in his hand; his self-imposed curse wasn''t necessary. "What, your ego couldn''t allow you to look weak, even for a second?"
Again, Eric laughed. "Be reasonable, man. You know I only did that to make your negotiations with the Puppet King easier."
His response was fast enough that it was nearly believable. Unless he''d just made a mistake earlier, and was now trying to blame it on his supposed selflessness. Or, an unwanted voice whispered in Adam''s head, maybe he''s telling the truth ¨C and you''ve forgotten how to trust people.
He shoved the voice aside. "I''ll be frank. If I don''t meet with the Emperor, you die. All it takes is me moving this ship somewhere else."
Eric''s grin widened, his eyelids lowered just slightly, and he let out a soft, low chuckle. "Adam...do you really think that would work? Give me two minutes and I could destroy this ship, send your friends plummeting to their deaths, then swim to the surface carrying you in my arms."
It was hard not to believe his threat when Adam remembered the tunnel between Penumbria and Gama. That thing had once been a mountain so large and impassable that merchants preferred to walk a long, treacherous route around rather than attempt to scale it. And yet, a single Hangman blew a hole in the mountain so wide it became a tunnel that stood to this day.
This wasn''t a bluff. Eric really could do exactly what he''d described.
No wonder you look so confident, Adam thought as he watched Eric''s grin grow increasingly smug. However...you aren''t accounting for all the variables.
"I guess with your Talents you could probably keep me alive if you did that," Adam reasoned. When the other man nodded, Adam nodded alongside him. "Wouldn''t do much good if I killed myself, though."
The grin vanished in a flash. "What the hell are you talking about?" Eric demanded angrily. "That''s a ridiculous hypothetical, dude. Who the hell would commit suicide out of spite?"
"I would." Adam surprised even himself with how prompt his answer was. At first he meant it as a bluff, but it dawned on him that he would happily die if it guaranteed Eric''s death too. I miss him, a part of me hopes we can be friends again...and a larger part of me hates him so much I''d die with a smile on my face to send him to his grave.
The thought almost gave him pause. I might be more messed up than I thought, huh? "Do you think I''m lying?"
After regarding Adam for a lengthy moment, Eric released a sharp, skeptical snort that crescendoed into a tone of exasperation. "Fine, maybe you would," he admitted. Then, he added in a bitter tone, "What, do you want a cookie? Maybe if I promise you some candy you won''t kill yourself until dinner?"
In truth, Adam didn''t actually want anything. He was just making a point. He also wouldn''t back down from a challenge. "Why don''t you make yourself more believable, Eric? I mean, I''m probably not going to kill myself...but if you''re so nervous...maybe throw me an extra bone here."
Adam smirked. Eric wasn''t nearly as reckless as he was. Prone to overextending his position due to his own ego, yes, but this was the man who hadn''t pursued a career as a famous artist because he thought it was too unrealistic. Depending on the situation, Eric could be indecisive to the point of sin.
"Fine," the Hangman barked out. "How''s this? Look at your tablet."
So he can see my tablet, Adam noted. He checked it to find a new message written within.
Eric Gryphon
Curse:
-I will die if I don''t bring Adam to see the Emperor. The subject of this meeting will be the Emperor granting amnesty for severe crimes.
"Is that enough for you to finally trust me?" Eric grunted. "Or do you need more?" His annoyance was so sincere that for a fleeting second, Adam felt guilty over doubting him ¨C before his common sense took over once again.
What now? Pushing things here could be unwise. Eric had already given Adam more than he needed to, and the Hangman was starting to get heated over his treatment. He''s always overly-prudent until his emotions take over...and then he blows up. If I push him too far...
Adam shook his head. No. This isn''t the time to be timid. "You could be planning on taking credit for slaying the Ghost of Waters," he pointed out. "After all, it''s like you said ¨C the Emperor isn''t too keen on some of the things you''ve done."
A thunderous sound echoed across the room as Eric punched the wall behind them. The Hangman''s fist went through the ship''s wall, and Adam felt in his soul that it bounced off the barrier outside. "You ¨C oh for fuckery''s sake ¨C Adam, are you serious?" When no response came, Eric punctuated his demand with another punch and an angry scream of, "Do you really not trust me this much?"
Very rarely had Adam ever feel thankful to his father for anything. This was one of those times. I know how to not seem scared here. "Make me feel bad, then," Adam pressed. "Give me no reason to doubt you, then watch as I feel like shit for treating you unfairly."
This appeared to win Eric over. "Fine!"
Eric Gryphon
Curse:
-I will die if I don''t bring Adam to see the Emperor. The subject of this meeting will be the Emperor granting amnesty for severe crimes. I will not take credit from slaying the Ghost of Water. I will acknowledge that the Ghost of Waters was killed during the journey from Penumbria to the Puppet Mines, which I was not part of. I could not have slain the Ghost from outside the ship.
"How about now?" Eric yelled. "Are you satisfied, goddamn it?" His fist caved another hole in the wall, and his head fell low. Twice he breathed out, and when the Hangman spoke again, it was in a soft, hurt tone. "Do you...trust me? C''mon, man."
Adam wasn''t sure whether Eric was trying to make him feel guilty, or whether the feeling was natural. The result was the same. "Of course I trust you, Eric."
--
"I don''t trust Eric in the slightest," Adam told Solara and Tenver as they converged in the knight''s room. "Watch yourselves around him. No matter what he says, don''t listen."
Solara nodded in response as she peered out of a window. Tenver didn''t look up from his work, although he let out a sound of acknowledgement. The Puppet had taken off his armor and laid out a set of tools set in front of him, absently fiddling with his wooden arm ¨C which was now absurdly large, twice as long and wide as usual.
"Does your arm get bigger when you aren''t wearing armor?" Adam asked. "It never looked like that before."
"Aye, my lord," Tenver acknowledged. "It''s part of how I am able to hide it so well. My armor is made to allow my arm to compress into a smaller size."
"Valeria and the other Puppets seemed to have regular arms," Adam pointed out. "Why is yours so different?"
"Let us say that keeping my soul from leaving the atmosphere was a...rush job," Tenver said, with a casual shrug and a heavy sigh. "Even while dying, I knew that I would need more strength to return my dear uncle the gift of death that he kindly bestowed upon us."
Adam was left with a sort of shocked wonderment. What kind of mental state did someone need to be in to ask for their body to be experimented on? All for the sake of revenge?
A moment later, he realized that ¨C with the right timing ¨C he would''ve gladly agreed to the same regarding Eric. "Do you regret your decision?"
"No," Tenver promptly answered. "You saw its power firsthand against the Ghost of Waters. My Talent is empowered by this arm. The only problem is...well, no one will follow a half-Puppet Emperor."
His declaration should have stunned Adam and Solara both, yet neither so much as stirred. You never knelt to me when I usurped Penumbria from Aspreay, Adam recalled. And not for appearances, either. Yet even now, you still think of yourself as the rightful Emperor...how ambitious are you, Tenver?
Adam smiled. I don''t dislike that about you, though. "Do you plan on keeping it secret forever?"
"At least until this hand has a firm enough grasp on power that none can wrest it away." He clenched his wooden Puppet fist. "I''ve risked my life to keep its secret on many occasions."
Adam could imagine. He''d only ever seen Tenver fight with a sword during their fight against the Ghost, despite the knight''s Talent of archery. Restraining himself to that degree...it couldn''t have been easy. "Eric doesn''t know about it, I imagine?"
"If he does, then I fear I may have to kill your old friend," Tenver nonchalantly stated. "Keeping this a secret is rather difficult, my lord, and sometimes there is a need to cover up mistakes in red dye."
"You''re always ready for murder, Tenver."
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere."Ah, my lord ¨C if only murder could solve the worst of it," the Puppet Knight lamented. "Can you hazard a guess at how inconvenient it is to engage in daily repairs without revealing my Puppetry?"
Adam tilted his head. "Honestly never considered that. It must be pretty difficult, huh?"
"Quite," Tenver sadly replied. "Since you two are aware of it by now, I thought it would do no harm to get started while we planned for the future. That said..." He trailed off and shifted his eyes to Solara. "Perhaps I was mistaken."
His silent gaze persisted until it briefly pulled Solara''s attention from the window. She shot a fleeting, noncommittal glance their way, looked back at the window ¨C then did a quick double-take, half-panicked as she noticed they''d been peering at her expectedly.
"What is..." Solara blinked as her thoughts caught up to the conversation. After a brief shake of her head, she pressed on. "There''s no harm in you taking care of your arm."
"You say that, my lady," Tenver began, with a theatrical tone, "yet those eyes of yours have been fixated on the window ever since I removed my armor."
She stood up in a hurry. "That''s not why!" Solara snapped. Then, she cast her gaze downward. "No, rather...I spoke with Valeria before we left. Did you know she was an elf before becoming a Puppet?"
"She''s still an elf," Tenver said. "Just as I am still a human ¨C and a Puppet. We are both."
"Of course, that''s not what I..." Solara shook her head again. "What I want to say is that...I didn''t know that elves could also become Puppets. Or mayhap I just chose never to think of it." She laughed bitterly. "It was easier that way."
Her delivery felt as heavy as a confession, but Tenver didn''t appear to feel too strongly about it. "A common mistake."
"But a mistake nonetheless," Solara insisted. Her tone was sharp; perhaps too sharp, because when she continued, it was with a softer voice. "I must apologize, Tenver, for what I have said about Puppets. I¨C"
At that, the knight held out his hand. "No need to explain yourself. I understand."
"But I¨C"
"You know, my lady," Tenver began, in a wistful tone, "I hated elves once upon a time."
Adam raised an eyebrow. Now this, I wasn''t expecting. Tenver hadn''t seemed like the kind of guy who could hate anyone but his uncle. Adam allowed the two some space to look at each other, taking up Solara''s old seat and somewhat awkwardly glancing out the window while the two talked. Should I leave, or...?
"You understand?" Tenver remarked. "I can hardly hold a grudge over your mistakes. Let''s call it even, aye? Fantastic!" He clasped his hands together, as if they had all agreed. "With that in mind, I''d like to move on and speak of something less pleasant."
Solara stomped her feet. "Hang on there pup¨C bastard!" Her face was flushed, and her tone furious. "We shouldn''t ignore this merely because it''s an unpleasant topic. And you can''t start talking about something else to distract us from¨C"
"Aspreay escaped the castle," Tenver said, with a casual tone. "Esteban got in touch with Lord Adam earlier. Notified him. Thought you should know."
Solara''s mouth, already half-open with an argument forming, froze. She slowly shifted her glare towards Adam, appearing half accusatory and half confused. "Is that true?" she demanded.
Well, I guess that''s one way for Tenver to escape an awkward conversation.
"It is," Adam gravely acknowledged. "The Grandmaster gave me a raven several hours ago, and I used it to speak with Esteban. Apparently, he went to check up on Aspreay, only to find unconscious guards and an empty room."
"That''s...that''s horrible!" Solara cried out. "Adam, you need to return to Penumbria at once! Whatever deal you struck with the Hangman, if that madman can take the city back¨C"
Adam shook his head. "If he could, I would be more worried. But he can''t." His Lord Talent rivaled ¨C if not surpassed ¨C Aspreay''s by now, and the former lord had lost his control over the city''s treasury.
I also promised the city nobles that, on the off chance Aspreay ever woke up, whoever killed him would get twice their own treasury as a reward. Doubt he''ll find a lot of allies now...cowards generally stick with the most profitable option. At the very least, they''d hesitate in helping him.
"Besides," he continued. "Despite being the grumpiest guard in existence, Esteban isn''t useless. He personally led a team of trackers after Aspreay, and they''ve followed his trail quite well. It looks like he went after one of his old courtiers and asked for help. Aspreay was denied, so he punched the man in the face, stole his money, plus a horse, and left the city. He''s not our problem anymore."
Mostly. Aspreay could still pose a threat...but the situation with Eric was far more pressing.
Solara sighed in disbelief. "Adam, it is our problem. Remember that your only pretense at legitimacy comes from the false rumor that you are Aspreay''s bastard son. If he''s awake and about, then he can easily deny that claim."
"His word means nothing," Tenver said, sounding unconvinced. "Were the rumor true, he would deny it regardless. Moreover, it was always a nigh-impossible claim." A hint of mirth crept into his voice. "Aspreay is about as likely to father a child as your own father, Solara."
It didn''t escape Adam''s notice that despite how Tenver had spoken with his usual half-smirk and usual infuriating tone...he''d referred to Solara by name this time, rather than ''elf''. The implication of what he was saying did almost escape Adam, however, before he caught it a second later. Ah. Yeah. Well, that would explain why Aspreay doesn''t have an heir. Might make the rumors of my heritage a little hard to accept. Not impossible, but hard.
"Even if it''s unlikely," Adam said, "and even if the Emperor knows it''s bullshit, he would accept a convenient lie if I prove myself valuable. So long as he can pretend to allow me to live based on a legitimate claim, his vassals won''t be able to use it as precedent to justify overthrowing other city lords."
"That...may be true," Solara reluctantly admitted. "But even so, the fact that Aspreay was able to wake up at all is concerning, no?"
Adam shrugged. "To be honest, I kind of expected it. Was just trying to get word to Esteban before Aspreay escaped. I''d hoped he would take longer to recover, but..."
"What do you mean you expected it?" Solara stepped up towards Adam and grabbed his chin, turning him to face her. "Adam! You knew your power had this limitation?"
He gently pulled her fingers away from his face. "My lady," he began, in a pompous tone, "that is no way to speak to a lord."
She remained unimpressed and unamused. "You asked me to do away with formalities. That is not a request you can invoke when you please, then discard when convenient."
Fair point. "I wasn''t entirely sure that Aspreay would awaken," Adam began, "but remember when I used your Talent during our fight against the Ghost of Waters? I died then ¨C and Captain Baltsar recovered his soul afterwards."
He tapped his finger on his thigh. "That''s different from what happened to the creatures I''ve painted. The monster I stole my Stained Ink from didn''t jump out from my tablet ¨C painting, sorry ¨C and the Ghost of Flames didn''t go back to your body, but I think for humans it works like that. When I die, their soul returns to their original body. That''s my best guess, anyhow."
"And you think Aspreay still possesses the Lord Talent?"
"I think he might," Adam acknowledged. "But he can''t wrestle Penumbria away from me now, and he''s gone from the city, besides. He''ll be a source of annoyance, but not of hardship. Dealing with him will be unpleasant at worst."
Solara slowly nodded. "I shall write to Father," she said, a note of confidence sneaking its way into her voice. "He will be able to set up checkpoints to keep Aspreay from reaching other Imperial cities...and Father has always been good at convincing Aspreay to stop before committing actions he might later regret."
Frankly, Adam expected the former Lord to head straight for Gama ¨C but it was maybe better to keep that idea to himself for now, in case he was wrong.
"As for him being out of Penumbria...you''re sure?" Solara asked, hesitantly.
Adam nodded. "So long as Esteban didn''t lie." He really hated Aspreay, so it wouldn''t make sense for him to betray me...but I''m not about to trust him just yet. I''ll prepare on the off-chance he did something shady.
Solara nodded once more. "Well, if you think everything is sorted..." She whirled around as fast and suddenly as a tornado to face Tenver. "Then let us return to our previous topic. You need to allow me to apologize properly, knight. We cannot go on with you simply redirecting the conversation to distract us."
"My lady, mayhap you underestimate me," Tenver joyfully replied. "If you''d be so kind ¨C would you and Lord Adam look out the window? Ah, and if my lord could use his Captain Talent to stop the ship so we could observe for a moment, that would be fantastic."
Adam and Solara shared a tired glance before sighing and playing along. It was easier than arguing, they figured. He stopped the ship and peered out the window. Now, what do you want us to look at, Tenver? What''s¨C
His thoughts and voice failed him.
Whatever he''d been expecting, it wasn''t this.
A deathly quiet fell over the room, like a funeral for a life unjustly taken. Seconds turned to minutes as everyone stared outside.
Eventually, Tenver was the first to speak up. "It was dark when we flew over this the first time," he remarked. "Speaking of Aspreay, this was his city, once upon a time. Before..."
Decapitating his enemies hardly gave the knight pause, yet at this thought, he hesitated. "Before it was conquered by the Rot."
''A Festival of Monsters'' was the title that came to Adam''s mind. He felt immediate shame at thinking the sight would make for a beautiful ¨C if darkly so ¨C painting.
Below, a ruined, glorious city laid beneath them. They were not ruins, precisely, for the buildings looked hardly old at all. Yet out of their brick and stone grew the same tumors of flesh Adam had seen in the Penumbria slums; branches of twisted mass diverging off each lump and connecting with another, a sort of fungal network of defilement.
As if a once-beautiful painting of a city had been splashed with large lumps of ink.
Now, only monsters roamed its streets. Even from above, Adam could make out inked monstrosities hunting for prey, appearing similar to the ones he''d encountered in the woods after first arriving in the Painted World. And thanks to having spoken with the Ghost of Waters, he knew what they were made of.
"The Rot corrupts a living being...then it eats whatever it can. Brick, grass, other souls...and they wrestle for control of the body. Sometimes merge. Sometimes one is at the top of it all." Adam looked down with both horror and awe. "Animals get eaten, then eat others...and we end up with this."
"How many monsters are there?" Solara muttered.
Tenver made a thoughtful sound. "Hmm. Perhaps a hundred."
Adam nodded. "Probably right. I guess that''s why no one tries to take back those cities. Even if you ignore the Rot, that''s way too many monsters to handle. Don''t think us three would be able to do much about them."
"I dare not let my arrows loose upon them even from the safety of your ship, my lord," Tenver said, in an oddly serious tone. "Monsters that have feasted upon a city can become sickeningly strong. I dare not."
"Good," Adam replied, mild relief entering his voice. "Even you aren''t that stu¨C"
Pain.
"ADAM! What''s wrong?" Tenver asked.
Oddly, he heard the words ten seconds before realizing his knees had touched the ground, and five seconds before noticing the cold sweat on his forehead. Every realization thereafter came immediately: his racing heartbeat, the pain in his chest, and the sensation that his soul had a hole in it.
What...the hell... Adam looked up in fear, yet he found himself unable to mouth the words at his concerned knight. How...when...?
An answer shot through his brain.
The ship''s barrier had been pierced.
Loosely-related thoughts jumped from one to another: his new Talent made him aware of the ship, his pain was the result of this, did other Talents have similar drawbacks¡ª"HOW¡ªHow was the ship''s barrier broken?" Adam managed to shout that last thought, his control of his body slowly returning to him.
Even the Ghost of Water hadn''t been able to imagine itself capable of breaking the barrier, and it had possessed the Talent of a Duke. For something to shatter it like this...did one of the creatures down below leap up at the ship? But how? None of them looked strong enough. What¡ª
A glimpse out the window informed him of his mistake. The question shouldn''t have been what, but rather, who.
Eric Gryphon stood atop the clouds.
The Hangman was still, appearing taller than he had ever, arms crossed and gazing down below with a manic grin on his face. Twin wings had grown from the back of his boots, yet they did not flutter. It was more that his wings ignored the pull of gravity. Strong gusts of wind blew the hair on and off his face rhythmically, shading his eyes for a moment, and revealing the emotion that burned behind them.
Amusement.
"Adam," Eric said, from his perch above the clouds. "Make sure you watch. Might make you think twice about trying anything stupid."
Just being able to hear the threat already made an impression. Eric was standing far enough away his words shouldn''t have been audible, yet they were as clear as if he were standing right beside him.
"About a hundred monsters...looking good! They''ll make for a few Orbs, always need more of those." He cracked his neck. "You better not miss this, you hear me, Adam? Pay attention. Going to show you something new. Just like old times."
Eric swung his pen at the sky as if it were a sword. "Talent isn''t the peak of performance ¨C it''s just the tool that lets you start climbing. When Talent meets effort, that''s when it is born." He pulled his pen upward, and the clouds darkened. "TRUE¡ª" Eric slashed downward, a hundred pens now floating around him. "¡ªGENIUS!"
Adam could only look away to glance at his tablet.
Eric Gryphon
Imperial Hangman
Talent: Painting
Genius: ''Abstract Art''
I am afraid even I cannot tell you, Painter. Witness it.
Chapter 35
It felt like the Lord Talent.
Whether it was the Ink inside of him, the echoes of Aspreay''s knowledge residing within his Talent, or pure, animalistic instinct he could not tell ¨C and it hardly mattered. A mere glance was enough to make the power before him appear as certain and deadly as an oncoming storm.
Much like a Lord could turn his wish into a natural law for those inside his Realm, so could the Genius refuse nature''s very laws. It''s the same type of Talent¡no, it''s different. This is the most supreme state a Talent can manifest itself. A brilliant sort of arrogance, his irreverent desire incarnated into a small Realm; not unlike the invisible Walls that surrounded Penumbria.
Yet this one was small. About five feet, give or take, a translucent box of incarnated ego surrounding Eric.
And it altered the very foundations of his Talent.
"Welcome to the Realm of Genius, monsters!" he shouted, unleashing manic laughter alongside a storm of pens. Each object shot forward one at a time, as fast and suddenly as a bullet, the sound of their displacement trailing behind their movement. "Die for me!"
There were so many that anyone would have been forgiven for mistaking them for arrows. Each pen fell with startling speed, trailed by a faint blue glow and Eric''s cackling. A first they were grouped together ¨C until suddenly splitting apart, as if violently repelled by each other''s presence.
Then, one-by-one, the pens locked on to their targets. They zipped to the sides, homing in on different monsters with pinpoint accuracy.
Cacophonous explosions resounded soon after.
"What the hell," Adam muttered, "is that?"
Clouds of dust arose from every point of impact, like a cluster of meteorites had struck the monsters simultaneously. Where there''d once been shambling abominations, there were now just corpses. The city was bereft of life ¨C even its grotesque mockeries.
Although his ship was flying too high for Adam to witness the massacre in detail, he knew one thing for sure. It was a fact he understood in his very bones. Eric hadn''t just been attacking those creatures with his pens.
Something else was being prepared.
As if predicting his thoughts, the Hangman started to speak, projecting his voice. "That''s right, Adam. You can only use paintings, right? Pity. Still impressive, of course! But me...I can do so much more."
Eric stretched out his hands, his fingers dancing independently from each other. They pulled at invisible strings, conducting an inaudible orchestra, seeming to spawn nothing at all. However, Adam knew better. He recognized those motions, and that flicker of concentration in Eric''s eyes.
The Hangman was painting.
"I can use abstract art!" A proud smile spread across Eric''s face. "It doesn''t even have to be good! That''s all it takes for me to steal someone''s soul!"
Tenver, who had been fruitlessly calling out to his friend for some time now, suddenly grasped Adam''s shoulder. "What''s going on?"
"Eric uses abstract art," he muttered, absently. "It''s different from my skill."
Solara stepped up beside him. "In what ways?"
"Abstract art can be drawn a lot faster than a painting...or a sketch. Doesn''t matter how quickly I try to draw ¨C no way I can beat that speed."
Adam bit his lip when he noticed it was trembling slightly. Steady. "Technically, anything can count as abstract art, even literal garbage. Only...well, usually it has to be good to amount to something. Except Eric just said ¨C the bastard outright admitted that it doesn''t have to be!"
He smashed his fist against the wall. Frustration welled up inside of him, and not merely because of how dire the difference in their talents could prove to be. Don''t let it get to you. You know it isn''t what you should be focusing on. I know that, goddamn it!
Even so, he couldn''t stop himself from cursing louder as the clouds of dust from Eric''s attack gradually dissipated. I have to make sure!
"My lord, what are you¨C?" Tenver cut his own question short, then nodded. "Ah. Information gathering?"
"Yeah." Adam called upon his Talent of Captain. He could feel the ship''s path at his fingertips. Carefully, he closed his fist, bringing the ship closer to the city. "It probably won''t help us much if Eric tries to pull something, but...I have to know. Stupid or not, there''s some things you just gotta¨C"
Solara interrupted him by laying a hand on his other shoulder. "You needn''t explain yourself," she assured. "Do as you please, and gather information if you can. If that man truly has a Genius, it''s even worse than if he was a regular Hangman."
So they call his ability a ''Genius'' too? Adam spared each of them an apologetic glance. Wonder how long they''ll put up with me before they get tired of my shit, he thought.
A moment later, he angrily shook his head. This wasn''t the time for self-pity! He''d been doing better about those kinds of thoughts lately; stopping now of all times would be the worst goddamn thing he could do. Stay positive. You are strong. You are the Lord of Penumbria.
He found strength and comfort in this last bit. Remembering he was the lord of a city ¨C that so many people depended on him ¨C allowed him to pit his sense of responsibility against his self-hatred.
Responsibility won out. "Stay here," he warned the two.
Solara shook her head. "But¨C"
"That''s an order!" he shouted, before exiting the room and running towards the ship''s deck. Catching a glimpse of Eric''s ''abstract art'' was his sole priority right now. Adam needed to know if his assumptions were correct.
Back on Earth, Eric had never shown much interest in anything besides traditional painting. In contrast, Adam had wanted to learn about every kind of art, but soon discovered that he was extremely bad at creating things, from sculpting to art installations. Even drawing was a skill he''d only acquired because he could narrow it down to a near-science.
It''s one thing to understand the mechanics of something ¨C another to actually give it meaning. The moment I have to communicate intent with my art, everything breaks down. That''s always been my weakness. I know that. I accepted it.
But you...
You...
It was beautiful.
There were dozens of dead monsters below. Each corpse was arranged so beautifully as to be its own painting, a parade of macabre backdrops for the darkest of festivals. Adam looked at a deformed hawk monster laying dead on a blue creature, the white of its eye contrasting the red blood staining its torso, dyeing the scene in tragedy.
Upon observing it, Adam felt an emotion and theme flow into his mind. It was too effective of an art piece when based on creatures Eric shouldn''t have known about before. That was it ¨C the Hangman must be able to immediately understand the monsters'' pasts. The Stained were an amalgamation of souls, so if he knew even one of them, that would be enough for him to ''paint'' their portrait.
Here, the theme appeared to be the death of freedom...which was generic enough that Adam couldn''t help but wonder if his conclusion was too hasty. Maybe Eric was just painting any generic feelings that came to mind, figuring they would land against one of the many souls eaten by the Stained. Like a shotgun approach to creating art.
That thought was somehow more unnerving than the alternative.
"Hey there," Eric said, casually flying down to the deck, descending like a bird returning to its nest. "How did you like my show?"
"You lied," Adam muttered.
Eric''s face fell. "Hey man, the hell? I went out of my way to show you all my powers so that you couldn''t say I was hiding shit, and you¨C"
"Earlier, you said that abstract art doesn''t have to be good for your Talent to work." Adam peered down over the edge of the ship. "But every single one of those pieces is fantastic."
At that, the Hangman grinned broadly. "Ha, yeah, I mean...maybe it does have to be good. Don''t know. Been half-assing it every time I used it."
THAT''S THE PROBLEM, ERIC!
Even during his slump in college, even when he''d put in so much less effort than Adam...Eric was simply good. It was infuriating to watch him set his sights so low, barely try at all, yet produce a mediocrity brighter than the most beautiful star Adam''s art could conjure.
The stunning arrangement pictured below was a perfect example. Eric was one of those people who''d never taken abstract art seriously. He''d always disliked it, mocked it ¨C even laughed at the very concept.
Yet he was still this good at it.
That''s just...so cruel, isn''t it?
Eric sighed deeply and loudly, enough so that Adam would look up at him. To his surprise, the Hangman appeared genuinely saddened and annoyed. Strangely, that annoyance appeared directed at himself.
"Listen...man..." Eric rubbed the back of his head. "I understand why you don''t trust me. Might take some time to rebuild everything ¨C I get it. Really, I do! Guess I was hoping that if I laid all my cards on the table, you''d maybe believe me. I honestly am sorry about how everything played out."
Looking at Eric then was harder than fighting the Ghost of Waters, crueler than matching wits against Belmordo, more painful than living beneath Aspreay''s rule. Those were trivial compared to staring into the eyes of the man he''d once called his best friend, finding despair in his gaze, and not reaching out to help him.
He, he''s lying. Don''t trust him. He said it himself, this is a show of force so I don''t do anything stupid. This is all just manipulative bullshit so I''m easier to deal with. It''s¨C
"I miss it a lot, you know?" Eric asked, hands behind his head and eyes to the sky. "Spending all those late hours working with you, practicing our art, passing it back and forth...might sound unbelievable after everything, but those really were the best nights of my life."
"Me too." Adam let out a weak laugh. His cheeks twitched involuntarily, and he had to push the hysteria back down his throat lest it reach his voice. "That''s what makes me so fucking pissed off at you. Know why we don''t have that anymore? Because of what you pulled!"
"It was for your own good!" Eric cried out.
"Bullshit!" Adam screamed. You were jealous of me. For the first time, I created something you weren''t able to ¨C and you couldn''t stand that! This conversation had to stop, Adam realized. Every passing second soothed his anger and strengthened his nostalgia. His memories of their time together was like deadly poison eating away at his resolve. Even now, more than anything else, he wanted to trust Eric.
The Hangman shook his head. "C''mon man. Let''s do it again, just like old times. It would be great!" His words almost seemed comical. Speaking of the good ol'' days when they were currently on the deck of a flying ship, overlooking a destroyed city, was too absurd to be taken seriously. "I messed up, I know. Even if it was for your sake, I should''ve talked to you first ¨C filled you in. Maybe if we''d decided that we should''ve come here as a team..."
Inside Adam, a war raged within. His commanders were debating fiercely. The General of Distrust argued to walk away saying nothing, for Eric was a backstabber that meant not a single word he uttered. The General of Loneliness shouted back that Eric was a good friend once, and might be telling the truth here. Perhaps there was no ill will at all; just miscommunication. Worst of all, this second General was beginning to sound more convincing than the first. No, no, he''s trying to trick me, I know that¨C
Another voice spoke up in his mind. This was no General. A captain, at most. He was not among the leaders of Adam''s mind, yet his arrival to the Painted World had necessitated an abrupt promotion, as this young upstart was responsible for most of Lord Adam of Penumbria''s decisions.
The General of Opportunism, so he claimed.
"Fine," Adam muttered. "How about...we start here? Let''s see how awkward it feels. Take a look ¨C I drew this up earlier."
The other leaders in his mind named him the General of Cowardice.
"Yeah, of course!" Eric replied promptly, grinning. "Haven''t seen your art in a while...man, you''ve got me feeling all nostalgic. Last thing I saw of yours was that shitty drawing you left for the Belmorto fella. C''mon, let me see what you''ve been cooking up."
Adam withdrew his tablet from his pocket, keeping his expression as blank as possible. He''d prepared a few paintings in advance ¨C each drawn with different explanations and themes of why Eric had betrayed him. Most of them he''d created soon after arriving in the Painted World, the pain of betrayal still fresh on his mind.
If any of those is right...I''ll take your soul. If you''re telling the truth, then no harm, no foul, right?
"You''ve dipped into abstract styles since coming to this world, huh?" Eric laughed as he rested a hand on Adam''s shoulder, glancing at the tablet. "No idea what this one means."
It was a painting meant to symbolize Eric''s jealousy and betrayal. A really good one at that, in Adam''s opinion. It also seemed to be having no effect whatsoever. I''m not gambling any skills on these paintings, so they''d need to be very good portraits of his soul to work. Still...if he betrayed me out of jealousy, this one should''ve worked. "How about this one?"
Eric squinted his eyes. "You''ve gotten a lot better since I last saw you," he laughed, tightening his grip around Adam''s shoulder. "Don''t remember you shading like that before. Your coloring used to be kinda shit, if you don''t mind me saying it."
This painting focused on Eric hating Adam. It elicited no reaction from either the man or his soul. "Well ¨C what about this one?"
"I like the composition," the Hangman muttered thoughtfully. "Can I see your sketches?"
Which meant ''Anger at something Adam had done'' also wasn''t the motive. That was fine...he had plenty of drawings. Plenty of theories. One of them would have to be right. "Yeah, of course," Adam said, forcing himself to smile. "Let''s go over a few more of them."
Each failed painting drove a dagger of guilt into his canvas, the doubt within him starting to shift from Eric to his own heart. If Eric wasn''t guilty of any betrayal, then showing him these paintings was nothing short of attempted murder. Conflicting thoughts exploded inside of the Painter as he cycled through his prepared portraits. ''Please, don''t be guilty, give me a reason to believe you,'' fought for his headspace with, ''Please¨Cbe guilty¨Cjustify my feelings. Tell me that this hatred has reason.''
The merciless reaper called time marched on, every painting becoming another scythe.
It wasn''t jealousy.
It wasn''t anger.
It wasn''t that Eric wanted revenge.
It wasn''t that they were never friends.
It wasn''t that Eric needed the prize money.
It wasn''t that Eric was dying and needed to make a name for himself.
It wasn''t that Eric thought he could never make a piece of art that good.
It wasn''t that Eric wanted to drive Adam to suicide.
It wasn''t that Eric never cared about Adam.
It wasn''t that Eric never wanted Adam around him.
WHAT IS IT THEN? Adam screamed in his mind as he kept his face friendly. WHAT MADE YOU DO IT?
Eric threw his head back and laughed, so suddenly and so loudly that Adam nearly jerked back out of instinct. His friend''s arm ¨C former friend, he reminded himself ¨C was draped around his neck, keeping him from moving too far. "Thank you," Eric muttered, slowly. "It''s been too long. I know this doesn''t mean you trust me yet...but it''s a start. Maybe you''ll have a little more faith in me after we meet with the Emperor, yeah? There''s a nice reward waiting for you, by the way."
"Really?" Adam asked, trying to sound interested. "How do you know?"
"Got a letter recently from him," Eric said, producing the envelope from his pocket and handing it over. "Haven''t reported to him myself, but I guess it makes sense that he has his sources everywhere. He heard rumors of you slaying the Ghost. Says that if those reports are true, you''ll be promoted to Lord ¨C maybe even Duke! ¨C and I''ll be promoted to Hangman of Grey for bringing you over to him. Thanks for the free promotion, by the way, being a Hangman of White sucks. Pay is terrible."
Adam nodded absently. Normally, he''d be devouring every detail, theorizing about the structure of the Hangmen, and trying to verify the veracity of Eric''s letter. But now, he found it difficult enough just to talk without revealing the crushing depression he felt welling up inside of him. I''m a terrible friend. I tried to steal his soul. I...
If Eric picked up on his feelings, he didn''t show it. "God, can you imagine if you and I end up as bigshot generals or something in this world?"
"Can''t imagine it," Adam said, with great effort. "Sounds...crazy."
"Right?" The Hangman laughed again, but his smile fell as he shifted his gaze back towards the city of monsters. "That said, much as I''d like to do this all day, we''d better get going. There''s a reason why the Emperor doesn''t just send Hangmen to clear these cities ¨C more monsters should be coming here soon. And this city is among the worst of them."
This was interesting enough for Adam to shift his attention away from his self-recrimination. At that moment, he would''ve taken anything for a distraction. "Why is this one so bad? Any particular monsters causing issues?"
"You could say that," Eric said, wincing briefly. "You know how the Stained are born, right? A living creature gets taken over by the Rot, eats other living things, then melts together into a rotten cluster of souls..."
The Hangman shuddered. "Fucking disgusting. It''s like thinking about a spider on your shoulder or something, gives me chills every time."
"I''m aware," Adam replied, in a weak voice. It was almost unfair ¨C he''d run himself ragged to pry that information from the Grandmaster''s clutches, yet Eric had presumably been hand-gifted it by Lawrence before even arriving here. "So what?"
"Well, I heard that one of the monsters roaming around this area has eaten a Puppet''s corpse. And not just any Puppet. One of the originals from the Age of Dragons."
Eric grimaced, a hint of bitterness suddenly entering his tone. "My good old captain apparently went to Scaled Rock to try to reclaim it for the Emperor. He nearly razed the whole thing to the ground trying to kill that monster ¨C and it didn''t even work. Did scatter a few Stained though...think that''s what made this one start walking around here."
"Scaled Rock..." Adam slowly repeated the words, sounding them out. Where had he heard that name?
With a shrug, Eric''s grimace faded. "Anyway, I''m gonna head to bed. You uh, might want to get us flying higher soon." He glanced nervously at the fallen city. "In hindsight, maybe I shouldn''t have attacked it. We would''ve been in trouble if that monster was already in the city."
In spite of himself, Adam laughed. "Goddamn it, Eric." Why couldn''t he stop himself from grinning? Why? "For once in your life, could you just stop and think before you act? You''re gonna get us killed someday."
Eric smiled. "Not a chance." Watching him smile started to push away Adam''s doubt even further, and drive the steel of guilt deeper into his flesh. "Don''t worry though, even if that happened, we wouldn''t be in danger. I''m sure I could handle it. You saw my Genius back there."
That didn''t seem like a bluff. Eric sure felt like he could handle just about anything Adam had seen in this world so far, with maybe the exception of the Grandmaster. I need to find out more about what ''Genius'' means, Adam thought. Is it a stronger kind of Talent? Something different? Finding that out should have been his top priority.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Instead, he found himself asking, "Then why are you so bothered about the idea of that Stained monster showing up?"
"The Emperor is waiting for us. Don''t want him to get a bad impression of you." Eric laughed again, then tapped Adam on the shoulder. "C''mon, let''s get going. We''ve wasted enough time as it is."
"You go ahead," Adam replied, staring out over the deck at their surroundings. "I''m still getting used to the Captain Talent. Being able to see everything as I move the ship helps. Our destination is set, but the altitude¨C"
Eric started walking away without waiting for Adam to finish. "Suit yourself," he said, his back turned and waving his left hand. "We''ll be there in about a day. Don''t overwork yourself."
A coil of tension remained in Adam''s chest until he saw Eric completely disappear into the ship. What he''d said earlier was partially true ¨C he really did think it was better to observe the ship''s altitude with his own eyes. But more than anything else...
He just wanted time to think.
Adam gazed down at the fallen city, viewing it through the omnipresent blue hue that colored the Painted World. What had once been Aspreay''s hometown was now a shadow of its former self. Perhaps it was beautiful some time ago, yet now its once-sturdy buildings lay chipped and scarred by endless battles. Tumorous flesh grew from every cobblestone, and screeching dying monsters shambled about, some falling to their last rest, others collapsing onto others and devouring what they could to keep going.
It mirrored the storm raging within him.
I''m such a piece of shit.
The longer the thought, the more things he felt guilty about. Not only had he tried to steal Eric''s soul, but apparently, Eric himself never even considered that outcome as a possibility. Despite understanding how the Painting Talent worked, he hadn''t hesitated to look directly at Adam''s drawings.
Maybe his Talent outranked Adam''s to the point of being immune? The Painted World''s magic worked that way sometimes. But...the Painting Talent has always bypassed that rule. Eric would know it too, since he presumably stole his Hangman Talent.
Maybe Eric was being reckless and not considering the risk of it all. No, even he isn''t that impulsive...I think. Or is he?
Maybe he was just supremely confident that Adam didn''t understand him. Well, he''d be right there.
Maybe he trusted Adam to never try to take his soul, no matter how angry the Painter was. That...
That thought was frighteningly possible, and it ate at him. After everything he''d gone through, all the sleepless nights wishing for revenge, if Adam turned out to be the one who''d betrayed his best friend''s trust...how was he supposed to live with himself?
What a waste of oxygen. His father had been right all along ¨C not the fraud masquerading as his father these days, but the real one, the man who''d shown his true feelings when he believed the two of them weren''t related. Maybe he really should just follow his father''s drunken advice and jump¨C
STOP!
Adam shook his head and withdrew his tablet, his rituals taking over before his thoughts could land anywhere. Draw something. Anything. Keep your mind blank. Keep your¨C
His tablet did not help, and whether a coincidence or the act of the unknown being that brought him into this world, he knew not. Right now, what stared at him was a message.
Dear Painter, well done! You have become rich of purse and strong of mind. Now I offer you advice: put the bonds of comradery to ink, and those who are inked shall be able to borrow the Talent of the subject! This is no easy achievement...yet you have enough Orbs to become a Viscount of painting, yes?
Adam wasn''t sure what felt more like a taunt ¨C how the instructions had given up on pretense and were addressing him directly now, or that the person writing them must''ve been the same person that brought him to this world. Even worse was the fact that this skill was, in theory, extremely useful. Having brief access to Solara or Tenver''s abilities would be a huge advantage moving forward. He just needed to raise the Painter Talent to the level of Viscount for it to work.
The Orbs cost for that wouldn''t be too bad. Adam had recently acquired 20 million Orbs from the Puppet Grandmaster. At a minimum, he needed ?5,050,000 Orbs to keep his citizens alive. Although the exact numbers were probably slightly different, and varied year-to-year. He hadn''t been able to speak with Esteban at length about it.
Still, it was a solid estimate. Even in a hypothetical worst case scenario, Adam could comfortably assume that Penumbria would survive the winter as long as he set aside ?6 Million in advance.
That said...considering how miserable his citizens were living under Aspreay''s dying economy, maybe he should spend a bit more on them. Enough to help them get to a point where their dignity as humans would be respected. Enough for them not to have to suffer.
There''s no way I''ll be satisfied with just letting them survive. I want them to live, goddamn it.
He needed to find a balance between supporting Penumbria and upgrading his Talents. Currently, Adam also had around 2 million Orbs from his personal coffers. While that could help, he should probably exercise caution and set those funds aside.
For safety''s sake, I''ll reserve the rest of my treasury for emergencies or non-essential city purchases. Means I can only strengthen my Talents with the 20 million from the Grandmaster.
''Only''. 20 million was a lot. Just half of that would cover his upgrades. He could dip into those funds without feeling as if he was shortchanging Penumbria.
And frankly speaking...ensuring his own survival was an investment the city needed.
Adam had four Talents worth mentioning: Painter, Stained Ink, Lord, and Ship Captain. While he also possessed the Ghost of Flames, he shouldn''t strengthen that until he was certain it wouldn''t backfire in some way. Empowering a living curse inhabiting his soul seemed rather ill-advised.
Out of the four relevant talents, the first two were Talents of an Apprentice level, and the other two were of a Viscount. Nodding to himself, Adam opened up his tablet''s calculator app. It had been a while since he''d needed to use it, but years of living paycheck-to-paycheck had taught him that money was a cruel taskmaster that didn''t tolerate mistakes.
Cost to Upgrade:
Apprentice to Craftsman: ?61,250
Craftsman to Lord: ?214,375
Lord to Baron ?750,312.50
Baron to Viscount ?2,626,093.00
Viscount to Count ?9,191,328.00
Talents to Consider:
Painter (Apprentice)
Stained Ink (Apprentice)
Lord (Viscount)
Ship Captain (Viscount)
He contemplated his options. Upgrading Ship Captain from Viscount to Count was far too expensive to prioritize. Baltsar''s ship was a highly useful tool, but Adam wouldn''t be basing his entire livelihood around it. In comparison, while upgrading his Lord Talent would be similarly pricey, it had saved his life when fighting the Ghost of Water. Improving it by one more tier couldn''t hurt.
Then there''s my Painter Talent. Whatever brought me to this world...no, whoever is writing these messages...they want me to improve it. Their intent is obvious enough it almost feels like a trap.
Not that it was a trap he could afford to avoid. Well, he could afford it, which was exactly the point. His Painter Talent was still at Apprentice, meaning upgrading it multiple times would be relatively cheap. He shouldn''t neglect one of his most important abilities out of paranoia ¨C regardless of how justified that paranoia was.
Adam typed into his calculator, added up the costs of his potential upgrades.
Orb to Spend: ?20,000,000
Lord Talent: Viscount to Count for ?9,191,328.00
Stained Ink: Apprentice to Craftsman for ?61,250
Painter: Apprentice to Craftsman for ?61,250
Painter: Craftsman to Lord: ?214,375
Painter: Lord to Baron ?750,312.50
Painter: Baron to Viscount ?2,626,093.00
If he spent all those...he would still have ?6,559,454 left. When counting his personal Orbs, that left ?8,559,454 to spend on city affairs. That should leave Penumbria safe and maximize his chances of a favorable meeting with the Emperor ¨C after all, negotiating from a position of power was always better.
Adam hesitated with his finger hovering over the metaphorical button. With just a thought, he could set all those upgrades in motion and raise his Painter Talent to the level of Viscount. It was what he knew he should do. This was an ideal time to strengthen himself, especially his Painting Talent, which was the source of much of his soft power. Aside from his status as Lord, people mostly gave him respect because they feared the artist who stole souls.
Except...he would only gain the ability to borrow his allies'' powers if he believed in them. ''Put the bonds of comradery to ink'', the description had said.
And Adam couldn''t imagine himself trusting anyone at the moment.
He had thought he trusted Solara, but now found himself second-guessing that feeling. I only decided I could trust her because she risked her life by letting me paint her soul. Even now, I''m only starting to question my distrust of Eric because my art told me so. Since when have I been like this?
Since when have I trusted my art more than people?
Maybe he''d never actually put his faith in Solara, either. It was just easy to tell himself that at the time. Felt like he''d made progress on how he felt about people. But what if that wasn''t true? If Adam looked at everything objectively...it wasn''t that he believed in her.
Adam believed his art.
And his art said that Solara was trustworthy. For the moment.
Until his next painting of her failed, at least.
No, no, that''s not why I¨C
Wasn''t that the very reason why he couldn''t fully trust Tenver, despite everything they''d been through together? Even after finding out the Puppet''s secret, Adam couldn''t help but wonder if there was something else he was missing. There wasn''t anything legitimately concerning that Solara or Tenver had done to provoke this degree of suspicion, and to be blunt, aligning with Adam was pragmatic for both of them. Betraying him at this juncture would be political suicide.
Yet...he hadn''t seen Eric''s betrayal coming. What if he was missing something here, too?
"I''m such a piece of shit," Adam muttered, sinking his head into his hands. "What''s wrong with me?"
"Not sure."
Solara suddenly appeared beside him, leaning against the railing. She eyed him with a questioning gaze. "But if it helps, whatever the case ¨C you''re probably still more functional of a person than me."
Adam barked a low laugh. "As if. You have no idea how fucked up my thoughts are."
"Wise words, my lord. Dare I suggest you apply them to yourself? You have little idea of what goes inside my head, either." Solara made it sound like a bitter joke, one that gave her amusement and disdain in equal measure. "No one can know exactly what transpires in the fortress of someone else''s mind. Their hearts are a treasured chest, locked by a key you cannot ever wield."
He smiled. "Maybe so...but you can still glimpse inside it, with enough patience and persistence."
"Such as?" she asked, with a challenging edge to her voice.
"I know you well enough by now to recognize that you hate formalities. This pattern of speech ¨C calling me ''lord'', rambling in metaphors ¨C isn''t how you like to talk. But it is what you fall back on when you''re putting on the mask of the Heiress of Gama."
Adam raised an eyebrow. "Why is that mask on right now? What feelings are you hiding?"
She gave a stiff smile in response. "Does my lord mistrust me?"
"No, I''m worried!" Adam fired back.
The words left his lips too quickly for him to overthink them, racing fast enough to dodge his doubts. Ah. So that''s how I feel, huh?
A sense of surety settled over him. He was worried, and paradoxically, that brought relief. No matter what tale his scars might spin, in the end, his heart''s concern was strong and firm.
"I know how much you''ve been through," Adam continued. "For you to be acting like this ¨C well, I assume something bad must''ve happened."
Even his most anxious paranoias couldn''t deny this feeling. And if he was truly worried about her, if he truly cared...
Then maybe there was a part of him that trusted her beyond just his art.
"My lord is too kind." Solara''s tone was evasive, but there was a smirk on her lips. "I have grown accustomed to traversing through hell by myself. Forgive me ¨C voicing those thoughts aloud does not come easy."
"You needn''t force yourself."
"A kind lie, that one. But a lie nonetheless." She laughed. "Aye, it would be easier to do so. Sometimes the safe road will simply not take you to where you want to go."
Adam shuffled closer to her and raised an eyebrow. "And where do you wish to go?" He was genuinely curious about this. "I thought revenge was your endgame."
"The grandest of ambitions," she said, with a wistful air. "One day I shall turn it into a reality. Yet glory and peace for my kind will not make long nights any less silent, nor busy feasts any less unnerving. I know not how to live among others."
He nodded. "Being trapped in that tower for so long...I can''t imagine how lonely you must''ve been."
"Oh, but you can, my lord. That painting of yours, the one that drove the Ghost of Flames from my body, showed as much." Solara smiled at him, sadly at first, then sincerely at the end. "People''s hearts are in a treasure box, locked away ¨C but you can commit them to ink."
She let out a mischievous laughter. "Is that not what you always tell me art is?"
"You actually listen when I rant?" Adam said, with a grin of pleasant surprise. "Thank you. Truly."
He sighed. "And I...do agree. But sometimes, I feel like if I can''t commit a feeling to ink...then I can''t trust it at all. There''s no such a thing as a person who can predict everyone''s thoughts and emotions. Even if you do your best to understand their position, put yourself in their shoes, no one''s enough of a genius to know everything that goes on inside someone''s head. You could have biases you aren''t aware of, or simply be incapable, lacking in skill. It''s not a matter of just wanting it.
Heaven knows that Adam wasn''t always capable of it, despite how much he wanted. He did his best nonetheless.
"Committing a feeling to my art helps," he muttered. "It goes beyond the rules of Painting. If I can narrow something down to logical terms, portray it as an element of nature instead of a vague, unseen thought...then I can trust it. I think I''ve been like this for a while now, even before I got my Talent."
Adam grimaced. "But what am I supposed to do when I can''t be sure I''ve gotten it right?"
"Your best." Solara looked him in the eye, with a gaze that was both gentle and firm. "Isn''t that fine? To stumble, fall, and get up again?"
Her sudden pause spoke of her awareness of the difficulty in that task, and her shattering of its silence spoke of her belief in its importance. "I know not what happened between you and the Hangman. In truth, there is little I know about you, my lord. But what I do know tells me you will be fine."
"We understand so little of people, don''t we?" Adam stared at the fallen city as it became smaller and smaller in the distance. "Would Aspreay have become a good lord if I hadn''t trapped his soul? Would Belmordo have worked together with your family if I let him live? Would Baltsar have redeemed his sins if I allowed him to try?"
He shook his head slowly. "I don''t know. I really don''t. I only know my art. That''s it."
Unsaid in his words was the ultimate question ¨C ''Will Eric betray me again if I give him the chance?''
"Your distinction between your art and yourself is fascinating," Solara remarked. "My lord, loath as I am to presume much about the topic you''ve dedicated your life to...art hardly spawns into existence fully formed, yes?"
"Of course it doesn''t."
"Just so. It is conjured up by the most insane of sorcerers," she said, smirking at him. "The universe is captured through your senses, and your magic gives it shape. That which you embodied with your art ¨C my experiences at the tower, Lord Aspreay''s faded ideals, the Captain''s regrets ¨C was done by you. My lord ¨C ADAM."
Solara shouted, giving power to his name. "It is fine if you trust your art, for it is not a separate being from yourself. "Isn''t your art just ''you''? Does the ink on your canvas not resemble how your eyes color the world?"
"But I could be wrong," he fired back. "If I paint a soul and see it fly inside my painting, then at that point, it''s clear my interpretation of the world was correct. Without that¨C"
"Without that," Solara cut him off, "you''d still be correct most of the time. Tell me, Adam ¨C what do you think is plaguing me right now?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, giving the matter thought. "I think you aren''t sure what to do," he plainly stated. "You want revenge against the Emperor, you want to make sure no elf suffers like you again...but you don''t know what to do with your life outside of that. It''s not like you can think of revenge every hour of the day. Sometimes you just want to laugh with friends, or kill time with a passion or hobby. Problem is ¨C you don''t know how."
She didn''t stop and correct him, which encouraged Adam to continue. "I''d wager that the Puppet Mines also shook your beliefs. Until now, you''ve spoken of Puppets like...well, like some speak of elves. After meeting them, you realized that is not a belief you can hold anymore. It''s making you question what little you knew of yourself."
Solara stood there beneath that cold night sky, not saying a word. She stayed in contemplative silence for a long while. Eventually, after an indeterminable amount of time, she responded.
"You have a talent for understanding people, my lord. That is why your art has feeling in it." She flicked her hair and laughed. "So hesitate not. Whatever your past might be ¨C whatever limitations your power has ¨C think it through, then decide whether or not to trust the Hangman. And know that the Puppet ¨C that Lord Tenver and I will stand with, regardless of what decision you make."
Adam smiled at her. "That makes this weight on my shoulders not so heavy, somehow," he said, sort of wistfully. "Thank you. I was starting to get inside my head too much. It''s not a great place to be."
"Really?" Solara asked, a parody of shock on her expression. "I would never have guessed." After a brief moment of indecision, she added with a smirk, "Mayhap you''d care to show me its contents sometime."
"I promise," Adam immediately answered. "I will."
He looked out over the horizon, waiting for the Imperial City to come into focus. It had yet to show itself, but the time would come soon.
Then...they would meet with the Emperor. The man who''d slain Tenver''s father. The man who''d ordered the massacre of Solara''s people, The man who could easily order the death of Adam''s city.
Now let''s see, he thought, calmly, can I trust Eric? Our chances of survival will change greatly depending on my answer to that question.
With that understanding, Adam made his decision and planned accordingly.
Chapter 36
At the Dragon''s Tail, the Imperial Capital''s most infamous tavern, a chemical reaction took place as gossip, tales, and uncertainty melted together into legend.
"The Emperor will meet with the rebel Lord of Penumbria today," said a patron, raising his glass. "Mayhap he''ll kill him on the spot!"
"Nonsense!" said the second patron, merrily drinking at the idea. "Have you heard of his deeds? The man seized Penumbria''s throne after besting his own father, sallied forth to Gama to save the Lady in the Tower, and then slew the Puppet Curse in the East!"
"Steady there ¨C my word! Did you say father?"
"Aye! I hear tell that he is the former Lord Aspreay''s bastard son," the first patron replied, in a confident tone. "That''s why Emperor Ciro would never dream of executing him. There''s no reason to kill a lord that bears both ability and birthright. Fire makes steel, after all ¨C it''s why His Imperial Majesty allows disputes within the ruling houses."
"He gets to pick and choose lords to his liking, eh?" another patreon wondered, with drunken wisdom. "Suppose this is just more of that. If the Emperor likes Aspreay''s bastard son, he''ll rule the ''rebellion'' as an internal fight within the House of Arcanjo. If he doesn''t...off with the bastard''s neck."
The fourth patron, the least excited of them all, slowly sipped at his wine. "Quite so," he dryly remarked. "Although it remains to be seen if the Kinslayer is stupid enough to fall for the lie. Bastard son my ass."
At this last blasphemy, the other three patrons sobered up enough to shift away from the fourth, muttering incomprehensible excuses as they moved to another table. They were not to blame for their cowardice; Ciro had punished others for saying less. Few people had the ability ¨C and fewer the courage ¨C to utter anything but worship for the man.
The fourth patron was one of those, and much more. Bitter, resentful, drunk, tired, injured, vengeful, hopeless, and fatalistic.
But most of all, he was Aspreay Arcanjo, Lord of Penumbria.
Former lord, he corrected himself, a smirk creeping across his face. Even now, he knew not whether to feel joy or despair over that fact. Long had he wished to disavow his title, and longer still had he wished to throw it all up in the air and journey out into the world.
Except the Painter forced the decision on me. His grip tightened around his cup. That, I cannot forgive.
Aspreay had awoken in Penumbria a short while ago. Since then, not a single piece of news he learned failed to shock him. The Painter had usurped his throne, somehow copied his Talent ¨C how did one even do that? ¨C and danced around the topic of his treason by claiming relation to Aspreay himself. That last bit was so ridiculous it crossed the line from offensive to absurd.
Worse still was the Painter''s overwhelming power. Though Aspreay''s Talent remained within himself, the Pretender''s mere copy was now stronger than the original. Aspreay could no longer call upon his Lord Talent inside his own domain.
No, he thought, laughing bitterly. Not my domain. He claimed it for himself. Ah, what a competent bastard.
"To you, Pretender." He drunkenly raised his wine glass. "To the man who stole my world! May you choke on my riches, drown in my despairs, bleed from my enemies!"
In truth, Aspreay was shocked at how little he cared about losing Penumbria''s throne ¨C although mayhap he shouldn''t have been. Vasco''s betrayal had shown how impossible it would be to make any real difference as lord. There is only so much a man can take, and Aspreay already accepted more setbacks, pain, and enemies than most.
Until he could no longer. His indulgence started then, and by that point, it was a well-deserved reward for the hellfire he''d put up with. He indulged on wine, on performances, on whatever extravagances his heart desired ¨C only for him to despair at his own vices later.
The alternative was worse. Had I not indulged, I doubt I''d have kept my throat from the rope for long. That the notion came so easily surprised, but did not bother him. ''Twas hardly a thought of comfort, yet easily a thought of truth. Penumbria needed me. The process of replacing a Lord is nightmarish at best, and too often an impossibility. I might not have been ideal, but I could have been much worse. They needed me. They needed me! I couldn''t abandon the commoners!
And he resented them for it.
Oh, how he resented them for it...
Those bastard citizens, the ones who never understood his sacrifices, who spat on his name yet knew nothing. If he were truly as uncaring as their songs portrayed, Aspreay would have damned the miserable city to Rot and embarked on a westward journey long ago.
That sentimentality was the only reason he was hesitating instead of enacting his plan.
I could name the Painter as the treacherous pretender he is, Aspreay mused, sipping at his wine. Tell the Emperor of what transpired. He''d rid the world of him quickly enough. However, doing so would place Aspreay in the Emperor''s service once more. At the moment, he was effectively a dead man in the minds of most. He could count the number of people who knew of both his survival and escape on Captain Valence''s hands, and the man could hardly be accused of having all fingers. Another fault of the Emperor.
Regardless, Aspreay was armed with a Talent beyond most people''s wildest dreams. Without the Emperor''s Hangmen meaning to drag him back to the capital and serve the Kinslayer, he was free to venture out into the world, making riches and discovering new sights. Interfering here would rob him of that. There was very little to gain from striking against the Pretender.
Very little ¨C except for his injured pride. The stinging humiliation of having what was rightfully his, usurped.
I cannot stand it, let alone allow it, he thought, the drink coloring his blurry vision red. The Painter must repay me with a scarlet portrait inked in his own blood!
Aspreay cared little for the title of lord. He cared more for his Talent ¨C and that, at least, he still had. Yet he''d lost much in this life already.
Far too much.
His hometown had been swallowed by the Rot, although that was practically a natural death for a settlement in the Empire. His partner had betrayed him for his love of tree fuckers, a decision that still haunted Aspreay''s nightmares. His people hated him for being unable to forge gold from dirt, when no one else could have done better.
Even if he cared little for the title, a part of him knew not who he was without it. His ideals had shattered long ago, and his dreams with them. All that remained was bitterness. Who was he without Penumbria''s lordship?
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Aspreay was afraid of answering that question.
I''ll turn him over to the Emperor. A manic grin overcame his lips as he turned another bottle upside down. As soon as he''s in the capital...when he can no longer escape...I''ll make sure he regrets the day he tried taking my city from me! Aspreay felt confident in his plan. Certain, even.
It was a feeling that lasted until he witnessed the Painter''s arrival.
Outsiders poured through the Capital''s barriers, dressed in the reddest of scarlets and followed by the blackest of deaths. The Pretender of Penumbria rode forth on a strong, brown stallion that was well-trained to make its rider appear competent. To either of his sides stood his only followers: the Banished Prince, and a cloaked woman the Lord could not recognize.
Behind them all was the Hangman, a creature of such overwhelming violence that even the lordly Aspreay would think twice of daring to fight it. Especially in the Imperial City, where the Emperor''s domain would undo his own.
However, it was not the presence of the Hangman that gave him pause ¨C but rather the cloaked woman at the Pretender''s side.
While he tried his utmost, Aspreay could not fool himself into believing that he didn''t know who the woman was. Cloaked she might be, the canter of her mount still ruffled the hood on her head, letting the sharp edge of her ears momentarily peek out. It was like a flash of lightning to his senses.
"An elf," he muttered, amidst the crowd. "She''s a bloody elf."
One of the many onlookers who''d gathered to watch the newcomers'' arrival grinned at him. "Aye, lad! Gama''s Lady in the Tower herself! The Lord of Penumbria rescued her."
Aspreay knew it was true. Although he''d heard rumors of this tale before, they were the kind that he''d chosen to disregard as nonsensical drivel.
Until now.
No matter! This changes nothing! The thought was summoned in his mind as a shout, yet that did not make it seem any more convincing. I will tell the Emperor ¨C I will have him executed! I will...I will...
Solara of Gama was Vasco''s daughter.
Her presence at the Painter''s side meant that Gama had allied itself with Penumbria. That Vasco had aligned himself with the Pretender who usurped his title! How could he sink so low as to betray him like this, that was¨C
¨CNot why his heart raced now. Aspreay tried telling himself that it was, but he knew otherwise.
Hangman! The Painter is not my son! He''s an usurper! You have the right to kill him! If Aspreay shouted that thought aloud and publicly proved his identity, the Hangman would have had no choice but to kill the Pretender, even if it went against the Kinslayer''s wishes. All he needed to do was raise his voice and speak the words.
Why was that simple act so difficult?
Was he so troubled by the idea of being forced to work for Ciro again? Was he concerned about his own punishment? Or¨C
If the Painter is deemed guilty of treason, so will Vasco. Aspreay couldn''t keep the thought from rising up within his mind. It horrified him. Both that he possessed such a weakness, and the weakness itself.
Even after everything that had happened...he couldn''t stomach sending Vasco to his death.
Why not? He betrayed me! He took what was mine by right, he, he, for the sake of those disgusting tree fuckers¨C
The Painter''s group rode forward, splitting the crowd apart as they went. At the head, the Pretender looked dignified, confident, a veritable lord. He projected an aura of nobility that inspired the crowd to respectfully step away, allowing him forward without blocking his path. Their procession would disappear from sight soon enough. Aspreay needed to get the Hangman''s attention now.
So why wouldn''t the damn words just come out of his throat already?
''Let us try this again ¨C my name is Aspreay Arcano,'' he had told the handsome, brooding man, many years ago. ''We''re both lords without a land, yes? What do you say about changing the world with me?''
Aspreay ran through the crowd, hoping to follow the riders to the Emperor''s castle. There was still time. He could still inform the Hangman of the Pretender''s true identity. Bring all of this to an end.
The other man had laughed quietly. His smirk was captivating, a sort of quiet objection that faded in the amusement reflected in his eyes. ''With you?'' Vasco asked then. ''With you, I''ll go anywhere, kill anyone, and die anytime.''
He pushed past a bystander who refused to give way. The tall, burly stranger glared at him as if he meant to fight. Aspreay paid him no mind. "Wait!" he said, but did not scream, at the Hangman. He knew his voice wouldn''t rise above the cacophony of the crowd. "Wait¨CHangman¨CHangman!"
''Death won''t be enough to stop me,'' Aspreay had shot back, smiling widely in the vain hope of hiding the faint blush in his cheeks. ''Just you wait! Together, we shall change the world!''
Even so, the Hangman still turned around, peering over his shoulder. Perhaps his enhanced senses were too sharp to miss a voice clamoring for him, even a quiet one amidst a crowd. Immediately, Aspreay was filled with two conflicting thoughts. Relief that the Hangman had heard his quiet plea...
And terror, for exactly the same reason.
''Always a dreamer, eh, Aspreay?'' Vasco''s features softened. ''That''s what I like about you, though.''
"Did anyone call for me?"
The Hangman''s shout silenced the crowd. He frowned, his piercing gaze sweeping over them. "Who was it? Tell me, now!"
''Really? I thought it was my eyes.''
Aspreay thought of everything he wanted to say, every crime he wanted to accuse the Painter of committing. Who cared if Vasco was caught in the crossfire? The man had betrayed him once ¨C twice, even! This was merely payback, it was justified, Aspreay didn''t care, and he¨C
''Your eyes are beautiful,'' Vasco said quietly.
''Because of their color?''
''Because they tell me so much about you.''
¨CHe sank to his knees, disappearing within the crowd.
"Hello?" the Hangman called again. "Who the hell is wasting my time? Fucking hell. Show yourself, goddamn it!"
Aspreay grit his teeth and ran in the opposite direction, away from the crowd, away from the Hangman. He couldn''t do it. His mind said his desire for vengeance was justified, yet his heart would not allow the words to reach his lips.
He couldn''t condemn the Painter if it would damn Vasco as well.
Chapter 37
Only Adam and Eric would be allowed to meet with the Emperor. A topic of this importance, his adviser informed them, necessitated the utmost privacy. It was dubious enough to raise an eyebrow, but not dubious enough for Adam to raise his banners and march home...not that he could have, anyhow.
Retreat had stopped being an option the moment he usurped one of the Emperor''s lords.
A set of double-doors stood before them, as ornate as they were ominous. They were all that separated Adam from the imperial throne room. He imagined that this was not unlike what the gates of hell must look like.
Considering everything the Emperor had done to Tenver and Solara, that man certainly fit the part of the devil.
"Be careful of my uncle," Tenver warned him.
Adam regarded him carefully. "Is he dangerous?"
"Fire is dangerous, my lord, but it has its uses. My uncle is poison."
There are uses for that, too. Adam placed a hand on Tenver''s shoulder, making a point to choose his knight''s Puppet arm. "Don''t worry," he said. "While we may be gambling with a heavy purse, it''s not as though we walked into this casino by mistake. Have to roll the dice at some point, right?"
"But we haven''t yet," Solara pointed out. "There''s always time to turn back."
There wasn''t. Not after arriving at the capital, and especially not after entering the Emperor''s castle. Turning back now would be viewed as clear evidence of treason, condemning them in the future ¨C if the guards didn''t just fall on them right here and now. Solara knew that as well as anyone.
It didn''t stop her from caring enough to suggest otherwise.
"Everything will go fine," Adam assured them. "Promise. I''ll return safer than I left."
They didn''t seem to believe him. Adam couldn''t blame them.
He wasn''t sure he believed himself either.
Finally, it was time. A servant had arrived to beckon them onwards. As Adam stepped past the double-doors, he couldn''t help but notice Tenver nervously grasping at the Puppet arm hidden under his armor.
If his secret comes out here, he''s definitely off the line of succession...and probably dead. Whatever support he still has would vanish immediately.
Just another mine to watch out for as Adam strode through a vast field of them. His false lineage, Penumbria''s finances, his status as a potential rebel ¨C any one of those could sink his chances. By the day''s end, he might very well go from kneeling before the Emperor to kneeling before an executioner''s block.
But that''s how it had been from the start, wasn''t it? Everything he''d accomplished thus far had been a risk. When gambling at the highest of stakes, no less than your life was required as collateral. The dice would soon roll, and how they landed would decide the futures of himself, his allies, and his city.
It was a bet he intended to win.
¨C
Adam wasn''t quite sure what to expect from the throne room, but whatever his expectations had been, they lasted a grand total of five seconds after the double-doors closed behind him. As it turned out, Tenever needn''t have worried that he would forget of the Emperor''s danger
The man would not allow that perception of himself.
"Blessed be your visit!" Emperor Ciro declared, less like an Emperor and more like a playwright welcoming an audience to his theater. "Ah, but this will be fun."
Adam''s first thought upon seeing the man was that he was younger than anticipated. Having heard that he was Tenver''s uncle, he''d thought the Emperor would be older, yet he appeared closer in age to Adam himself than a man like Aspreay.
His second thought ¨C one that followed immediately after ¨C was that Emperor Ciro simultaneously evoked Tenver''s resemblance and his opposite. Whereas Tenver was famously handsome, that word seemed ill-fitting for the Emperor. Beautiful was closer to it, with soft features, and long hair white as snow that adorned his countenance like a red cloak enveloped around him.
Adam would have also been tempted to describe him as peaceful or gentle looking, but everything about the Emperor''s manners disabused him of that notion. Ciro stood atop a throne, elevated by a trailing set of steps so high that Adam felt like he was speaking to someone atop a balcony. His legs were crossed, one elbow resting on the throne''s armrest, and his chin was delicately held up by two knuckles.
"How magnificent to finally meet the talk of my Empire," he said. "But where are my manners ¨C I am Emperor Ciro. Banisher of the Rot, the Supreme Ruler of Humanity, the Bane of Elves, the Dragonslayer, your Emperor."
He delighted in his own words, raising a slight smirk. "Mayhap you have heard of me."
Ciro''s voice rose high and fell low like the tides of the sea, a subtle rasp hinting at either a sweet honey or a deadly poison. Adam could not tell which. There was a musical quality to his speech; a melody with notes of arrogance, charm, and danger. Adam wanted to label it as mere hubris, yet...
"And where are your manners?" the Emperor suddenly asked. "Why are you not kneeling?" Ciro didn''t give Adam time to respond. "Kneel."
Without warning, a heavy weight pressed against every inch of his being. Adam''s body was sent to the floor, his face impacting the ground as if someone had pushed him. He tried to get up, but it was like an invisible force was holding him down.
"Well?" Amusement touched Ciro''s voice. "That is not an appropriate greeting. Kneel properly, or I shall assume you have not come here to talk."
Easier said than done. Is Eric¨C
He cut off the thought. Adam couldn''t waste the energy to check on how Eric is doing. Calling upon every inch of willpower and Talent within him, he managed to push himself up on one knee. It didn''t lessen weight crushing his body, but the stance allowed him more leverage to support himself.
"Splendid!" Emperor Ciro declared, clapping his hands together. "So you can listen when compelled to by your betters."
Adam''s meeting with the Puppet Grandmaster hadn''t fully prepared him for this. When kneeling before the Grandmaster, Adam''s limbs had ceased to respond, his mouth sealed shut. It was as if his body ignored every order he''d given, his very soul intimidated by the difference in their power. There was something of an elegant threat behind that terror.
No such beauty was present here. None of his limbs could move ¨C but not because he was denied the attempt. Rather, an inexorable weight was pinning him against the ground. While he may try to resist, it only highlighted how futile his struggles truly were. Even kneeling was nearly impossible.
If...If I stop focusing for one second, my entire body is going to collapse against the ground.
Although perhaps that thought was far too optimistic. The only reason he''d been able to maintain his stance until now was because his foot had sunken through the stone floor, affording him a solid base to stand on. Whether he''d broken a bone ¨C or many bones ¨C Adam did not yet know. His body was too numb to be aware of such trivial sensations as pain.
With great effort, he looked up at Emperor Ciro. So this is the man who killed Tenver''s father. The man who tortured his friends alive and showed him the result. The man who massacred Solara''s homeland. The man who ordered the destruction of the Puppet Mountain.
One hell of a gamble, to negotiate with him. Adam opened his mouth to speak, as if grasping the dice in his hands. Am I ready to cast them?
"We are here to discuss the slaying of the Ghost of¨C"
"Wrong." The Emperor''s voice remained low and calm. "That is not the point of our meeting today, little peasant."
In spite of, or perhaps because of the man''s imposing aura, Adam refused to accept this insult. "Your Imperial Majesty, I''m afraid you forget ¨C I am Lord Adam, Ruler of Penumbri¨C"
"Wrong." The Emperor flicked his wrist, and Adam felt that giant weight upon his shoulders once more. "Were my words not plain enough? Or worse, dare you question them?"
Adam shook his head. Just like I thought. This isn''t the same sensation as the Talent of a Lord...what is it?
He forced himself to lift his head. It was like raising a pair of cinderblocks tied around his neck. "I am the Lord of Penumbria," Adam stubbornly insisted.
"And that," Ciro said, so joyfully he almost sang that last word, "is precisely what we must decide today. Today, you knelt as Adam, the Pretender of Penumbria. Should you rise again, it will be as the true Lord of Penumbria."
His eyes glinted with a cold mirth. "It may be that I see fit that you shall never rise again."
The threat and game were laid before them. Adam would be either rewarded for his service ¨C or executed. There would be no middle ground. That''s fine, he thought, biting his lip. I knew it was going to be like this. As long as Eric backed him up, everything would resolve in his favor.
And if Eric didn''t...
Adam let out a peal of unnaturally relaxed laughter, as if the Emperor''s words hadn''t concerned him in the slightest. "Your Imperial Majesty, why would you sully your blade with me? I have done much for your Empire, and will do more with every day of my life. Aspreay was a much worse ruler than I."
"Yet he was chosen by me," Ciro dryly stated. "To take his lands makes you both a usurper and a danger to my Empire."
"I stand here and pledge myself to you and your desires." The weight on Adam''s shoulders grew heavier, straining his throat, yet he did not allow the suffering to show on his face. He refused to let the confident smile he''d walked in with fall away. "My lord, I am no threat to your Empire. I serve it."
Ciro''s icy voice was an ill-match for his lighthearted smirk. "And you dare to presume better than the Emperor you serve? A poor quality for a lord. Worse still for a traitor.
He laughed. "Aspreay was a subject of mine. To dispose of him and conquer my lands is a crime. Kneeling to me is not a right ¨C it is a privilege you have yet to earn."
Even if that were true, I have paid my debt by slaying two separate curses plaguing your land. Do you mean to ignore that?
Adam knew better than to say this aloud. That wasn''t how the game was played. Instead, he said, "My Emperor, your laws do not forbid members of a noble house from warring amongst themselves."
"Oh?" Ciro appeared unsurprised, yet entertained. "Make your case, peasant."
Adam''s people had been planning for this scenario since his takeover. They''d spread rumors of his parentage across every corner of the Empire ¨C nary a tavern in the continent should have avoided hearing his version of the events. Legend now claimed that Adam was Aspreay''s bastard son, one who''d returned to his father''s lands to claim his rightful title.
Which also helps ''explain'' why Aspreay accepted me into his court. For anyone who hadn''t personally known the former Lord of Penumbria, Adam''s story seemed like a more believable scenario than reality. The alternative was that Aspreay had, on a whim, recruited a passerby as his court painter to indulge in luxury that other lords could not.
This truth ¨C were it to be accepted by the Emperor ¨C would leave Adam as having committed little actual crime. Ciro wouldn''t need to hand down punishment to appear strong before his subjects, the excuse of parentage alleviating his responsibilities.
It was more romantic than the truth, anyhow. Why wouldn''t bards sing of it? Why wouldn''t the Emperor believe it?
"Aspreay could father no children," Ciro said with a sneer.
Besides that. Adam suppressed a wince. Admittedly...it''s a good reason.
"It should be apparent," the Emperor continued. "Why else do you think I bestowed land upon a disgraced, idealistic lunatic? Because it would revert to the Imperial line after his death. Never would I have done so if he planned to share his bed with a woman."
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
"Yet you cannot deny the possibility that he fathered a child," Adam said, sharply. "Were you to claim that as the truth, your subjects would not dare deny it. None would even think of rebelling. There would be no danger to Your Imperial Majesty if¨C"
The weight upon Adam''s shoulders grew so heavy that it sent his head crashing to the floor. It was as if an invisible giant had seized the back of his neck and slammed down. With every passing second, he felt his head sink deeper against the hard rock, his bones stiffening and threatening to crack.
"Danger?" Ciro repeated, amused. "Rebelling?" Ciro repeated, less amused. "I am the sole Ruler of the one Empire. This world is ruled by me. I have nothing to fear."
His voice became more disdainful, half taunt and half poison. "Could I make it so that your heritage is undoubted? Absolutely. But why would I do that? What do I have to gain from granting a treasonous peasant such a right?"
"A loyal, competent subject," Adam pointed out. "You know of my deeds. Claim them in your name now, and allow me to lay more of them at your feet in the future. If you are uncertain, then why not wait and see?"
Ciro''s laugh was appropriately haughty. "There is an order to these things. While I have little to fear, Orbs are necessary to sustain my Empire. It would not do if my subjects began skimming on their taxes, thinking me either weak or a tyrant. Mayhap there is a world whereupon I wait ¨C yet this is not one of them. You have forced my hand by coming here."
That he had. Adam''s story of being Aspreay''s son was so widely spread that the Emperor would need an excuse to execute him, lest he appear to believe his own laws did not apply to him. Either he killed Adam here, or he allowed the Painter to live as his subject.
Better to roll the dice now than later, Adam thought, his heart racing. He fully believed that thought ¨C which hardly made it easier to follow. Even now he held the dice in his hands, trying to will himself to roll them. Yet once they were cast...
There would be no turning back.
Think, Adam! Be reasonable! My alliance with the Puppets isn''t public knowledge yet. I''m going to look increasingly suspicious as I gather more power and followers. I need Ciro to acknowledge me as his subject before he has even more reason to want me dead.
And frankly speaking, Ciro had very good reason for wanting him dead now. When taking that into account, and after contemplating what he needed in order to protect Penumbria...Adam knew the right move to make. This was not¨C
"¨CA bad gamble, my Emperor," he said. "Wagering on my usefulness is of little consequence."
"There is more at stake than you know of. More risk than you think."
A chance appeared. If I can''t appeal to his reason...then let''s go for his ego.
Adam''s time in the Painted World had taught him that pride was easier to sway than the mind.
"Risk?" He laughed, as if the word itself were the funniest jest he''d ever heard. "Your Imperial Majesty, what risk could a mere commoner pose to you? Truly!" He made his tone as theatrical as he could muster beneath the heavy weight still bearing down on him. "Whatever use I have for the Empire needs not be evaluated against a hypothetical risk, for a man such as yourself has nothing to fear from a man of poor birth such as myself. You need only to think whether my usefulness outweighs the small effort it would take to crush me if I were so foolish as to raise my banners against your own."
The Emperor fell into silence. He''s hesitating, Adam thought. He''s considering this. It helped that his appeal to Ciro''s pride had a vestige of truth behind it. Adam''s reign as lord was both a blessing and of little risk. While Ciro had ample reason for doubting his words, he possessed even less reason to view him as a real danger.
Just standing here, I can already tell the massive difference in our power. That''s the card I want to play. I''ll make him think that he has so little reason to fear me that there''s no harm in leaving me alive.
It was working.
Adam could tell from the way the Emperor had paused, from the way he hummed thoughtfully, from how even the heavy weight had started to feel lighter. Just a little more. Just a little more and¨C
"That would be something to entertain," Ciro conceded, "were you a true commoner."
The Emperor leaned forward, a faint smile on his face. When he spoke again, it was in a tone of silken menace. "But that is untrue, is it not?" Worse than his burning gaze was the almost imperceptible rasp in his voice; the way he sounded as though he took pleasure in leading prey across burning coal. "And I speak not of the dastardly Aspreayan lie, oh no."
He stood up from his throne and walked toward Adam. Every step was meaningful, almost theatrical, clicking his heels and swaying from side to side as if on a stage. When he reached the Painter, he placed two fingers beneath Adam''s chin. I have to move. I have to get away¨CI have to¨C
The weight combined with the Emperor''s Talent of a Lord. Adam froze. He couldn''t move, his body feeling like brittle steel that would soon crack under an impossible pressure. Yet blissful relief fell over him at once, the sensation disappearing as the Emperor gently, elegantly, forcefully, lifted his chin to force a meeting of his gaze.
"You are not from my world, Painter." Ciro spoke in a melodic tone that rose and fell between arrogance and charm. As Adam''s eyes widened, the Emperor responded with a low chuckle, his voice dancing to a blissful melody of delight and intense cruelty. "Much like my Hangman, you come from the World of Ink. Dangerous business, that."
How does he know? How much does he...I have to think. Adjust. If he knows this much, then my plans should¨C
His thoughts came to a sudden halt when Ciro slowly shook his head, as if silencing an unspoken objection. "It is most rude to leave your host alone, little painter. Do not retreat inside your thoughts ¨C speak loud and speak plainly. Leave nothing hidden."
Ciro lowered his voice until it was nearly a whisper, closer to a rumble from the shadows. "Do not lie to me."
Fear revolted inside of Adam. All his plans and designs felt secondary to moving away from the monster standing before him. There was a dark charisma about him, a sort of alluring desire that would have made anyone want to please him.
This isn''t...he''s doing something to my mind. There was no time to think. No way to think. A part of him even felt scared of breathing without the man''s permission, as if his permission was necessary just to live.
No, no, no, no, no, no! Adam summoned a burst of willpower, forcing words from his mouth. "If ¨C if you know I''m from Earth...you trust Eric. Why not trust me too?"
"For one, his patron is the First Painter. The very same whose patronage allowed the Imperial family to conquer the continent as we have. Oh, little painter, would you like to hear a forbidden secret?"
Nearly every fiber of his being wanted to say no. His tongue was the exception. "Tell me," Adam managed, his voice weak. This pressure¨Cit''s going to kill me¨Cit''s going to drive me insane¨C "What did Lawrence do for your family? Something even Tenver doesn''t know¨Cwhat could¨C
"Look at that! You know his name! How laudable." The Emperor, without averting his gaze or moving his fingers from beneath Adam''s chin, used his other hand to lightly tap the Painter''s forehead, like patting a dog. "What a good subject you are."
The heat of his shadowy laughter felt like it could have melted Adam''s skin. "Talents are awakened at an early age. Each person may only receive one. Well, they are only supposed to receive one, anyhow. People like you don''t play by the rules ¨C isn''t that right, little painter?"
Adam wanted to respond, to tell him to go to hell, but his body would not respond.
"While it is easier to awaken a Talent inherited through blood," Ciro continued, "that is not the only influence. People may also undergo training during childhood with a master of the same Talent, or fulfill some unknown conditions that no one quite understands. Those should make it easier to awaken to what they desire. However, there is never any guarantee of success."
He clapped his hands once. "Well! What do you think would happen if a ruler knew exactly what needed to be done to awaken specific Talents? Imagine if he could shape his people from a young age into whatever roles he needed. Imagine how mighty his armies would grow, how advanced his siege equipment would become."
Adam should have been considering what all of that meant. Instead, his mind wandered to the reason why he was being told these things. He could only arrive at two conclusions. Either he thinks someone would have told me eventually...like the voice that brought me to the Painted World...or he doesn''t think I''ll leave this room alive.
"Moreover, little painter," Ciro said, dragging out each syllable, "your patron is the Dark Sorcerer. He is not to be trusted."
Fear of death edged out Adam''s fear of speaking. "Eric! Eric can attest that I''m here to serve you! You know what I did! I killed one of the Ghosts ¨C they''re servants of the Dark Sorcerer, aren''t they? Just listen to him! Let Eric talk!"
"That sounds like a fantastic idea." There was a mirthful quality to Ciro''s voice, as if telling Adam the end to a joke. "I do trust my dear Hangman." His eyes glowed a deep, unnatural purple, faint smoke shining around him. "Those chosen by the First Painter are above all others."
The Emperor mercifully broke eye contact to look over Adam''s shoulder. "Ah, Eric ¨C is what he said true?"
A long silence choked the room.
Adam''s fear quieted with it. Danger was still abound, yet even death seemed inconsequential compared to the thought arising in his mind. While tension continued to seize his body, its priorities had shifted, his safety now a distant concern. More than torture, more than death, this what he''d been truly afraid of since arriving in the Painted World ¨C no, since that contest so many months ago.
Whether or not he could trust Eric.
He can''t take credit for killing the Ghosts, Adam reassured himself. He put a curse on himself. It can''t be broken that easily.
The silence stretched on. It was like a hazy, invisible smoke clouding his senses, more oppressive than the supernatural weight the Emperor had summoned.
And then¨C
"Your Imperial Majesty," Eric began, in a formal tone. "As said in my report, the Ghost of Waters, servant of the Dark Sorcerer, was slain aboard a stolen Imperial vessel." The Hangman hesitated. "Sorry for overstepping, but just to confirm...you said something about a reward for the one who killed the Ghost?"
There was a pause. "I did," Ciro agreed, slowly. "Amnesty for their crimes."
"Eric helped me," Adam desperately blurted out. It was a lie ¨C and he didn''t care. "Give him partial amnesty too." That way he''ll have more to gain from siding with me! He didn''t want to doubt Eric, yet the sickness he felt deep in his stomach would have done anything to keep the Hangman on his side.
Even now, he still felt guilty for not trusting him.
Ciro nodded. "Very well. I can agree to those terms. Hangman, is what he said true? Did you work together to fell the Dark Sorcerer''s servant?"
"No," Eric said. "I took no part in it. I can''t take credit for it."
Despite the pain and the weight on his shoulders, Adam''s lips curved into a smile ¨C as a heavier weight had just been lifted from his soul. I shouldn''t have doubted him, he thought. He doesn''t even want a reward. He''s¨C
"I cannot take credit for it," Eric continued, "because neither Adam the Pretender nor myself took part in it. Lord Tenver, Prince of the Empire, slayed the ghost himself."
Chapter 38 + 39
Chapter 38
What?
The word caught in Adam''s throat. He couldn''t speak, his body frozen as he stared transfixed at Eric. Are you...serious? Did you really...again? It wasn''t all just in my head?
I was right?
Eric''s Curse flashed in his mind. ''The subject of this meeting will be the Emperor granting amnesty for severe crimes. I will not take credit from slaying the Ghost of Water. I will acknowledge that the Ghost of Waters was killed during the journey from Penumbria to the Puppet Mines, which I was not part of.''
It was meant to be ironclad. Something that laid all worries to rest. Both Eric and his own subconscious had argued that it was more than enough proof; that any doubt on Adam''s part was unfair.
But fair or not, those fears proved correct. The meeting came, and credit was given...to Tenver.
I was right.
He thought back to the many paintings he''d shown Eric. One of them, surely, should have revealed the truth of his duplicitous nature. Yet he hadn''t stolen Adam''s work out of jealousy, or anger, or revenge. They truly had been friends at one point, and Eric didn''t need the contest''s prize money. Nor was Eric desperate to make a name for himself. It wasn''t that he thought he could never create a piece of art on that level. He didn''t wish to drive Adam to suicide, or for Adam to never be around, and he did care about him to at least some degree.
Adam knew that most people would have considered all that...excessive. There was covering your bases, and then there was locking your bases down in a fortress of steel. At the very least, though, it meant he could finally put his paranoia behind him.
Except that paranoia was only paranoia if it ended up being wrong.
I...was right.
"My Hangman has made a bold claim indeed." The Emperor turned to face Adam, arching a regal eyebrow. "Have you any words in your defense?"
Adam didn''t bother speaking up. Nothing he could say would salvage this. Instead, he looked directly at Eric. Maybe the Hangman had...misspoken, somehow. Maybe he would have a last-minute change of heart.
It wasn''t too late.
"Be wary of the Pretender''s lies," Eric stated. His eyes showed not an inkling of regret. "After Tenver slew the Ghost of Waters, the Pretender used his Talent ¨C granted to him by the Dark Sorcerer ¨C to alter the memories of everyone aboard his ship. I was the only one who did not fall prey to it."
Oh.
We''re really going there, then?
No rightful anger took over Adam''s body. He didn''t stand in silent disbelief at what had transpired. His body did not tremble, in either sadness or anger. At no point did his vision blur, or his stomach threaten to empty itself.
There was only a quiet sadness within him.
In spite of everything, one small part of Adam had still trusted Eric ¨C or wanted to, anyway¨C and it would have leapt with joy if proven right.
Now, it was quiet, never to raise its voice again.
Adam stared at Eric with a gaze of muted grief, knowing that their bond couldn''t ever be repaired.
"Very well then," Ciro said, unsurprised. "I see no reason to delay my verdict." His voice and the clap of his hands may as well have been announcing the start of a brothel''s show of debauchery. "For the crime of treason, you are condemned to death by execution."
The Emperor''s eyes narrowed. "It will take place here and now."
Adam forced himself to speak as a great pressure started to build around him, well-aware that his time was limited. "Tell me," he muttered, addressing Eric directly. "I just ¨C I need to know why. Why would you do that? You...you had nothing to gain. You could''ve gotten more by just...telling the truth."
Eric gave him nothing but silence in response.
"Do you know what the worst part is?" Adam said, barely containing his tears. God, this didn''t hurt any less the second time. "I was trying to...I was trying to ¨C until the very last possible second, I wasn''t sure what I should do. I thought that if I planned for your betrayal, and if you turned out to be telling the truth, I wouldn''t deserve your friendship. It made me¨C"
"¨CAh, boredom," Ciro said, lifting his hands. "Die already."
A maelstrom of darkness appeared from nowhere. It was as if a dark sun had spawned inside the room, affecting Adam alone. The Emperor merely stood untouched before him, like he was separated by an invisible glass shield. Ciro waved at him, as if bidding farewell ¨C and perhaps he was.
Every inch of Adam''s body was twisted, contorted, then drawn into the maelstrom, swallowed by a voracious void. Time slowed to a crawl. An eternity passed, the very light around him bending sideways as his legs flew ahead of him.
Adam watched himself die over the course of an everlasting instant. He had only time to think of one word before his body ceased to be. Gravi¨C
The hole collapsed out of reality, leaving nothing behind.
--
Ciro stood up. "Well, this was a pleasant afternoon. Clean things up for me, will you, Eric?" He walked off. "I suppose I''ll have company soon ¨C now that my nephew has been cleared of his crimes. Most unfortunate. Anyhow, it simply wouldn''t do to greet him in a damaged throne room. I''m sure one of your Talents can figure something out, yes?"
For a moment, only the Emperor''s distant footsteps could be heard among the silence. At least until he stopped to turn around, casting an impassive gaze back at his subordinate. "Oh, yes. Eric? Good job."
After the Emperor exited his throne room, a full minute passed before the Hangman dared to speak. Drawing a deep breath, he glanced at what remained of Adam.
Which was nothing. No flesh, blood or bone. Not even a stain. Not even atoms.
Still...Eric found it fitting to gaze upon the spot where his best friend had died.
For several seconds, he stood in a quiet vigil. This was the only funeral that would honor the Pretender of Penumbria. And as its sole participant, it fell to Eric to deliver the eulogy.
He opened his mouth, speaking straight from the heart. "Honestly? I never wanted the world, Adam."
Eric inclined his head. "I just wanted you to have nothing."
"Is that so?" Adam replied, sadly.
"WHA¨C"
He didn''t give Eric time to reply. As his body rewound itself into its previous state, Adam slammed his fist against the man''s face. Violence overwhelms Talents. Even yours.
Eric collapsed to the floor, momentarily stunned. Adam was already running. He couldn''t waste even a single moment. The Hangman would strike as soon as he regained his wits, and the Emperor wasn''t far away, either. Every second that passed was one second closer to ruination.
Yet there was still one thing that Adam needed to say. Enough to risk his life for.
"The worst part was that I wanted to believe in you," Adam continued, as if he hadn''t been rudely interrupted by a gruesome death. "I tried to, you know? Until the very last instant, I tried."
He sighed. "I would''ve been satisfied if I could ¨C even if you betrayed me. Didn''t really need anything else. But despite how much I wished for it, or what my heart desired...I think I''m just completely unable to trust you again. That''s the worst part. Worse than the betrayal could ever be."
"Adam, I¨Cyou¨Chow dare¨C"
"But just because I don''t trust you..."
The Painter rolled up his sleeves to show an inked pattern.
"Doesn''t mean I can''t trust anyone."
''Solara, I''m going to use my new Talent on us,'' Adam had told her last night. ''It''ll give me limited use of your revival Talent, and you of my Flames. That way, when Eric betrays me, I''ll fake death and escape.''
The elf smiled teasingly. ''Oh? Aren''t you afraid of what I might do with access to your powers? That I might turn out like the Hangman?''
Her tone grew more serious. ''According to your ability, I''ll be able to use your Talent if you trust me. But if I don''t trust you, then you won''t be able to use mine. Aren''t you afraid I''m deceiving you? That you might die and simply not wake up?''
''I am,'' he admitted. ''But even so...I want to believe in you.''
Adam dashed over to the far end wall, calling on his Stained Vines. This was his best chance of escaping. The Emperor''s guards would be waiting behind doors, not solid walls, and his experiments with Aspreay''s prisoners had taught him that Stained Ink could cut through even the most magical of stones.
"WAIT, ADAM!" Eric shouted. There was a remorseless pain in his voice. It was deep, perhaps even genuine, yet... "You don''t ¨C you don''t get it! Tenver, that literal bastard, he tricked me, manipulated me, threatened to kill an entire city with a bomb he stole from the puppets. He was never your friend! I was going to undo your death later, when it was safe! You have to trust me, this was the only way¨C"
Adam didn''t wait for him to finish. He cut a hole through the wall and launched himself out of the castle.
It starts now, he thought. Our rebellion.
The die was cast.
--
Chapter 39
The Night Before
"Assuming that I''m executed," Adam began, "would it be possible to delay my resurrection until after the Emperor is gone?"
Solara nodded. "You should have some amount of control over my Talent. Don''t push it too hard ¨C after dying, your body will start to repel your soul, like opposing magnets. If you wait overly long, you might not be able to come back."
That aligned with some of what the Grandmaster had alluded to about how the Dragons used to capture souls for creating Puppets. While it wasn''t relevant to the plan at hand, Adam found it noteworthy, regardless.
Tenver stirred in his seat. "This scheme is far too reckless. Why meet up with the Emperor at all if you are so certain of Eric''s betrayal?"
"Because I''m not," Adam plainly answered. "My brain feels like it''s a certainty, but my heart can''t quite accept it. Even right now, making this plan with you guys...there''s a part of me that keeps saying: You''re wasting time, planning for something that won''t happen. Eric has always got your back." He laughed heartily and bitterly at himself. "Quite the foolish thought, don''t you agree?"
Then, with deadly confidence, he spoke in a low voice. "That''s why I want to do this." His hand tightened on the left side of his chest. "I want to rid myself of hesitation before we do anything drastic."
"Anything drastic, eh..." Solara aimed her gaze at the ceiling. "Such as killing the Emperor?"
"Him too," Adam said, nodding. "There''s a few excuses I could make about why I''m going through with the meeting. For one, making ourselves an enemy of the Emperor publicly would raise our banner as the one his enemies should rally behind. Maybe I''ll also get lucky and find out enough about him to paint his soul. If nothing else, he might have important information on things we need to know, such as how my world and the Painted World are connected."
He paused. "But if I''m being honest...more than all of that...I just want to throw away my doubts before burning everything to the ground."
Silence.
"Thanks for going along with this," Adam muttered. "It''s selfish of me."
Solara laughed. "I''m glad that you are capable of selfishness. Being helped by a saint makes every temptation feel like a sin." She stretched her arms above her head. "Worry not. All of us owe the other debts we cannot repay, so let''s not fuss over it."
Tenver nodded in agreement. "Aye. Knowing of your greed lessens my guilt for my own." He shook his head, as if arguing with himself. "Moreover, some of those ''excuses'' are quite valid, especially the one you haven''t bothered to state aloud ¨C that your existence is still seen as treason by the Emperor. Should he not grant you amnesty, your life and that of Penumbria''s will be forfeit. Considering we have no way of matching the Empire''s military, making an attempt at peace is prudent."
"If you will excuse me," Solara cut in, "earlier you mentioned ''your world'' and¨C"
"I''ll explain later," Adam promised her. "We don''t have much time, so let''s focus on our escape plan. Remember; you shouldn''t enter the throne room with me no matter what. They''ll probably want to separate us anyway, but if they allow you guys in for some reason, make something up and calmly get out. My escape will distract them from yours. We left the Airship outside the city''s Barrier for a reason."
Tenver fell into thought. "Right. The moment you head inside the throne room, we''ll devise an excuse to leave the castle. You won''t be declared a traitor for at least about five minutes, so they''ll have no reason to keep us from leaving...officially, anyhow. I''m sure they''ll still try to force us to stay, but the guards should be easier to get through."
"I could kill myself," Solara proposed. "Pretend there''s an emergency and you need to mourn my sudden, inexplicable death. Even if they''re under orders to keep us in, that might confuse them enough to let us go, even if they keep an eye on us."
She glanced at Adam. "But what about you? Won''t the Emperor hunt you down immediately after you escape? We are inside his Realm, after all."
Adam had considered this point intensely for a long while. It was something he''d considered even back when imprisoned by Aspreay:
Would the lord have been able to tell if someone escaped his city? How closely could he track its inhabitants?
This was a vital detail, and Adam had treated it as such. Between books, references, his own experiences, and his tablet, he''d made sure to gather as much information as possible.
He couldn''t be wrong about this.
"I doubt it," Adam said, frankly. "The Emperor has the strongest Talent of a Lord in the world, no doubt about that. But...the Capital is also the largest city in the world. To use myself as an example ¨C while I''m roughly aware of how many people there are in Penumbria, it''s not like I can keep track of them."
He tapped his thigh. "Even if the Emperor is far stronger than me, it''s not like he can monitor every person in a city of hundreds of thousands. It''s like watching an ant colony. Even if you can see all of them, your brain can''t really process everything, much less narrow down the search to a single one. He won''t be able to find me that easily."
Although that would be a different story if the Realm''s size was smaller, with fewer people. Then the Emperor might even be able to tell what someone thinks inside of it.
Solara wasn''t yet convinced. "I like to think that I''d notice if one of the ants suddenly employed a Talent, though. And using Resurrection is definitely going to draw his awareness towards you."
"Yeah. Probably." Adam acknowledged the point easily enough. That was within his margin of acceptable risks. "Which is why I''ll only have a few moments to act. First I''ll use Resurrection to come back to life, then cut open the walls with Stained Ink and jump outside. After that, I''ll try to blend in with the crowd in the streets. It''s a big city, and the Emperor is unlikely to come after me personally. I''m dressed well, but not so well that I''ll stand out in the Capital of all places. Normal guards will struggle to pick me out of the masses."
His words were true ¨C yet they brought forth the point that none wished to acknowledge. "The guards will struggle...but what of the Hangmen?" Tenver quietly asked. "Aside from Eric, the Emperor should have others at his disposal."
"Valeria got us some information about that," Adam said. Though the Puppet Detective had remained in the Mines for the time being, she was committed to her sworn fealty as a citizen of Penumbria, eagerly ¨C almost scarily ¨C investigating everything asked of her. "There are six Hangmen that usually stay in the city and rarely go out on missions. The Emperor typically has each of them patrolling the districts that lead out of the castle, and he frequently changes who goes where."
"Just our bloody luck," Tenver muttered. "All six of them..."
Solara folded her arms, seeming hesitant. "Tenver...ah...I know this is a difficult question, but you''re the one who''d be most familiar with the Empire''s Hangmen. Anything you can tell us?"
It was a sensitive question, as some of those Hangmen had likely aided the Emperor in killing Tenver''s father. Nonetheless, the knight needed less than a second to answer.
"Fighting against any of them is out of the question," he began. "Even if we could muster up a win ¨C which is truly unlikely ¨C it would take so long that other Hangmen could arrive. And after a battle like that, even normal guards without any godly Talents would be enough to subdue you."
He sighed. "But considering Lord Adam''s Talents, even if he stumbles upon one of them, he should be able to escape. We''re not here to fight; just to survive. And I''m confident he can manage that against most of them. Except..."
There was a pause.
"Except against their Captain." Tenver lowered his gaze to the floor and clasped his hands together. Was he...trembling? "If you see a man with white hair and purple eyes, who looks like he hasn''t slept in days...even just escaping will be impossible."
Adam couldn''t disagree. He''d never met the Captain in person, but the stories he''d heard told all he needed to know. "That''s the man who killed the Mountain Puppets, right?"
At that, Solara sat up. "The one who single-handedly carved a tunnel between Gama and Penumbria?"
"The very same," Tenver replied, with an acrid tone. "He...Adam, if you see him, don''t even try running. Remember that my Father also possessed an Emperor level Talent ¨C unfair fight or not, who do you think killed him?"
A mild shiver went down Adam''s spine. He put on a brave face, trying not to think about what potentially awaited him in the capital city. "Between the Captain and the current Emperor, which one of them is stronger?"
"The Captain doesn''t possess a Lord''s Realm, so he can''t rule over people as my dear old Uncle does," Tenver slowly replied. "But when it comes to simple, overwhelming strength...there is not a single man who could best him throughout the entire Empire."
Adam hesitated before responding. "It should be fine," he said, with forced optimism. "If each Hangman is guarding just one of six districts, then I''ve got over an 80% chance of avoiding the Captain."
He nodded in an attempt to persuade both his allies and himself. "All of this hinges on Eric''s betrayal, anyway. He might surprise us. And there''s a slim chance that even with his betrayal, I''ll be able to convince the Emperor that I should be left alive. It''s a gamble, but if we do nothing, the Empire will just come knocking on our door sooner rather than later."
Adam drew himself up. He could feel the reaper hang its scythe over his neck, waiting to see if it should cut down.
"I''ll take these odds."
--
Present Day
Adam launched himself out of the castle. He needed to move fast ¨C Emperor Ciro would have certainly noticed his Resurrection, and he''d already wasted too much time exchanging words with Eric.
That goes for both just now...and for my entire life.
The cold, hard streets were rushing up to meet him. Ciro''s throne room was located rather high up in his castle ¨C no normal person could have survived a fall like this. Thankfully, Adam had accounted for that in his planning.
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Although he did find some irony in the fact that it was raining outside. If only the Ghost of Waters hadn''t been made up of so many different souls, he mused. I could''ve stolen his Talent and escaped through the raindrops. Would''ve been way easier. While there hadn''t been any realistic chance of him stealing that Talent, the regret burned regardless.
It didn''t last long. None of his emotions did. Adam focused all of his attention on the task at hand, shoving aside his lingering concerns until nothing else mattered. Even his grief over having to accept Eric''s final betrayal could wait.
Right now...he had a city to escape.
"Stained Vines!" Adam stabbed through the side of the castle walls, using his Talent to slow his fall. Initially, he''d half-planned to start a fire and use the Haunted Flames to escape, but the sudden onset of rain had taken that option away from him.
It''s not all bad, though. The heavy rain worked as a cover, obscuring him from sight as he descended. Guards and citizens down below won''t see me. They don''t have any reason to look up at one specific area of the Imperial Palace during a storm. I can escape ¨C no one''s coming after me!
Adam screamed the thought in his head...which didn''t make it sound any more convincing. He''d earned a head start on his pursuers, but that was it. Eric would be rushing to alert the Emperor by now, and it was likely that at least a few people had witnessed the indistinct, rain-cloaked figure rappelling down the castle''s walls.
Still, he had to make himself believe it. He couldn''t let fear touch him, lest he become its slave.
And he would never allow himself to controlled ever aga¨C
"Well, well. You survived?"
His heart froze as the Emperor''s voice filled inside his head. "Was that the Talent of Resurrection? What a curious little Painter you are." Casual malice dripped from every word. "Stay put. I shall send¨C"
Adam tuned out the voice. Despite being a bit high up, he forcibly let go of his Stained Vines, quickly plummeting to the ground below. The impact was painful, but nothing seemed broken. Good enough.
Two thoughts came to him at once. The first was, He can send thoughts into the heads of people inside his Realm? How does that¨C and the second, I can''t have been using my Talents for longer than a minute. Was that enough for him to find me? That''s absurd! If that''s the case, then I''m already dead!
Uncertainty clouded his questions of the future, but the truth of the moment reigned supreme ¨C inaction meant death. Adam could only grit his teeth and set himself running into the rainy streets, his feet clicking against the cobblestone and echoing throughout the city.
For a moment, for just a singular, solitary second, Adam stopped pretending. He quit being a superhuman above such petty concerns, and allowed himself to think everything that he''d forbidden from himself until now.
''This is hopeless.''
''I''m already dead.''
''I can''t escape the Emperor.''
''I''ve gotten everyone killed.''
Each and every one, a valid thought.
Adam discarded them all. "Being reasonable isn''t going to get me anywhere," he declared to himself. "I''m going to escape. That''s a guarantee."
His vow sustained him as he fled, the encroaching shadows chasing close behind.
¨C
Adam''s flight from the castle was a desperate blur. His breath was ragged in the chill air, and his sense of time had deserted him. It should have been midday, yet the stormclouds masked even that. Too gray for the light of day, too gray for the dark of night.
Fear clung onto him tighter than his wet, rain-soaked shroud. It was both a heavy chain of burden and the only thing that moved him forward. Every time the sharp reality of betrayal struck, invoking a feeling of hopelessness within, the threat of hostile footsteps prompted him to run ever faster.
Eric...you really couldn''t help yourself, could y¨C
Adam quickened his pace. The Capital city''s mazelike design was a blessing and a curse; easy to hide inside, yet difficult to find your own way out of. Streets twisted, turned, grew narrower, then wider. For how long? A few minutes? A few hours?
He couldn''t know for sure. Adam didn''t have the luxury of calm thought, for his legs now mattered more than his brain.
Can''t¨Clet¨Cthe¨CHangmen¨Cget¨Cme!
The crowd was a wave of faceless figures, every cloak a dark whisper, every laugh a burning threat. No time to discern passersby from the people hunting me down. Have to assume everything is a danger to me. Objects no longer stood only for themselves. Shadows hid watchers, and flickers of torchlight beckoned accusatory, malevolent gazes.
Nowhere was safe. In that demented, manic haze, Adam''s most primal instincts guided him towards the only direction he could go ¨C away.
Away from them.
The storm poured down still. It was less of a rain and more of a dense, almost green mist that sprayed against his face with every passing moment. Coldness clung at his skin as Adam''s uneven breath forged a mist of its own. Those vengeful clouds were his ally and his enemy; the wet cobblestone threatened to slip his boots many a time, yet the rainy mist camouflaged his desperate flight among hundreds of others seeking shelter from the elements.
Suddenly, the rain seemed to pause. Nothing felt the same as it had been one moment before. The world slowed down as Adam''s heartbeat raced faster.
All to herald the arrival of the Dark Captain.
The Captain was a tall, somewhat elegantly dressed man, with eyes of purple, and hair of white. He stood beneath the rain as if unbothered by the growing storm.
No. Not as if.
"The rain...it...it isn''t touching him," Adam muttered to himself, in disbelief.
It was hard to make out details from a distance, but this much, he was sure of. Despite the raging storm above, the Captain was completely dry. Each time the water neared him, it would close up, yet never touch him, sent sideways like it had been repelled by a magnetic force.
Are the raindrops scared of him to the point of fleeing?
A mere glance was enough to understand ¨C strength was not a word befitting of this man. This was one of those rare few that was an anomaly in existence; a life akin to an army in and of itself. Another creature alike the Emperor and the Grandmaster. There was no need for Adam to glance at his tablet to know the man''s name or title.
Valente Marinyo, Head of the House of Estrela Verde, and Captain of the Hangmen.
The Strongest Man in the Empire.
Their gazes met, and all color vanished.
It wasn''t poetry; it was sight, it was reality. Shades of blue, red, and green turned to pitch-black before Adam''s eyes. This is...the world telling me I''m about to die. He didn''t know where the thought had come from, yet it felt indisputable, and ruled his mind from that moment onward. His hopes perished within that monochrome world.
He''s going to kill me. Six possible Hangmen, only one to worry about...and I got the absolute worst possible outcome.
At first, the Captain seemed to be grimacing, but his expression soon relaxed into a relieved smile. "Ah, look over there! Where was this luck in the Colosseum? Dice should''ve favored me more, they should have."
Valente lifted a foot high up in the air as if readying himself for a theatrical, exaggerated march. His intention was clear ¨C he was approaching Adam.
I have to do something before he gets here! What can I do? Run? No, there''s no way someone like him wouldn''t be able to outrun me. My best chance would be to blend in with the¨C
"Now, now," Valente said. He lowered his leg.
And immediately appeared in front of Adam, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What should I do with you? I don''t enjoy killing. Enemies of the Empire do have to die, though. Gods, I''d much rather someone else dealt with you...but as the Colosseum taught me, luck isn''t my strong suit."
Adam was stunned into silence as the Hangman rambled on. One instant he''d been across the street, and the next he was inches away. That hadn''t been mere speed. It was as if¨C
NO TIME FOR THAT! With haste, he stepped on the man''s shadow and called on his Talent of a Lord. "Kneel," Adam commanded, his eyes sparkling with intensity.
"I think not," Valente cheerfully replied. Upon seeing Adam''s expression, he let out a gentle laugh. "Surprised that your Shadow Realm isn''t working? Or is it that I''ve suddenly appeared in front of you?"
Tenver''s warning rang true in Adam''s mind. ''You have no chance of fighting against him. Forsake the goal of winning. Even running is impossible. Survival should be your only priority.''
No fighting, winning, or running. What else could he do right now? What options did he have?
Get him talking. Delay the execution. "Admittedly, my Lord Talent failing to work is puzzling," Adam said, with false amusement in his voice. Stay confident. Make him think you''re not afraid. "Care to elaborate why?"
"For one, I''m pretty confident that I''d be strong enough to survive even inside your Realm," Valente said, his voice sounding both joyful and puzzled. "But then again...I''m not a specialist in Lordly Realms. How about you elucidate for us?"
It was here that Adam noticed Valente was speaking to someone else. "You''ve been watching for a while now, right?" the Captain said.
A figure emerged from the shadows, stepping closer to them.
Adam then realized, far too late, that he''d been wrong. Happening upon the Captain of the Hangmen ¨C despite having over an 80% chance of avoiding him ¨C was not the worst possible outcome.
"If you insist," said Aspreay.
This was.
"I suppose I can spare a few words." The former Lord wore an expression of vague distaste. "It''s not a total waste. At least one of you will live to remember them."
Dealing with a Hangman was difficult enough. Dealing with their Captain was virtually impossible. Adding Aspreay of Penumbria, the only man in this world who hated Adam more than himself, made the problem so insurmountable as to make him want to laugh. It was beyond absurd.
"Your Shadow Realm is an extension of your Realm in Penumbria," Aspreay continued, his every word dripping with disgust. He placed a hand on Adam''s other shoulder, standing opposite to the Hangman. "It''s the same principle as to why the Emperor cannot so easily pinpoint your location. The power of your Realm is a simple calculation of its size and your overall strength. At present, it is too weak to function inside the Emperor''s Realm."
With a tilt of his head, Valente muttered a soft, contemplative hum that skirted between pure innocence and a thinly-veiled aura of murder. "Isn''t the Shadow Realm really small, though? It only applies if he can step on my shadow."
"Weren''t you listening, white-haired imbecile?" Aspreay said, with annoyance. "It only looks small. It''s still derived from the Realm he established in Penumbria. Considering the difference in Rank between him and the Emperor, building a functional Realm inside the Emperor''s Realm would require much more finesse."
That seemed easier for the Hangman to understand, who nodded along happily to the explanation. "Yes, I''ve got it, I see! You''re saying that if Adam wanted to fight me with his Lordly Realm, he''d need to first undo the one in Penumbria?"
"Yes. That''s exactly it." Aspreay tightened his grip on Adam''s shoulder. "If he were to undo his Realm there...he could recreate it here. Make it smaller. Instead of a gigantic Imperial city, if he focused everything onto a narrow street, then perhaps he would have a chance. Lordship is among the few Talents that the Emperor cannot detect inside his Realm."
"I see, I see!" Valente excitedly said. "So the question is whether or not the Pretender is willing to doom his city ¨C and his treasonous followers ¨C in order to save his own skin. Villains such as he will die regardless, but this way he could try to put up a fight."
"Correct," Aspreay stated. "That is precisely the question. So, Painter. What''s it going to be? Your life...or Penumbria?"
In response to that, Adam could only bark out a low laugh. "This isn''t the first time I''ve had to decide between those two." He adopted a dry tone, locking eyes with both men. "But considering how dire this situation is...it might actually be my last."
"You don''t fear death?" Valente raised an eyebrow. "You bluff, surely."
"I''ve already made arrangements for my inheritance. If I die, I know who the Lord Talent will get passed down to ¨C and it won''t be someone like Aspreay."
Truthfully, he had no idea if his Talent of a Lord even could be passed down like other people''s. There were many unknown oddities related to Painted abilities. Still, he had followed the protocol as learned, instituting heirs just in case: Tenver, then Solara, then Esteban, then Vasco. While he wasn''t entirely happy with his selection, he''d assumed that if Tenver and Solara had also fallen...there were likely few people left to protect, anyhow.
"I won''t disband Penumbria''s barrier," Adam calmly told them. "If you want to kill me, go ahead." More sternly, he added, "But Aspreay ¨C you''d better go back and make sure someone has a barrier set up there after you take my head, you hear me?"
He paused, and when he continued, it was with a low voice, almost a growl. "Listen carefully Aspreay. If you let monsters overrun our city, then I''ll haunt you for the rest of eternity!"
"Do you mean that?" Aspreay asked, slowly. He didn''t seem bothered by the threat, nor did he acknowledge it. "Will you truly not lift the barrier in Penumbria, even in the face of death?"
Adam drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. It''s easy to say those things in the heat of the moment. But when I actually stop to think about it...it''s terrifying. Dying is scary. I don''t want to die. I want to help more people. I want to have fun. I want to trust people again. There''s so many things I still have to do.
But...even so...
He opened his eyes and glared at Aspreay. "If I wasn''t willing to do this much, I would have had no right to take Penumbria from you."
"Is that so?" Aspreay repeated, in a deadpan. "I suppose that''s true." He let go of Adam''s shoulder and peered at the Hangman. "Valente, I have a proposal for you."
The Hangman recoiled, as if hurt, but still didn''t release his grip on Adam''s shoulder. If anything, it grew tighter. "Oh? What could you possibly want? We must impose the will of His Imperial Highness upon creatures such as this man. Surely you don''t intend to suggest that we merely let this villain go?"
"No," Aspreay immediately replied. "But you were muttering some inanity earlier about how murdering him or allowing his escape would both be troublesome, were you not?"
"Was I?"
"You were," Aspreay said, with a degree of anger. Then, more formally, he asked, "What do you say that I kill him?" When Valente didn''t respond, he added, "The Emperor''s reward will be yours. I only want the satisfaction of murdering the man who stole everything from me."
Valente''s eyes became alight with a fiery malice, licking his lips as if anticipating a feast. "Oh, I can certainly deal with those terms. It''s only fair that you kill the Pretender brat. And I could use the Orbs after how my last night at the Colosseum went...yes, this would be acceptable!"
This is pathetic, Adam seethed. Am I seriously just going to wait here and let them debate how to kill me?
No. He wasn''t going to give them the satisfaction. If they meant for Aspreay to kill him, then the Hangman would need to let go of his shoulder and step back. That would be the best time for Adam to unleash whatever mad attack he could conjure up in his last moments.
Maybe I can try pulling out my tablet to trap Aspreay''s soul. It won''t save my life, but I''ll die happier knowing that he doesn''t get to live to gloat about this. Or maybe if I can find a way to start a fire to use Haunted Flames ¨C maybe give the Curse to one of them on purpose.
All hopeless plans, Adam knew. There wouldn''t be time to do any of that. If either man saw him reaching for his tablet, they''d murder him on the spot. Using any Talent outside of Lordship would alert the Emperor of his location, and using Lordship would doom Penumbria to a swift and merciless demise by Stained Creatures.
Was this checkmate?
It certainly felt that way when the Hangman let go of Adam''s shoulder and took several steps back. "Is this far enough, Aspreay? I don''t want to get blood on my suit. Lost my other good one in the Colosseum, you know?"
"A few more steps," Aspreay annoyedly shouted. As Valente acquiesced to his request, the former Lord of Penumbria glanced at Adam and lowered his voice to a whisper. "If you let Vasco die, then I''ll be the one haunting you for eternity, brat."
Adam blinked. "The hell are you¨C"
"Quiet." Aspreay took two steps away ¨C and towards the Hangman. "Get out of my sight."
Suddenly, color returned to Adam''s world. It wasn''t a full palette yet. Almost every color was dark, an odd shade of blue for most of it, and some dark greens for the rest...but it wasn''t monochrome anymore.
"Aspr¨C" Adam started, then stopped as he recoiled in pain. He instinctively tried to approach Aspreay, one hand extended toward the empty air between the two ¨C then pulled it back as it burned intensely as if he''d just touched...fire? No. Something else. As if a sudden jolt of electricity had just shocked his hand. It was a familiar sensation. Where had he felt that before?
Remembrance came to him in a flash. Adam paled, the blood draining from his face. There''s...no way. He wouldn''t be able to touch Aspreay right now. No one from the outside could. If you do that, you''re going to...
Across from them, the smile was gone from the Hangman''s face. When he spoke, it was in a raspier, more malicious tone. "Aspreay, Aspreay Aspreay..." He shook his head. "Oi, oi, oi...are you serious?"
"If you can''t understand it still, then you bear the sin of stupidity. You heard my explanation earlier, yes? You also must have heard the brat explaining why he refuses to abandon the city. But I..."
Aspreay lifted his right elbow, dangling his hand before his face as if holding a marionette. "...I am no longer Lord of Penumbria. No attachments. Nothing to hold me back. Nothing to protect."
He clenched his hand into a fist. "Nothing to fear."
"I disagree," Valente said, in that same low, raspy voice. "You should fear me."
"Mayhap so," Aspreay acknowledged.
The Hangman sighed. "Once you utter the words," he warned, "there will be no turning back."
"Aye." Aspreay cracked his neck. "A single street...even against the Emperor''s Realm, I should be able to manage it if I narrow it down this much."
The two were about ten steps apart from each other. In this narrow street, the storied buildings and bustling taverns practically felt claustrophobic, as if threatening to envelop them all. A few people walked quickly, not fully cognizant of any of their identities, yet feeling the oncoming storm heavier than the deluge that was presently falling upon them.
For a moment, only the sound of rain punctuated this stage of theirs.
Then Aspreay whipped his arm to the side, as if to signal an invisible army to start its advance, and cried out:
"¨CREALM¨CRECONSTRUCTION¨C!"
Chapter 40
If before the pouring rain had seemed to avoid Valente, now it chose to avoid the street entirely, like a curtain rising to honor Aspreay''s challenge. A set of four near-translucent walls had spawned around the Lord and the Hangman, so elegant that they almost felt as if they did not exist at all.
Until that moment, not a single thing today had shocked Adam. Not Eric''s betrayal, nor the Dark Captain''s appearance. Even his own death at the hands of the Emperor was something he''d accounted for.
This, however¨C
"Aspreay¡what the hell are you doing?" Adam muttered. The translucent barrier stood tall in front of him like an impenetrable Wall. "You''re supposed to be a selfish asshole, this doesn''t fucking track!"
He shook his head and grit his teeth. "Damn it! I don''t want to see anyone dying because of ¨C damn it!"
Adam wrapped Stained Ink around his hand, then punched at the Walls of Aspreay''s Realm. His fist bounced back like a ricocheting bullet, nearly pushing him back with its momentum. A dark, hazy steam began emanating from his hand, its burning ink clashing heavily against the pouring rain.
Too strong, Adam marveled. His gaze shifted from his injured fist over to the translucent barrier. It''s far stronger than the barrier he set up around Penumbria. Is it because it''s smaller? So¡larger Realms are weaker? That''s why it''s harder to track individual people when a Realm is the size of a city?
There was still far too much that Adam didn''t know about Realms and the Lord Talent. He''d only utilized his Lord Talent to its minimal extent ¨C what choice did he have, when doing otherwise would''ve meant the death of Penumbria? His own ignorance was something that he was keenly aware of.
Even so¡
Beholding Aspreay''s Walls, he couldn''t help but realize just how truly little he knew of Lordship. This mastery was¨C
"Adam!" a voice called out. "Get in here, quickly!"
Suddenly, a carriage pulled by two dark horses appeared beside him, the sound of its arrival camouflaged by the heavy rain. Adam''s first instinct was to reach for his Stained Ink, but he relaxed upon seeing the carriage''s driver.
"Inside," Tenver barked. "Hurry and shut the blinds ¨C we''re leaving the city now."
"Don''t think I''ve ever been so glad to see you," Adam, with a smile.
Tenver returned the smile, but only briefly. "No time. Hop in before anyone sees you."
Adam nodded; there was ill time for pleasantries. Despite that, he spared one last glance as he climbed into the carriage, looking at the duel taking place inside Aspreay''s Realm. Such was his haste that he only allowed himself the luxury of reflection after their carriage had started moving forward, re-entering the storm.
You''re a difficult man, Aspreay, he mused. With the same tone you would use to damn an unfortunate wretch, you also declare your intention to save another. I''ve learned enough of your soul to commit it to ink¡
And I still feel like I don''t know you at all.
--
Imperial Hangmen are more than just harbingers of death ¨C they are its wielders. To face them in battle is to throw yourself neck-first onto the executioner''s axe. Their speed and power are such that Valente could have killed Aspreay long before the former Lord finished reconstructing his Realm around them.
Only one thing kept Valente from doing so; his sincere dedication to the Empire and its laws. Until Aspreay had called upon his Realm, he was not yet guilty of a crime.
But now he was.
"Your punishment needn''t be death," Valente said, in a firm tone. "I promise clemency if you call off your realm and surrender. Avoid suffering a villain''s fate, Aspreay."
It was an option. "I rather mislike being told what to do." Aspreay did not take it. "No. One of us shall perish today."
Bold words, he knew, to utter to the Empire''s sharpest blade.
Why am I raising my sword against the living incarnation of death? Aspreay wondered. Do I consider the brat to be noble in some way? Or is it simply that loving the fool from Gama has finally become the death of me?
This and many other thoughts fluttered within Aspreay''s mind, frustration and confusion welling up inside ¨C but only for a moment. It had all ceased the moment his Realm was summoned.
Nothing else mattered except the opponent standing before him.
Back when the Emperor first granted Aspreay land, some had privately questioned his decision to reward a nameless lord of meager renown. Theories whirled amidst the capital, chief among them the notion that Aspreay harbored some secret Talent that could rival even the Hangmen themselves.
The truth was much more mundane. It was not hidden strength or genius aptitude that drew the Emperor''s attention. He''d merely taken note of Aspreay''s single-minded focus and ability to calmly analyze his surroundings ¨C then judged it would be easier to reward the idealistic, wide-eyed young man than to fight him.
Because during his time at the Academy, despite possessing a lower Rank than the other Lords¡Aspreay had never lost a single duel.
He fixed his gaze on the specter of death that was the Hangman. His motives for helping the Painter, his hatred at the injustice done to him, even his desire to survive ¨C all were burnt to ashes as his Realm spread around them. In his mind, only a single, solitary thought remained:
Victory at all costs.
The Hangman''s glare threatened death. "Heed the Emperor''s orders, Aspreay. Forget not that we are inside His Realm."
"And yet also inside mine," Aspreay stated. "So heed my order: Kill yourself, Peasant."
Valente''s eyes shot open. He did not tremble so much as vibrate, his body locked in near-complete stillness. Then, less than a second later, the Hangman shook himself like a wet half-breed dog coming out of a river. He appeared wholly undamaged, sending the former Lord a feeling of mild whiplash over his failed command.
¨CAnd immediately killed Aspreay four times in response.
It took Aspreay until his fourth death to even notice what was transpiring. The Hangman had been clustering his Orbs together into a physical form, then flinging them as one would flip a coin, each projectile faster than an arrow and far deadlier.
The Hangman Talent bestows death upon all of his attacks, Aspreay calmly thought. Anything his violence touches will result in death. However, he cannot permanently kill me inside my Realm ¨C Noble Guard grants me life.
"What a curious exchange that was," Valente remarked. "I don''t suppose I could get you to surrender?"
"It was only curious to an uneducated peasant who never anticipated that he''d stand on a stage of this grandeur," Aspreay fired back. "This result was expected."
Aspreay''s opening move had been to use the Realm''s First Pillar, the Royal Order, to order the Hangman to kill himself. Anyone or anything inside a Lord''s Realm was compelled to heed his command upon its declaration. Yet the move failed to produce an effect ¨C which was also as expected.
"A mere Baron such as myself managed to make an Emperor''s Hangman tremble? Pathetic." The Lord sounded proud of his own deed, and mocking of his opponent for allowing him to accomplish it. Neither was a lie for the sake of a taunt, both reflected his heart''s truth. "Mayhap today I will slay the Incarnation of Death."
"I have fought Lords before," the Hangman declared. "That Noble Order is your only offensive power. If you can''t command me," ¨C Valente flicked three Orbs at Aspreay ¨C "you can''t kill me, either."
Each Orb collided with Aspreay''s body, piercing it and killing him three times over, to no effect. "Then you should already know," he said, "that the Second Pillar of Realms, the Noble Guard, will keep murder from your fingers as well. While we are inside my Realm, I cannot be slain."
Even if you prove immune to my Orders, Noble Guard affects me, not you. This isn''t something that can be changed with raw violence alone. "There are many legends of your might, Hangman. Pray tell ¨C does the legend have a way to pierce through the reality of my Realm''s unbreakable laws?"
"Watch and behold the legend you speak of," the Captain spat out. "I daren''t spoil the surprise. Even a villain such as yourself wouldn''t want to violate a duel''s sportsmanship to that degree."
He would.
And did.
Inside a Lord''s Realm, everything he desired became his belonging.
The final, Third Pillar of Realms, Divine Knowledge gave Aspreay the answer he craved. Much like the Emperor could track one''s position, or even speak directly into their mind, a Baron''s Realm could trace an opponent''s very thoughts¡provided his Realm was small enough.
And Aspreay had refined this one to the size of a single, narrow street.
''If his Realm keeps him invulnerable, all I need to do is to destroy it,'' the Hangman thought.
''Were the philistine to think in another language,'' Aspreay noted, ''I would not be able to read him so accurately. He lacks the necessary preparation. Powerful, but untrained. A pitiful peasant.''
Images of the Dark Captain''s plan flooded Aspreay''s mind. They were blurry, yet just distinctive enough to make out: Valente''s duel against the Puppet Lord, flying atop the Puppet Mountains.
It was right before the massacre that created a fated tunnel. As Aspreay watched, he saw in his mind how the Hangman had attacked the Puppet Lord''s barrier from inside, and¨C
Imbecile! "Don''t do it, peasant!" he cried out. "Don''t launch an attack¨C"
Valente let out an eerie laugh. "You think to stop me, Villain? I know thy weakness! Those invisible Walls of yours are weaker from the inside than the outside, are they not?"
He juggled a number of Orbs with one hand, at first with skill, then seeming to move them as if they were forced to orbit around the wrist. "Once I shatter it, you will fall ¨C like the Puppet villain before you!"
This attack felt different than the others. Before, the Spheres had hardly caused much damage to their surroundings, only bringing death upon Aspreay. Now that the Hangman''s aim was the Wall itself, his Spheres had taken on an aura of overwhelming violence. Valente intended to have them explode upon impact.
"Stop!" Aspreay shouted. "You don''t understand¨C!"
In a fraction of a second, Divine Knowledge told him everything he needed. His thoughts now raced faster than his own body could move. Information that should have taken nearly a minute to understand instantly formed inside Aspreay''s brain.
Valente did not understand how Walls worked ¨C although he thought he did.
The Hangman had been so young during the Assault on Puppet Mountain that there was barely any hair on his face. He''d only been present on account of his unparalleled genius.
His duel against the Puppet Lord had not been unlike this one, with the monster trapping them both inside a small, reconstructed Realm. At one point, the Hangman''s attack missed the Puppet Lord and collided with the Wall, causing the Puppet intense pain. Noticing this, Valente struck at the Wall instead of the Lord, bludgeoning it until the man''s Realm collapsed¡and then killed him without effort.
From this, his youthful immaturity had drawn a conclusion: that Walls were weaker on the inside than outside, and ¨C more importantly ¨C that you could escape a Realm by assaulting it mercilessly.
YOU FOOL! THEY ARE EQUALLY STRONG!
It was true that damaging the Walls would injure the Lord in ways Noble Guard was unable to protect from. Given time and persistence, a concerned onslaught might undo the Realm itself.
What Valente had missed, though, was that Walls didn''t inherently stop things from passing through. Aside from Stained creatures, every other restriction needed to be intentionally added by the Lord.
Aspreay himself, after Reconstructing his Realm in this very duel, had added the Realm Law to match his intentions. He''d banished humans and other living beings from entering or exiting his Realm ¨C a common restriction.
In your memory, as you fought atop the mountain¡when you launched your attack on the Wall¡it would have destroyed the Puppet''s home. Killed countless innocents.
Aspreay bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. You don''t understand, you idiot! He could have saved himself! It''s not that the barrier was weak ¨C it''s that the Lord was forced to endure your attack multiple times to keep you from harming his people!
This isn''t the perfect counter you think it is!
The Hangman locked eyes with Aspreay''s, as if waiting for a meaningful interruption. Yet try as he might, the Lord couldn''t find a way to convey what he knew in the scant few seconds that were available to him. While Divine Knowledge sped up his thoughts, it did little for his speech. I have to try. I have to¨C
"You''ll kill those people!" Aspreay shouted, gesturing at the buildings behind him. It was all he could get out.
And it wasn''t enough. How could it be? The Hangman had no reason to listen to him.
Valente flicked his hand, speeding up the rotation orbit of the Orbs around his wrist. He grinned confidently with the sinfully naive smile of a young hero. "With this, your cheating of death shall end, Villain." He whipped his arm away from Aspreay and towards the empty air¨Ctowards the Wall¨Ctowards the streets.
STOP! "The Walls don''t work like you¨C"
"Behold," Valente declared, "this Meteoric Rain of mine."
The Orbs may as well have been a comet tearing through the heavens. They blazed forward at the building, glowing brighter and redder, converting into a single scarlet sphere that built up speed every passing moment.
To Aspreay, the split second when the Orb collided with his barrier might as well have been an eternity. Clashing sparks flew between them. The sphere vibrated, and the fabric of reality around it seemed as if it was threatening to shatter.
His many thoughts, accelerated by Divine Knowledge, raced and competed with each other for dominance.
I can still stop this, he realized. I''m faster than anyone at Reconstruction. There should still be enough time to add a Law to my Wall. If I trap his attack inside my Realm, it won''t hurt any of the common people.
It would cost his life, however.
Aspreay had no doubts about that. Either the transferred damage from his Wall would be enough to tear his body asunder¡or he would be left defenseless, his Realm shattered. If he cared about his life ¨C about Vasco''s, even ¨C then that just wasn''t an option.
But¡
"Will you truly not lift the barrier in Penumbria, even in the face of death?" Aspreay had asked the brat.
The Painter opened his eyes and glared. "If I wasn''t willing to do this much, I would have had no right to take Penumbria from you."
The memory flooded his mind suddenly and without invitation. Had the Painter been the one here, mayhap¡mayhap he would have died to protect the innocent.
''Death won''t be enough to stop me,'' Aspreay had told Vasco a lifetime ago. ''Just you wait! Together, we shall change the world!''
A few years back, he likely would have, too.
But I am not my yesterday. Today''s Aspreay yet yearns for a tomorrow.
Just as suddenly as the clash started ¨C his Wall allowed the Orb through.
Since the first Emperor started his conquest, the Capital had been the Imperial Family''s crowning achievement. Not once had it seen bloodshed, its citizens living blissfully unaware of the violence spawned from the Lords and Stained outside. For over three hundred years, this record had been maintained with no small amount of pride by both commoners and nobles alike.
It all ended today.
Upon impact, the Orb swallowed up the building ¨C and its neighbors ¨C in a violent eruption of death. The beautiful Imperial architecture was engulfed by a massive explosion, several structures losing nearly all of their outer walls, most of their back, and collapsing the majority of their floors.
Embers briefly ignited here and there, small flames that danced among the debris like malevolent ghosts cackling at death. For a moment, it was only the sound of those villainous flames, and nothing else, that rang throughout the world.
Inside the translucent barrier, behind the Realm''s Walls, the two duelists stood in opposite reactions.
Valente gaped at the carnage. First open-mouthed, then covering it in sheer horror, as if to keep himself from emptying his stomach at the terror of his own creation ¨C at the haunting sight of dozens of shattered corpses and splattered blood. Gazing upon that wrought destruction, the Strongest Man in the World trembled with numb shock, paralyzed by the appalling loss of life.
The villainous Lord had not the luxury of sorrow. Without delay, he seized upon his chance to attack.
Whether someone possessed the strongest sword or the fastest reflexes¡they meant nothing when a man was frozen by despair.
Shocked at the consequence of your ignorance? Good. Aspreay dashed forward. Choke on the sin of your naivety and die.
Now a prisoner to mixed thoughts of astonishment, confusion, and guilt, the Hangman hesitated. He raised one trembling hand, a single Orb contained within¨C
Then dropped it.
''What if that hurts more innocent people?'' Valente thought. It was essentially impossible ¨C he was too fast and accurate to miss an attack aimed at a single target. Besides, nothing could go wrong if he simply infused his Orb with death rather than destruction. It was a foolish concern.
''And¡and there''s no point in attacking,'' Valente''s mind continued, encouraging him to lower his hand. ''He can keep himself healed, and he can''t actually harm me.''
This, of course, was the mindset of a loser. Nothing more than weak rationalizations conjured up to allow Valente to enslave himself to his emotions. Deep inside, the Hangman knew that, although he would never admit it. Pain took over his heart, and he thought to himself, ''Just¡just two seconds¡I just need a mere two seconds to recompose myself. I deserve that much.''
Aspreay did not waste those ''mere'' two seconds.
In his dash, he shortened the distance between them from 27 to 14 meters.
''What is he doing?'' the Hangman wondered. ''Why is he approaching me? No! I can''t ¨C I can''t let him kill any more people!''
Even in his state of numbed shock, enough urgency returned to him that Valente readied an attack. In truth, it was to be expected.
The Dark Captain was, above all else, a genius.
He was inexperienced, uneducated, and poorly trained ¨C but a genius nonetheless. Aspreay''s warning had been sufficient for him to realize both his mistake and the gravity of his current situation. Beneath the surface, Valente blamed himself¡but for now, he needed to blame Aspreay in order to steady his will and keep fighting.
''It''s the Villain''s fault,'' thought the Hangman. ''He chose to kill innocents instead of losing his Realm.''
Divine Knowledge granted Aspreay knowledge of that thought ¨C and he acted upon it. ''Now is my chance.''
Aspreay undid his Realm.
It was an assault on Valente''s rationalizations that shocked him to his core. ''He¡he killed dozens of innocents to keep his Realm from shattering. Why is he undoing it right now? I could slay him any moment. I could¨C''
"¨CREALM¨CRECONSTRUCTION¨C!" Aspreay thundered. Jolts of pain burned in his body, and he ignored them.
Immediately after understanding what transpired, the Hangman fired his death-infused Orb ¨C but the delay proved too much. The Realm had already been rebuilt. In irrational fury, he fired another barrage, yet Noble Guard would not allow the Lord to die, reviving him again and again.
''Why did he bother with all that? He could have died!'' Valente desperately tried to gather his thoughts, to recover from the chaotic massacre unleashed upon the city. ''And are Lords able to reconstruct their realms as many times as they want? I thought¨C''
"Kill yourself, peasant," Aspreay snarled.
At first, its impact wasn''t any different from the last time. Valente felt his body momentarily shake, but hardly felt any pain at all. He looked up, grinning, and said, "How many times do I¨C"
Then it set in.
A feeling of being punched in the gut suddenly had the Captain hunched over, nearly dropping to his knees. What¡the? Why is this one harder to resist? What¨C
Aspreay raised his chin, ignored his pain from the blowback, and sneered at the Hangman. "Pathetic. You truly can''t do better with your powers?"
The Hangman''s assumption that Aspreay had merely undone and redone his Realm was correct. Yet you didn''t notice,'' the Lord thought, with contempt, ''that my Realm is smaller now, did you?''
At the start of the duel, Aspreay''s realm had been 27 meters long. After the Hangman''s barrage of death, during those two seconds he''d been able to move freely, he''d shortened the distance to 14 meters. Then, he called off his Realm and Reconstructed it, but smaller.
It was the same principle as to why his Realm could work at all inside the Emperor''s City. ''The smaller and more concentrated a Realm is, the more capable it becomes at slaying heavier giants than itself.'' This applied not only to Divine Knowledge, but to Royal Order as well.
Aspreay''s battle instincts told him that the Hangman would soon understand what had happened. ''I need to attack his mind,'' he reasoned, calmly and coldly. ''He is as the bards sing of him ¨C the Strongest Man in the World. But he lacks experience. He lacks resolve. And¡''
Aspreay glared at the man. ''...he will lose to me.''
"People died," Valente muttered weakly. "How can you just stand there with nary a tear on your face? How can guilt not overflow from your very being?"
Aspreay let out a derisive laugh. "You would have me feel guilt over not jumping in front of an innocent to shield them from your crossbow? Nay, bastard." He laughed again, as if he was addressing a petitioner in his court, rather than the strongest, most dangerous man in the Empire. "I will not share your sins. They are yours to bear."
"It¨Cit isn''t my fault!" Valente cried out. His desperate argument was meant more for himself than for his opponent. "I didn''t know, I couldn''t have¨C"
"¨CDo you think lack of ability justifies your crimes?" Memories of Aspreay''s time as Lord of Penumbria flowed into his mind. He did not suppress them. There were dozens, hundreds, thousands of people whose death he''d failed to prevent ¨C that mayhap a different lord could have. "They are your sins. Carry them. Take responsibility. This show of cowardice insults your victims twice; first you kill them, then you feign innocence."
This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
He frowned at the cockroach. "Disgusting."
"But I¡" The Hangman shook his head and averted his gaze. "I just¨C"
He looked away! Aspreay thought. Immediately, he shouted, "Cobblestone: I order you to suffocate the man!"
The stone beneath their feet ripped itself off the ground, flying upward to collect into one enormous group. Suddenly, it curved downward towards the Hangman, resembling something between a murder of crows and a hail of arrows¨C
And had no effect on him.
The mass of cobblestone froze before reaching Valente, as if its time had forever stopped. While it still trembled, almost seeing to travel down an invisible road, that was all.
''This isn''t part of his Hangman Talent,'' Aspreay noted.
''The gods may yet forgive me, but I shall never forgive myself,'' Valente thought. ''And even if it won''t undo my crimes¡at least I can stop a monster that sneers at death from roaming this earth.''
The Hangman was many things. Overwhelmed. Shocked. Guilty. All of those and more.
But he was still a genius.
''Damaging an opponent of higher Rank using the terrain is an obvious move,'' Valente pondered, ''but I doubt he believed it would work. No ¨C his aim was to distract me while narrowing the distance between us. He wants the Realm to be even smaller.''
The Hangman aimed his projectile Spheres at Aspreay, yet this time death was not imbued upon them. They were merely shot forward at incredible speeds, passing cleanly through his arms and legs like the sharpest of arrows.
Aspreay stopped his charge forward. His Noble Guard still protected him from death and healed every injury ¨C it wasn''t enough.
''If I kill him before he realizes what happened,'' Valente thought, ''then his Realm just brings him back straight away. He''ll simply go on like nothing happened, as he never had the time to suffer. But if I instead leave him alive, his pain and injuries will slow his pace. He can''t approach me in that state.''
Valente was not raised by tutors like most other Hangmen, and he''d been taught very little of Realms. But he knew this much from his own fights against Lords: Realms were slower to heal injuries than to revive a user from immediate death.
This difference amounted to just a scant few seconds. Yet in this duel of titans¡
That could be enough to kill the unkillable.
"You cannot and will not take a single step toward me, Aspreay!" Valente snarled. "Villains do not have the will of a hero! They have no cause noble enough to will their bodies through the worst of pains."
"I need no cause, peasant," Aspreay fired back. "We are inside my Realm now, and so long we stay here, your knees shall bend before me, and your lord shall go wherever he pleases."
His taunt appeared to shake the Hangman''s resolve, yet not enough for his attacks to falter. The barrage of spheres continued, drawing out wounds and hindering Aspreay''s march. ''Bastard'', he thought, with a grimace. ''Even if Emperor Ciro can''t detect the use of Lordly Talents, everyone in the city will have noticed the explosion Valente caused earlier. I have to finish this quickly.''
That was easier said than done. He hadn''t even managed to progress a single meter since his last advance.
As the Hangman kept up his assault, he contemplated the stage that Aspreay had set. ''He intends to strengthen his Realm by refining it and reducing its size multiple times.''
Aspreay smiled at his enemy''s thoughts. Although his opponent could not hear his response, he imagined one nonetheless. ''Considering our difference in rank, I would have to narrow down my Realm to the size of a closet. We would have to be within striking distance of one another''s fist for it to have a prayer of working.
Yet this strategy held a massive risk ¨C one that the Hangman was well-aware of. ''He can only use Noble Guard inside his Realm, and last time, he took nearly a full second to use Realm Reconstruction. I am more than capable of killing him in that period. That''s why he wants to distract me.''
Even so, the Talent of a Lord could not be ignored. The risk and reward were plain.
''If I manage to narrow my Realm down even more¨C'' Aspreay thought.
''If I manage to reach him before he can use Reconstruction¨C'' Valente thought.
Both steadied their resolve.
''¨CTHEN I CAN KILL HIM!¨C''
Aspreay made the first move. When his lips started to move, Valente readied himself to react at a moment''s notice.
"Kill yourself, Peasant."
There was no way to avoid the order, but neither was there a reason to try doing so. The gut punch sensation it inflicted was uncomfortable, yet nothing Valente could not withstand. A momentary distraction at most; not even long enough for Aspreay to reconstruct his Realm.
"Disperse, sand."
Valente did not anticipate this order, nor could he have done much to stop it, regardless. Compacted sand rose up from underground, obscuring his vision. ''Wait¡his previous order, where he lifted the cobblestone¡it wasn''t meant to harm me ¨C but to expose the sand underneath. How did he know it was there?''
''Do you really think I wouldn''t know what lies beneath the streets of the Empire capital I served?'' Aspreay thought, almost offended. ''I will have you pay for your insolence.''
He dashed through the blinding dust that his Order had created. While his death command failed to harm Valente, it delayed the Hangman long enough that he wasn''t ready to attack before Aspreay had already moved elsewhere.
Upon recovering, Valente launched a number of injuring spheres in every direction. Fast as he was, though, he failed to land a hit. There were simply too many places for Aspreay to hide, and whenever he thought of a place to aim, the Lord knew to avoid that area. ''Where is he? What is he¨C''
The Realm dissipated.
"NO!" Valente screamed. He shot forth his Orbs like a hailstorm of arrows. "Where are you, villain?! Show yours¨C"
"¨CREALM¨CRECONSTRUCTION¨C!"
Just as the cloud of sand dissipated, Valente was finally able to make out the vague shape of Aspreay standing arrogant and proud. "8 meters," said the lord, through heavy breaths. "Down from 14."
"You basta¨C" the Hangman started, then stopped as he examined Aspreay more carefully. The lord hadn''t come out of their exchange unscathed. He was now clutching his left shoulder, blood flowing from the left side of his torso. One Orb had gone directly through Aspreay''s body, and another had lightly grazed it.
''Why hasn''t he healed yet?'' the Hangman wondered.
Aspreay outwardly maintained his grin, trying not to let the pain show. ''Noble Guard only heals wounds that take place inside my Realm. You''ll figure that out soon enough, won''t you, troublesome little shit?''
Had it been just that, it wouldn''t have been a problem. The issue came with Valente''s second realization. ''He seems exhausted¡of course.''
"You''re getting weaker," the Hangman noted, a smile creeping across his features. "I did find it strange that a Lord could Reconstruct his Realm as many times as you have. My knowledge of your Talent may be lackluster, but I was still confident that you were only capable of doing that once per day at most."
"Limits only apply to the unblessed commoners that were born without skill," Aspreay coughed out. His breathing had become more ragged, and his vision was starting to blur. "They do not befit someone of my station."
"And yet you are now paying the cost of overusing your Realm," the Hangman said, confidently. "This is where your little game ends. It''s taking longer and longer for you to construct it."
That, unfortunately, was correct.
"You have also lost the capacity to impede me with your Orders," Valente pointed out. "The narrower your Realm becomes, the more powerful your Royal Orders are¡however, this also means that the recoil from failed Orders hurts far more."
That, too, was correct.
"Lastly ¨C if you try the same trick with the sand again, you''ll be pierced to death."
That was likely true as well.
The Hangman adopted a conceited expression of victory. "Surrender now, Aspreay, and face the Emperor''s justice rather than¨C"
"¨CKill yourself, peasant."
It didn''t matter that his Canvas was bloodied and falling apart; at 8 meters, the Royal Order was stronger than before. If the last had been comparable to a sudden gut punch, this was closer to a disorienting sequence of strikes. Coupled with his surprise at the sudden defiance, Valente was frozen stunned for one fleeting moment.
It was enough for Aspreay.
"Blind him, sand!"
The same game from before took place ¨C but with more lethal consequences. When inside of a Realm only 8 meters long, the Royal Order became increasingly powerful. The sand behaved with active malice, not just blinding the Hangman, but creeping beneath his eyelids like insects hunting for moisture.
''Even a Hangman would need a moment to compose himself after that kind of sensation,'' Aspreay thought. He dispersed his Realm, ready to dash forward.
Only for the sand to disperse as well, leaving Valente unharmed.
This came as a stark surprise to the Lord. Even after dispelling his Realm, its Orders should have continued for at least a few seconds. Yet the sand appeared to have left Valente''s eyes as if it had never been there in the first place. More came for him immediately after, and he swept it aside with ease.
''How is he dispersing the sand?'' Aspreay wondered. ''That''s not a Hangman Talent. Does he¡have another Talent? But that¨C''
Valente''s gaze shifted. While he hadn''t fully discerned Aspreay''s location, enough sand was gone that he''d gotten a rough estimate. The Hangman readied more Orbs, preparing to fling them.
SHIT¨C
"¨CREALM¨CRECONSTRUCTION¨C!"
The Hangman''s hypothesis had been correct. Aspreay was taking longer to rebuild his Realm ¨C and this time, it had almost proved fatal. The Orbs had pierced both his legs; mayhap pierced his knee, even. He didn''t think he could walk any longer. As soon as his body fell, it would not stand back up again.
Divine Knowledge pushed his thoughts to race faster and faster. ''The moment the last of the sand is gone, I''ll be on the ground, defenseless. How can I keep myself from falling?''
The answer came to him almost in synchronicity with his own order. "Street: give me my lord''s right!"
Valente''s thoughts were those of triumph. Although he was unhappy about using something called Distance on the sand, he believed that as Aspreay was close to death, and that as no onlookers could see through the cloud of dirt, even the Emperor wouldn''t have been too upset about him employing it here.
He expected to see the Villain on the ground, writhing in pain, his Realm nearly shattered, and his will gone. ''He will beg for forgiveness¨Che will admit fault in the death of the commoners¨Che will confess to his sins!''
Then the dust cleared, and his expectations shattered.
"What in His Imperial Majesty''s name¡" Valente began, then trailed off. In front of him was the personification of the Realm he found himself constricted within. Cobblestone, sand, metal, dirt ¨C they had all been sucked into a single spot and then forcibly arranged into a single piece of furniture.
A throne.
And sitting upon it, one bloody leg crossed over another, one elbow on the armrest, chin on his hand, was Aspreay. The Lord smiled through his pain, the pleasure of the fragile genius'' shocked face empowering him. He gazed down at the Hangman as if looking at a mere petitioner in his court. "How pitiful," Aspreay coldly spat out, "that the Empire''s greatest genius is also its worst coward."
''He, he can''t even stand. It doesn''t matter how grandiose of an entrance he makes ¨C there''s nothing he can do!'' the Hangman told himself. "No use in bluffing, Aspreay. You can barely talk, let alone fight."
They were 4 meters apart now. Closer than before, but not enough to land any sort of definitive blow.
"Aspreay¡be reasonable. Any further Royal Orders might kill you. Just surrender ¨C it''s your best chance of survival."
"Survival?" Aspreay threw his head back and laughed. "Do you think me a man so petty as to be concerned with that?" His grin widened. "I seek not life, but victory."
"You dare waste the life the Emperor gave you?" Valented accused. "I name you villain, traitor, and blasphemer!"
"And you disgrace the memory of those you''ve killed." Aspreay''s laugh turned from manic to derisive. "Tell me, Hangman. Do you think yourself blameless for the Puppet massacre? Do you tell yourself that you were just a child? A naive youth who knew not what he did?"
"I¡I did not massacre them," Valente fired back. "I only defeated their lord and destroyed the mountain. The¡the others handled¡"
"What a farce," Aspreay stated, in a mixture of amusement and disgust. "Who would have thought the Empire''s sharpest blade to be so soft? You were wielded like a weapon, because you did not want to be a man. Do you truly believe yourself to be innocent? Do you think there were no Puppets hiding in the Mountains after your lot massacred the rest? Do you think yourself blameless for the murder of innocents after you tore away their only protection?''
"I¡that''s not¡"
"And need I remind you, Hangman," Aspreay continued, gesturing wildly from his throne, "that you killed a lord by making him offer his life to protect his people?"
"I didn''t know!" Valente screamed, his eyes full of tears. "I had no idea that¨C"
"It seems like no one ever taught you manners. I suppose that''s to be expected. You come not from any noble blood, as I understand? Orbs may buy rank, yet regrettably, they do not and cannot buy class. Dress a pig in riches and power if you wish ¨C he''ll still be a filthy commoner who doesn''t deserve to lick the mud off my boots."
Valente angrily shook his head. He wanted to fling himself at Aspreay, to come closer and deliver violence upon him, but knew better than to play into the man''s hands. "You will show me the respect I deserve, Villain."
"Speaking of respect," Aspreay mocked, "you now stand before a lord and his throne."
He stretched out a hand. "Kneel."
It all happened at once. Valente had earnestly believed that Aspreay wouldn''t use another order in his injured state. Combined with his guilty mind wandering to the deaths he''d caused since the Emperor rescued him, he hesitated ¨C and then felt his knees hit the ground.
''Kneel..?'' It was the first order Aspreay had given that wasn''t a proclamation of death. Valente''s eyes widened as he understood why. ''His orders until now¡he wasn''t just trying to kill me in one move. He wanted me to assume that he couldn''t issue less demanding types of orders!''
The Hangman struggled in vain. While he could have rejected an order to die, he couldn''t reject one meant to restrain him ¨C not from 4 meters apart. Valente was so focused on attempting to rise that he paid little to the next order that came out of Aspreay''s mouth.
"Send me forward."
The throne he had created, the incarnation of his pride, launched him forward at Valente, whose lowered gaze did not immediately notice the incoming lord. Mid-flight, Apsreay called off his Realm. Immediately after, before even reaching the ground, he cried out¨C
"¨CREALM¨CRECONSTRUCTION¨C!"
It felt like agony, like his very soul was being ripped off from his body ¨C yet he would not yield. Death was acceptable, but not to a brat like this. Aspreay extended his arm, frenzied laughter washing over him as the last of the Wall was reconstructed behind.
The falling Lord and the unsteady Hangman were now less than 1 meter apart.
"KILL YOURSELF, PEASANT!"
''Increase the Distance at the ends of his Realm ¨C keep his hand from touching me!'' Valente thought.
Every outcome and reaction unfolded at the same time, his visions of the past mingling with the reality of the present. ''I¡I had to do it. He would have killed me!'' For a moment, Aspreay appeared not unlike that Puppet Lord from years ago, spurring Valente into a fit of desperate action.
The Hangman used his Talent to increase the distance of Aspreay''s Realm ever so slightly. His mind raced with guilt as he pushed against the wall. He''d only had the time to increase it back up to 3 meters.
Although truth be told, it wouldn''t have mattered if he failed entirely. Even at less than 1 meter, Aspreay''s order wasn''t strong enough to seriously injure ¨C let alone kill ¨C a Hangman of Valente''s Rank.
And that was fine.
''So you have another Talent¡one that the Emperor didn''t want you to use. That''s why you have the title of Strongest.'' Aspreay grinned at the man, letting realization sink in. ''I''ll take this gift of knowledge with me. This is my little victory against you, Strongest Man.''
"Like hell I''ll let¨C"
The Order had nonetheless caused the Hangman to stumble and feel a small amount of blood in his throat, his body involuntarily hunching over to cough it out. It was barely a wound, closer to an inconvenience ¨C and Aspreay had nearly died to obtain it.
But the Hangman still feared him.
And this combination of events was the opening he needed to issue his final order. "I BANISH: MYSELF!"
Much like he''d once sent a woman flying through the walls of his castle, he now issued himself the same order ¨C flinging his own body through his Realm. He crashed through the debris of a destroyed building, breaking something inside himself, although he wasn''t sure what.
The Hangman started to go after him, but was rebuffed by the Wall. "Consider yourself sealed for now," Aspreay muttered. "You could easily break though¡but you think that an attack like that might end up hurting more civilians, don''t you? So you''ll just have to wait. Wait¡for now¡."
--
When Aspreay''s consciousness returned to him, he was already upright and stumbling forward through the ruins of the destroyed city district. Amidst frantic chaos and injured citizens, the bloodied lord did not stand out among the crowd.
So many people died today, he thought absently, biting his lip to keep from coughing blood. ''I doomed hundreds to save Vasco.'' His eyes lingered on the rubble, the many clouds of dust, and desperate waves of people crowding around fallen buildings. And I would have gladly doomed thousands more, he determined, with an odd calmness.
Aspreay didn''t mind how far he''d gone, but he knew of less where to go from here. His injuries were numerous, and the Emperor would soon send someone to kill him ¨C not that there was much need for it. He was doomed to die within a few weeks. Days, even.
Such was the price for Reconstructing his Realm so many times in a row. His Canvas was likely stained with blood, if not downright rotten. Twice would have been strenuous; five was a slow suicide.
Albeit a glorious one.
Alas, despite feeling rather content with the coming end, Aspreay found his weary feet treading through rubble nonetheless. He knew not the cause of his restlessness. A beautiful end to an ugly life, one where his honor ¨C against all odds ¨C was kept. This was what men dreamed of. Why balk at death now?
He truly didn''t know why his heart refused to accept the notion. Distantly, he considered the possibility that he never would.
Then he spotted his horse, and could no longer conceive of dying.
"Silver?" Aspreay said, dull surprise coloring his tone. "You''re still here?" He managed a hollow laugh. "Weird creature. You get spooked by your own shadow, yet you didn''t run when Valente exploded entire buildings?" Tenderness entered his voice. "Stupid horse."
He approached slowly. With care, Aspreay brushed his bloodied hand against the horse. Bitterly, he half-expected it to run, yet somehow wasn''t surprised when it didn''t. Silver was the one thing he''d taken from Penumbria ¨C the only thing he refused to leave behind.
''A gift?'' Aspreay had said years ago. ''You''re hardly one for big gestures. What curse befell you?''
''One bearing your name,'' Vasco grumbled. He held his gaze for a moment too long ¨C a moment not long enough ¨C then shook his head. ''Search far and wide for a better horse. You''ll come up short.''
The Lord of Penumbria nodded, studying the horse of white with spots of black. ''Strong. Well-trained. Appearance aside, there are many horses like this one in the Empire.'' He turned around to look at the man. ''What makes this one so special?''
Vasco put two fingers beneath Aspreay''s chin and lifted it upward until their eyes met once more. ''This one will always bring you back to me,'' he whispered, in a low voice.
Aspreay''s vision blurred as his life faded, but that one memory remained clear as it had ever been. "Good thing you''re here," he told Silver. Injured ribs pressed against his stomach as he forced himself to mount the horse. Heavens, he wished there had been a saddle nearby. In his state, all he could do was collapse onto the animal and wrap his arms around its neck.
"Hey there boy," Aspreay said, softly. "Apologies. This might be uncomfortable. I know we haven''t ridden without a saddle in a while, so bear with me. I''m not sure I can stay conscious¡but it''s not like my lead has ever done much but slow you down, eh?"
A weak laugh crawled out from his throat. Gods, did it hurt. "Take me to Vasco, please."
Silver started to gallop. Aspreay struggled not to fall, swaying dangerously as the city passed him by. Inky blackness gradually crept into the corners of his vision, his mind losing its battle to stay conscious.
Will I live to see him? It would be wonderful if he did, although unlikely ¨C yet not impossible. Thanks to Silver, death was no longer a certainty. Mayhap he could survive this and escape the capital before the Hangmen came.
A miracle that would need another, when my injuries are too great for most to recover from. But now, chasing that miracle within a miracle actually seemed appealing.
"I feel...oddly refreshed," Aspreay said, as darkness befell his eyes.
Chapter 41
Solara''s luck was a pendulum that swung between two extremes.
As a child, her homeland had been massacred by the Duke of Dread. She''d witnessed countless of her kind slaughtered, their bodies desecrated, as Green Isle was burnt down to nothing but ashes. Why, Solara had thought at the time, must I be subjected to this injustice? Why couldn''t I have been born at a different time? Be born anywhere else but Greenisle?
The pendulum swung the other way shortly thereafter.
After the tragedy of Green Isle, Vasco adopted her. The Lord of Gama made an elven war orphan his legitimate heir, giving her a life most others could only dream of.
Unfortunately, seeking the power to one day rule the land fairly and justly, she was tricked by a monster and ended up haunted by the Ghost of Flames. Solara''s newfound freedom was torn from her as quickly as it came. Now her fate was to stay locked in a tower lest she murder everyone around her.
The pendulum swung the other way shortly thereafter.
So she remained until Adam one day found her. He freed Solara from her curse, then soon proved to be a reliable, powerful ally willing to aid her in avenging her fallen comrades. Together, the two of them had a real chance at striking back against Emperor Ciro.
They even planned how to meet with him. Adam would confront the Emperor alone, attempt to gather intel, and fulfill his duty-bound curse with his former friend. At the same time, Solara would escape Ciro''s castle before the showdown proper by feigning illness or death. This, surprisingly, had worked out quite well.
But of course, the pendulum swung the other way shortly thereafter ¨C and in a way that felt close to mockery. Because Solara had been escorted out of the castle, just as planned.
She simply hadn''t expected her escort to consist of a Hangman.
Why would an Imperial Hangman of all people volunteer to escort me? The thought was almost enough to drive her mad. This task is beneath them. Does he suspect something?
Even if that were the case, her luck''s pendulum had not swung entirely to the other side just yet. The man supposedly escorting her back to her ship ¨C as per her request not to be treated at Ciro''s castle ¨C was a Hangman, true, but he was not their Captain.
While this Hangman, Nayt, was of high rank and had an odd set of mannerisms, he was not the unbeatable wall of death that the Dark Captain Valente would likely have been. If worse came to worst, she still had a chance of making it through this dilemma with her head intact.
Do you earnestly believe that you can survive a Hangman, elf? The Ghost of Flames spoke up inside her head, his voice a dark venom. You will die. First you, and then the Painter. Both of you shall pay for what you''ve done to my brother.
Bark as you wish, Solara retorted. My Talent has a stronger Rank than before, and you aren''t possessing my body anymore. Even your ability is merely being shared through Adam''s tattooed painting. Your influence on my mind is nearly nothing.
The moment I get my chance, Elf, I shall rip you apart piece by¨C
There was a lazy knock on the carriage window. Solara tried drawing the curtains, but could barely see beyond the storm outside, much less hear anything. She opened the door to see a man standing before her.
"Heiress of Gama?" Nayt the Hangman stifled a yawn. He didn''t look like the harbinger of death that Hangmen were supposed to be. Instead, he appeared closer to a sleep-deprived gentleman wearing a rather odd top hat that was too large for his head, going over his forehead and covering his eyes when he failed to lift it up. "Forgive me for waking you."
"It is no problem," she quickly replied. In truth, she hadn''t been asleep to begin with, and the sound of a nearby explosion would''ve woken her long before the gentle knock on the carriage window. "Pray tell ¨C what is the issue, Lord Hangman?"
Nayt raised an eyebrow at her. "Must we really play this tiresome game?" When she stared at him blankly, he shook his head and heaved a heavy sigh. "Understand my position, Lady Solara. You and your friends are planning to give the Hangmen quite a bit of work, yes?"
"I...I''m afraid I know not what you mean." Solara kept her voice meek, but inside, she exploded with a hot fury. I can use Resurrection to counter the Hangman''s certain-death strike. In the back of her mind, a more violent voice shouted, Use me, elf. Let''s burn them to the ground ¨C if you wish to indulge in foolishness.
She suppressed the Ghost''s urging, not letting her consternation show on her face. "My health has always kept me in the dark, my lord. Few dare share their plans with one who needed be confined in a tower for so many¨C"
Nayt held up a hand and sighed. "No. Listen here, Princess." His eyes widened as his mouth crept down into a frown. "I know you''re going to start some sort of mess here...and then it will be my duty to clean it all up. That, Princess, is an issue. Do you know why?"
It seemed there was little point in denying it. "Because you hate killing?" Solara asked, in a dry tone.
The Hangman''s eyes lit up with surprise. "Oh, no. I''m fine with killing. I just hate work." He shivered more at the word than at the pouring rain. "I''ve been working for 10 hours now ¨C was supposed to go earlier this afternoon." He shivered again, then scowled harder. "But then you lot showed up and I had to work more."
Solara sent him a blank stare. His words were clear, but their meaning was foreign. "What are you getting at?"
"Only this¨C" he nodded vaguely behind himself¨C"steal the horse and run."
Somehow, the man said this without a hint of irony in his voice. "Are you...are you mad?" Solara asked, baffled.
Nayt shook his head. "I have plans today. Important plans." His voice was harsh, his tone was serious, and his words were anything but. "I have a book, a bath, and a cup of tea awaiting me at home. I won''t spend a single minute longer that will keep me from that."
He adjusted his falling top hat and looked at her expectedly. "So I''ll just tell everyone that when I entered your carriage to search for Lady Solara of Gama, she used the other door to loop around me, untied the horse from this accursed vehicle, and escaped in the rain."
Solara could scarcely believe her ears. This man is a Hangman ¨C a living incarnation of death. With the most mild of efforts, he could kill hundreds of people.
Accompanied by an eerie echo, the Ghost of Flames echoed inside her thoughts, sounding just as astounded. Even that mild effort is too much for him. This man simply...does not care. In the slightest.
"Do you not think others will question how you let me escape?" Solara asked, in a voice of undisguised confusion. Fool! The Ghost of Flames shouted in her head. Why press him? Let him partake of his stupidity! There''s no way it''s this easy. He''s waiting for me to drop his guard, imbecile.
"Ah, fair point," Nayt muttered, holding his chin thoughtfully. Then, as if suddenly falling dead, he collapsed onto the cobblestone beneath the heavy rain.
Solara hesitantly stuck her head outside the carriage to inspect him. The Hangman''s eyes were wide open, his gaze fixed on the clouds above. Most impressively of all, his hat still remained over his head, shading his eyes slightly and threatening to go over his nose.
"Now it looks like I got knocked over," he explained. "Story change. The explosion we just heard gave me a splitting headache. It hurts, you see? So after you escaped, I went home to heal up."
He lifted his neck ¨C and only his neck ¨C to look at her with lazy, half-lidded eyes. "Does that work?"
"I...believe so?" Solara tilted her head, getting lost in the logistics of absurdity against her wishes. Why am I taking this farce seriously? I don''t know, elf! Go kill yourself, Ghost.
She smirked at the thought. Temporarily sharing her mind with the Ghost was hardly an issue when it couldn''t take over her body anymore. The fact that it was powerless to do anything but rant and rave amused her to no end. After spending years locked in confinement due to the Ghost''s presence, she was more than happy to bequeath the same punishment onto it as well.
Drawing herself up, she nodded at the Hangman. "Then would you like me to go steal the horse away now?"
"That would be great ¨C wait!" All of a sudden, Nayt called out. "Kindly place your boot upon the side of my face."
Solara stared at him, her face torn on whether to twist in disgust or plain disbelief. "I''m...sorry?"
"In case I''m questioned. Easier for me if it seems as though you bested me in a fight. I mean nothing suspicious by it." He paused with a thoughtful sound, his eyes narrowing as his gaze met hers. "Although I can''t say I''m entirely averse to ¨C GAH!"
I understand the desire, but I''m not certain that was wise, the Ghost of Flames remarked, as Solara stomped on the Hangman''s head and broke his nose. He can still kill you in a single move.
She ignored its infuriatingly reasonable advice and peered down at the writhing man. "I''ll be going now, my dear Hangman. Thank you? I suppose?" With an air of exasperation, she gestured wildly at him. "Or, you''re welcome? I''m not ¨C I''m not really sure. Nonetheless, I shall take my leave." She started to walk away.
"Yes," the Hangman said, with a voice filled with either pain or drowsiness. Solara could not tell which one. "Leave. And once you enter your ship, do not wait for your companions. Leave then as well."
Solara stopped. "You think me so low as to betray my friends?" Foolish elf, run now! The Ghost screamed in her head. I cannot let that claim stand, she thought, in stubborn response. "Do you mistake elves for cowards?"
"No," the Hangman said honestly. "But Prince Tenver was given the mission to capture Adam the Pretender, False Son of Aspreay, and bring him back alive for torture and questioning. He''ll be granted ample reward for doing so ¨C enough that even I would be tempted to do some work for it."
From his spot on the ground, Nayt shrugged. "Evidently, not enough to actually perform the task, but I earn no more Orbs regardless of how hard I work. Tenver, however, will do it. He longs for the throne, and the Emperor has no children."
"That''s not true," Solara immediately corrected. "The Emperor does have a child."
"No, he doesn''t." Nayt turned on his side as if the wet cobblestone was a comfortable bed, pulling an invisible set of sheets over himself. "Trust me or not, it matters very little to me. I grow tired. Let me sleep."
What about your book and warm bath ¨C wait, why am I attempting to find the logic in this fool''s mannerisms? Solara shook her head. "Emperor Ciro does have an heir," she continued. "His concubine perished in unfortunate circumstances, but I remember him and the boy visiting Gama once. Surely you mean not to imply he also fell to an accident? ""
"Oh, no, no ¨C I killed him."
Nayt''s declaration was spoken in a drowsy, listless tone. After several seconds, he slightly lifted his head to peer at her. "Hmm, right, that''s a secret ¨C the Emperor isn''t supposed to know of it. Hm. Hm. Hmmm."
With what appeared to be a monumental amount of effort, he shifted his gaze to look directly at her. "Maybe I really should try to kill you. Eh. Sorry for giving you false hope. Long day. Blame my hours."
He never really meant to let me live, Solara realized. Was this all just a game for him? She wasn''t sure if that was the whole truth, or merely part of it, but either way it served to heighten her emotions to a fever pitch.
Good. I prefer to be running hot at times like these. Frustration built within, burning her words into more venomous and biting versions of themselves. "Your plan was insane, anyhow. It''s not as though I could have escaped this chaos on horseback. I''d be caught by any passing guards all too easily. And you''re not nearly injured enough to sell that story of yours ¨C that you happened to be damaged by the explosion and couldn''t bother to fight me afterwards."
"Regrettably true," Nayt muttered. "It seems that unfortunately, I''ll have to do the barest amount of work before I can return to my leisure. But fear not."
He lifted the tip of his hat. Underneath, his gaze was piercing, like an arrow that had already gone through her heart. "I will be efficient."
In that one moment, the coldness of his gaze heralded the harshness of their reality for her. Call the man eccentric, odd, or just plain mad ¨C be as it may, he was still a Hangman, a living incarnation of death. If he wished, he could kill her at that very instant. The only thing keeping him from doing so was his deep lack of motivation.
If he tried to kill me, what could I even¨C
Death hit her three times.
It wasn''t true death, and Solara was among the scarce few in the world who knew the difference.
Three sparks of flames touched her simultaneously; in the right forearm, the left leg, and the right shoulder. Every one of those limbs just...stopped working, seemingly unhurt yet reduced to limp lumps of flesh, their soul now dead.
His Hangman Talent is partial death through flames, Solara calmly. Then, less calmly, she called upon her own Talent in her mind¨C
RESURRECTION!
Solara was not one to waste gifts. The Rank she''d received from Adam had been put to good use ¨C she had practiced hard to master the new heights of her Talent. ''Partial Resurrection'' didn''t use a full charge of her Returns, and could be used to heal herself, after a fashion. She had trained herself to ''kill'' a limb, then use Resurrection on it and nothing else.
She''d hardly expected to skip the ''kill'' step entirely, but such was the fight before her now.
"Huh, you can come back after I kill your limbs? That''s annoying." The Hangman still laid on the ground, having only raised one hand to launch his attack. "Can you do that forever?"
No. I have a total of three charges, but Adam and I are sharing my Talent, and he used up one full charge to survive the Emperor. Bringing my limbs back costs about half of a charge. "I can," she lied.
"Can you?" Nayt extended his open palm at her. From each finger, a jet of open flames spiraled outward, washing over Solara. "Let''s see if you''re telling the truth."
The inferno would have turned her into elven kindling if not for the Ghost of Flames keeping them from inflicting too much harm. She was resilient to most burns, although not immune.
Were I to have your body, I could make the Flames your slaves, even with both you and the Painter inhabiting my Canvas.
No thanks. I''d rather die.
That means very little coming from you.
Withstanding Nayt''s fire itself was only part of it, though. These flames carried death. Solara could have stopped the pain at any moment by killing her burning limbs and bringing herself back to life, but she would not waste this chance.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Before, you killed my right shoulder and right forearm...but not my upper arm in-between those two. I could still feel it; even move it to a small degree. Where''s the line? How many flames need to envelop a limb before you can ''kill'' it? What separates your definition of ''limbs''?
The Hangman seemed to catch on to her efforts. His eyes widened, the air around them stilled, and he leapt to his feet. It was like watching a shattered boulder sit up, as if the motion was not something created by nature. A sudden sense of solemnity and urgency burned in his eyes. "Stop this foolishness," the Hangman warned.
He really wants to keep his Talent a secret, she mused. It makes sense. While Hangmen have the same innate Talent, it manifests differently for each. This information could kill him one day if it gets out.
Heal now! The Ghost of Flames screamed in her head. If you die permanently, my soul dies with it! Now ¨C heal now!
No. Even if I die here, a part of your soul ¨C and your memories ¨C will carry over to Adam. Better if I find out what the limits of this Hangman''s Talents are.
Are you insane?
She wasted not the brainpower to reply. Instead, Solara focused on the state of the flames covering part of her body. Her right arm was on fire, yet it wasn''t dead yet ¨C the fire was merely burning her flesh away. Interesting...why hasn''t it been killed? Is it not about surface area coverage? What else, then?
Evidently, Nayt didn''t want her to find out. He lunged forward at her with the speed and the might of a high-ranking Hangman.
Solara lifted her burning fist and threw it forward in an uppercut, connecting with the man''s chin.
The world''s most lethal instrument of death recoiled back, his head whipping as far as his neck would allow it to stretch, before snapping back into place as the rest of his body landed on the ground.
Interesting. So he''s not used to fighting hand-to-hand, she thought, calmly. He''s a Hangman ¨C if he had stayed back, I could never have gotten this close to him, no matter how hard if I tried. But if he''s gifting me this opportunity...well, I''m not so rude as to turn it away.
The fire on her body grew hotter, and the pain became practically unbearable. She didn''t dare to unclench her fist, certain that would not be able to re-clench it in her present condition.
Your skin is melting off of your hand! The Ghost of Flames shouted. Stop this! Heal yourself!
It went ignored once again. Her resolve burned as brightly as the flames searing her flesh.
I will not let go of this one chance.
Solara was moderately skilled at hand-to-hand combat. Not much more than the average soldier, yet a veritable monster compared to typical heiresses of Lordship. Elves were naturally agile, and she''d found that courtyard practice did wonders to ward off her nightmares of the Green Isle massacre. She was as comfortable using her fists as any competent fighter of her age and expertise. It explained why she didn''t hesitate when charging a Hangman of the Empire.
It did not explain how she retained her composure while wreathed in flame. That, more than anything, came down to one unavoidable truth.
The fact that she had died countless times to this day.
Sometimes in accidents.
Sometimes in fights.
At times, when possessed by the Ghost of Flames, by her own hand.
It had been a long, painful road to get here. But her reward for that thorny path was plain and simple. No matter what she endured, no matter how severe the agony she was subjected to became¨C
Solara of Gama could take it.
"STAY DOWN¨C" Solara shouted. She leapt atop the fallen Hangman and brought down her burning left fist, connecting with his nose.
"BECAUSE¨C" Nayt raised his hands to protect his face. The elf threw her right hand in a cross around the man''s guard, landing a sideways blow to the head.
"I WILL NOT¨C" The Hangman tried to raise his hips and throw her off, but Solara hooked her heels under his thighs. He lifted his back off the ground, yet she maintained balance, then came back down with a fierce strike.
"¨CSTAY DEAD!" She pulled his guard open with both hands, then brought forth her exposed, flaming skull in a headbutt against Nayt, sending him crashing to the city streets.
Despite having become forcibly re-acquainted with the ground, the Hangman seemed more concerned with her injuries than the beating she was doling out to him. "Heal now!" he pleaded, echoing the Ghost of Flames'' warnings.
If I take the time to Resurrect, Nayt will have time to build distance between us. Considering how much stronger he is than me, I won''t have a single chance after that. It was a simple thought, yet following through with it despite the mounting agony would have proven impossible to anyone else but the Lady of Death.
Nayt, muffled by his own blood, managed to shout, "Your face ¨C your face is melting!"
YOUR SKIN IS GONE! THE RAIN NOW TOUCHES PART OF YOUR SKULL!
It was true. Solara could feel an almost overwhelming pain, her flesh running like hot wax. The sensation was nearly enough to shut down her brain entirely.
However...if she were to die, her Resurrection would automatically trigger, so why worry? Solara peered down at the Imperial Hangman, and not a hint of dread or fright touched her thoughts. Those basic instincts had been burnt out of her long before this fire ever graced her skin.
If I keep punching him, Nayt won''t have the time to use his flames and kill me. Our difference in Rank won''t protect him from raw violence. As long as she didn''t stop, there was nothing to fear.
Pain didn''t scare her.
Death didn''t scare her.
But obeying a stronger existence did. She had gotten enough of that in the Tower.
Even as the fire grew hotter, even as the cold rain fell down on her exposed skull, Solara of Gama would not stop.
"Heal!" the Hangman cried out, his mouth full of blood. "That''s ¨C Elder''s sake, that''s agonizing to look at, in the name of Forest, please heal¨C"
"No." Solara grinned with whatever remained of her mouth.
"ELF¨C"
"Don''t feel like it."
Solara had died enough times to know that she had a few seconds of life in her yet. Until the moment her Resurrection triggered, there was no way in hell she would take a single step back. She continued to rain her fists down on the man underneath her, a woman on fire mercilessly annihilating a screaming man, like something out of her favorite bard tales.
Show me. Adjust balance. Keep him from throwing her off. Punch again. Why are you in such a hurry for me to stop? Step. Balance. Punch. Repeat. Never stop. Why are you¨C
It was here that she died.
RESURRECTION!
Solara exhaled with frustration as she was restored to a hale, healthy state. She first noticed her surroundings. I''m not on top of the Hangman anymore. He threw my corpse away while I was in the midst of Returning.
Next, she studied her body ¨C it was healed, as it should be, and the flames had been banished away. "Funny," she said, laughing weakly. "You didn''t do anything, and I still had nearly a minute of life left in me...but I just died anyway."
The elf glanced at the rain above, then grinned at the Hangman. "I wonder what happened."
Mayhap it had been the rain, mayhap the Hangman had snuffed out the flames himself. It mattered not; the result was the same.
She laughed again, more loudly this time. "It''s not when the fire burns ¨C it''s when it stops burning, isn''t it? Your certain-death Talent triggers when the flames are extinguished."
The Hangman said nothing, but bit his lip.
Hmm. Very astute, Elf, said The Ghost of Flames. His first attack carried weak flames, meant to be immediately extinguished by the rain. His second attack carried heavy flames, hoping you''d recoil in pain.
And when I did, he could kill me ¨C or wait until I''d erased the flames myself by using Resurrection, then triggered his Hangman''s Death. He knows there''s a limited amount of times I can come back to life, so he was planning on killing me until I was out of Returns.
A heavy rain still adorned the fight, washing away their regrets and burning their open wounds. Four meters set the duelists apart from each other. While the Hangman managed to build some distance between the two of them during her Resurrection, the damage from her onslaught had obviously taken its toll.
Nayt''s eyes were swollen, his nose was broken, and he seemed moderately dazed, as if it was a mild struggle to focus his gaze on her. Solara doubted that he could easily hit her with his Hangman''s Flames as he had before. The situation had changed.
And with change came the potential for revolution.
If he tries to hit me with fire from that far away...I''ll have time to react. I''ll enter his flames instead of letting them hurt me.
Using my power?
About time that the years I spent in that damned Tower proved useful.
You think it will be enough to avoid death?
No way to know for sure. But if I''m reading his ability correctly, then the Hangman''s Death only triggers upon extinguishing his flames, and it only affects the area that the flames were covering before disappearing. If I''m inside of his flame, mayhap it won''t be ''covering'' anything.
It may also be that it will cover all of you.
It may, Solara acknowledged. So ideally, we''ll exit the inside of his fire before it goes out ¨C then snap his neck.
One way or another, this explosive, uneven duel would come to an end with the next move. It hinged on how grievously Solara had wounded the man''s head and hindered his concentration.. Could he aim his flames at her while heavily concussed, beneath this heavy, thick mist of a rain? And if so, would Solara have the time to enter his Flames and escape its deathly effect?
It all came down to these final few seconds.
Solara steadied her breath, widened her eyes, and¨C
"That''s enough of a beating, I think," Nayt said, rubbing his chin and spitting out a tooth. "Should be plenty convincing if I get asked any further questions, don''t you think?"
"What are you¨C"
Nayt spat blood to his right, then gestured with his head for Solara to look beyond. Many of his flames had mixed with the fire created by the earlier, mysterious explosion that occurred nearby. They led out of the city, like a trail for her to follow. "And with these, you can escape faster than using a horse, right?"
Her ability to sink into Flames should have been unknown to him, but Solara didn''t waste energy focusing on that point. Instead, she bent deeper into her stance and prepared to lunge at the man. He''s buying time. I should kill him before¨C
The thought died as Solara noticed that the man''s top hat had rolled away during their one-sided brawl. Even through the dense, pouring rain, she was able to make out a certain detail that she could not comprehend. "You work for the Emperor," Solara whispered, with shock that rang clear like funeral bells. "You...why?"
Nayt shrugged, wincing as his sore muscles protested. "It pays well and it isn''t much work."
"But Nayt...you''re an elf."
The Hangman lifted his dead eyes to gaze into hers. "Yes." A dark void seemed to try to swallow up her soul. "I am."
Solara turned and ran without saying another word. She used the Talent of Haunted Flames to leap from open fire to open fire, creating as much distance between the two as possible.
There was no point in remaining here anymore.
Foolish Elf! The Ghost screamed in her mind. You will never have another chance like that to slay a Hangman! Never again shall you be so lucky! The manifestation of his Talent was a perfect matchup for yours, and the man was an eccentric, lazy imbecile¨C
Solara responded out loud as she exited through her fifth open flame and ran out into the city. "Luck, huh? Do you really believe that?" She chuckled softly. "No wonder you were made into a Ghost. You are, quite literally, too dumb to live."
Why waste the chance simply because he''s an elf? Speak plainly, woman, or I shall¨C
Her thoughts cut off his threat. Him being an elf is part of it, but that''s not my main reason for leaving. Didn''t you notice? He said he created the flames so we could escape. Don''t you find that odd?
No. He''s merely as lazy as he claims.
He''s not supposed to know that I have access to your Talent.
Ahhh... Ghostly laughter echoed within her mind, punctuated by the sound of her feet clashing against the wet cobblestone beneath. You think we have a traitor? Someone who knows of the Painter''s abilities?
Far worse. Even if they were aware of Adam''s Talent, they shouldn''t have known the specifics of your Talent, Ghost. Unlike the Ghost of Waters, your reign of terror was confined to a small tower. The Empire should have little ¨C if any ¨C knowledge of it, much less an understanding of your Talent...or that I have it.
What are you saying, elf? If not a traitor to your lost cause, then what do you think was the source of his knowledge?
Isn''t it obvious? The same one that allowed you to haunt me in the first place.
You...you don''t mean¨C
That''s right. The Dark Sorcerer.
His name was enough to silence the Ghost of Flames, bringing Solara a measure of peace in her mind for the first time since agreeing to the Talent Painting with Adam.
The Dark Sorcerer, the one who''d gifted Solara a curse while promising power. How could she have been so foolish as to believe he was telling the truth? Because I wanted the might to inherit Gama, to protect my kind, to honor my father, to avenge my...
That last thought was more truthful than the others, and she hated herself for it.
It mattered not, anyhow. Those thoughts could wait. For now, she had to get back to the ship and await for Adam''s return. Tenver had gone to search for him, and would hopefully be bringing him back soon.
Are you certain that''s wise? The Ghost of Flames asked, after some time had passed. Its voice sounded remarkably subdued; almost childish. The Hangman made a fair point. The Puppet Prince coveted the Empire''s throne. His rebellion was birthed by his banishment ¨C why wouldn''t he betray the Painter''s hopeless cause when offered the fulfillment of his dreams?
Solara nearly slowed down her pace, then resumed her run. Tenver wouldn''t do that. We may have had our disagreements, but he truly cares for Adam.
And what is the value of care against the flame of Ambition? The Ghost of Flames did not sound full of grandeur and bravado for once. If anything, he sounded wistful. You''d be surprised, Elf, at what people will give up for their dreams.
No, Solara thought stubbornly. He wouldn''t. Tenver...wouldn''t.
She hoped so, dearly.
Chapter 42
The sound of wheels on cobblestone was insufficient to drown out Adam''s wayward thoughts. It couldn''t have been longer than ten minutes, yet some ten minutes are longer than others. Inside that silent, dark carriage, alone with nothing but his fears to keep him company, his mind began to wander.
Eric kept trying to convince me that he wasn''t at fault, even during the very last moment... Adam had to let out a bitter laugh at that. It was too absurd of an excuse not to. Did he really expect me to believe that Tenver would have betrayed me?
Just imagining it felt ridiculous. From the start, Tenver had been unflinchingly loyal. He''d helped Adam survive Aspreay''s cruel treatment, made sure that Adam thrived once he became lord, and helped him brave his way through the dense political threads of the Empire. Tenver had kept some secrets throughout all of that, sure, but even those were only thinly-veiled.
Like how he''d hidden the truth of his parentage. As far as Adam was concerned, that one barely counted. It had been an open secret ¨C to the point where it was less of a secret and closer to a treasure hunt. Tenver hadn''t told Adam outright, but he''d also made no effort to keep the knowledge from him, preferring that Adam discover the truth on his own terms.
Now that I think about it...that''s how he''s been the entire time, hasn''t he?
Back when Adam revealed the extent of his Painter Talent and seized Aspreay''s throne, Tenver had purposefully started behaving erratically, making himself less easy to understand ¨C lest he put himself at risk of being turned into a painting. It was an appropriately cautious move that no one could have faulted...and even then he''d gradually eased Adam into the truth. Rather than avoiding the nature of his heritage entirely, Tenver left a trail of clues for the soul-stealing Painter to follow, leading Adam towards his identity as a Puppet.
That took both trust and loyalty. The kinds that weren''t so easily broken. Unlike Eric, Tenver had always been¨C
The carriage suddenly stopped.
Adam bit his lip and held his breath. His eyes darted to the drawn curtains on the carriage windows, looking for any gap where the Emperor''s soldiers could have spotted him. I''m fully concealed...but what if they''re methodically searching every carriage in the city? Should I run? Should I¨C
The door opened before he reached a decision. Blissfully, only Tenver''s tired smile greeted him. "We should be safe here, my lord," the Puppet Knight told him, in a weary tone. "Had to slightly divert our path to escape some search parties, but we should be fine from here on out."
Unfortunate news, yet acceptable. "I suppose we''ll need to take the long way back to the airship, then?"
"If we wish not to be spotted, aye."
"Then let us," Adam affirmed.
Tenver gestured at the open door. "It will be a long, claustrophobic journey inside this carriage. May I convince you to enjoy some fresh air before we resume our journey?"
Adam cursed how much he wanted to say yes. It wouldn''t be prudent to walk outside until he reached their ship. He knew that well.
Still...the muffled, humid air inside his carriage ¨C coupled with the exertion from his earlier desperate escape ¨C had been enough to induce a pounding headache in his skull. It was a pain only heightened by feelings of dread that worsened the longer he stayed locked up in his four-wheeled cage.
Funny. It used to be that dark, windowless rooms would bring me peace, he mused. Over the last few months, I''ve actually started to enjoy open spaces a lot more. I miss the sunlight on cloudy days, and I crave fresh air when I haven''t breathed it in for a while.
Wonder what changed.
Adam put his ruminations aside for now. "What are the chances I''ll be seen by someone?" he asked, emphasizing the caution in his tone.
"None," Tenver promised. "A checkpoint lies south of here, but there are no sets of eyes around but ours."
For once, the Painter decided to embrace that needless desire of his. "Just for a moment," he told his knight. "We''ll have to get going right after."
"As you wish," the other replied, extending a hand to help his exhausted lord out of the carriage. "Enjoy the fresh air while you can, then."
The rain had stopped, although it didn''t feel as though it truly had. This was one of those heavy, humid nights where ¨C long after the storm itself ceased ¨C the air would remain heavy, humid, and oppressive. Gusts of wind, cold enough to make themselves acutely noticeable, yet not cold enough to discomfort, looped the air in a circle, past the nearby tree branches, and touched Adam''s face before passing through into the cliff down below. Night had fallen, but this was a gray night, one where the passage of time became almost...unimportant.
What a view, this cliff was.
"It was hard to get a measure for how tall it is from the Airship, wasn''t it?" Tenver asked, as if aware of Adam''s thoughts. The Painter turned to face him, but the knight didn''t meet his gaze, instead peering down at the darkness below.
Adam shifted his gaze to match Tenver''s. "It was," he admitted. "I knew of the geography from books, but it didn''t strike me exactly how steep the surrounding cliffs were."
"Only the ocean flanks our Capital," Tenver said, wistfully. His voice was lower than usual. "My father used to tell me stories of the Emperors of old; how they utilized an unassailable city to prevent many covetous invaders from usurping their title, even when otherwise outmatched. I remember he once said that leading a city protected by nature itself was proof of..."
Tenver paused suddenly, as if choking. Then, in a hoarser voice, he said, "It was proof of our divine right to rule."
"And you agree with him?" Adam asked.
"Truthfully?" Tenver''s question had a hint of sad bitterness at the end. "These days...these days I do not know. I know not even if he meant the words to be profound, or merely said them carelessly, with little consideration given to whether I''d remember them at all."
He laughed weakly. "My...my father has been gone for some time now. It is the sad truth of a loved one''s death. As the merciless reaper known as time wields its scythe, you obsess over whatever you can recall, ascribe divine meaning to every miserable scrap of memory, turn idle comments into life lessons, and idolize oaths they themselves never held sacred."
Tenver fell silent for a long moment. "It scares me sometimes, Adam. I can''t help but wonder if all this is really what my father would have wanted ¨C or if I''ve distorted his memories to justify my decisions."
Adam took in the cold night with a deep breath. Then, closing his eyes, he said, "Even if you forget what your father said...even if you start to act in ways he never wanted you to...he still would have been proud of your life." He clenched his fist. "That''s what...fathers are supposed to do, right?"
"Aye," Tenver agreed, muffling the sound of laughter down his throat. "He would be on my side, no matter what that side would have been."
A frigid breeze blew in from the bottom of the cliff. It carried with it the faint scent of death.
"In that case," Adam asked, his voice sharp and his eyes still closed, "why are you hesitating?"
Tenver went still. "I..."
"If you''re going to kill me," Adam calmly said, "do it now."
In that dark, cold night, it was difficult to make out the shape of the knight behind him. But much like always, Tenver hadn''t tried to keep his intentions secret ¨C only delay their discovery. Perhaps he felt it easier than stating them outright.
Which is why he now stood behind Adam, his sword extended, its callous steel brushing against the Painter''s neck.
"I hoped..." Tenver struggled to push the words through. "I really hoped you wouldn''t figure it out until...I hoped you would die without knowing."
Silence suffocated them both.
"Why?" Adam finally asked.
"The Emperor...Adam, I...I thought I could handle going against him. But I can''t. Not like this."
Tenver''s tone was uneven, his voice a song the Painter hadn''t ever heard before. "After you escaped, he issued his orders. You are wanted dead or alive ¨C but preferably alive, in order to learn more about your Talent. He said whoever brought you back to him would be rewarded with...anything their heart desired. Orbs, influence, whatever. I could...I could be made heir again."
Adam nodded. "Ah, yes. So you decided to betray me for the sake of the Empire? You think you can bring about more change this way?"
"That''s right," Tenver spat out. "We can''t possibly beat Ciro. Our deaths are guaranteed if we try. What''s wrong with keeping casualties to a minimum, while still helping the Empire...and at the cost of just one life? There''s no reason for me to hesitate, Adam! You''ve seen what I can do. What I have done. The beheadings, the fights, the blood ¨C you''re no different."
The Puppet Knight barked out a laugh. "Mayhap I only ever cared for power, and to restore my position as the rightful heir of the Empire. Your life means nothing to me compared to that."
"I don''t believe you," Adam said, quietly.
Tenver''s voice grew shakier. "Remember that you tried to Ink our trust with your ability ¨C and it didn''t work! You obtained Solara''s Resurrection Talent, but not mine!"
"I think we''re both to blame for that. I didn''t understand your feelings completely, so I was afraid of trusting you until now. But Tenver..."
Adam slowly shook his head. "You''re not some clever mastermind. And you aren''t trying to sacrifice me for the sake of power ¨C or for the throne."
"Thousands could burn in hell," Tenver shouted, "so long as I get to sit upon my birthright once more!"
"Bullshit," Adam stated. "A million lifetimes could come and go. Even then, you still wouldn''t mean those words."
Silence''s hold on them grew tighter, both their throats closing up. "That''s not¨C" Tenver stumbled over his own words. "That''s not¨Cthat''s absurd! I speak the truth, my lor¨CAdam¨Cyou treasonous¨C"
"If that''s really true," Adam muttered, "then why are you crying?"
Tenver''s blade trembled against Adam''s neck. His teeth clattered loudly, a sound escaped his throat, and words failed him. Adam waited regardless.
Eventually, Tenver found the wherewithal to speak. "You don''t understand, A¨CAdam," he whispered. "Just...just hate me. Curse my existence. Make this easier for me. Please."
"No." Adam turned around. The motion nearly pressed the shaking blade against his skin ¨C he didn''t care, nor did he slow down. Even under the faint moonlight, he could see Tenver''s tears rolling down his bright red face. "If you really believe that killing me is the best course of action for the common people, then maybe I would let you do it. But you have to look me in the eyes and¨C"
"DON''T!" Tenver sobbed, his trembling sword and shakier voice filled with a deeper desperation than what was on the surface. "DON''T LOOK ME IN THE EYE, ADAM! I CAN''T¨C"
"Why do you want to kill me?" Adam asked, his voice tranquil. "Tell me the real reason," he said again, fiercely, but gently. "I know you aren''t a heartless, scheming lord who hungers for power. You''re so much more than that."
"THAT''S WHAT I AM!" Tenver insisted, through his cries. He tightened a clumsy grip on the blade, pressing the steel closer into Adam''s throat, even drawing a thin line of blood. It wasn''t enough to make the painter step away. "I am ¨C I am a Puppet, Adam," he growled. "I''m an inhuman monstrosity that feigns emotions I could not have. I¨C"
"I trust you, Tenver," Adam said.
His proclamation hung in the air like a thunderbolt. Tenver took a step back, his sword grip loosening as he rapidly shook his head. "Why now?" he mumbled. "I''ve wanted you to say that for so long, Adam...why does it have to be now?"
"It took me a while to figure out." The sound of the cold wind breeze was the only thing that violated silence''s dominion. "I''m sorry. Should''ve told you sooner."
"No ¨C don''t¨C"
"One thing I realized earlier," Adam said, with a faint smile on his face, "is that people will always fool, betray, and lie. You can''t protect yourself from that, no matter how careful you are. If you want to really care about someone, then sometimes...you just have to take that gamble. If they''re worth it, anyway."
He laughed gently. "With Eric, I gambled and lost. With you, I gamble ¨C and leave the rest in your hands."
"Adam..." Tenver lowered his sword and fell to his knees, although the threat of death remained. Murder hadn''t yet left his eyes, and if given sufficient motivation, he could rise once again. "Adam...I..."
"Please, Tenver. Tell me why you''re doing this. I know you have a good reason."
Silence continued its reign.
"There really is a checkpoint nearby," the knight managed, after a long pause. "However...we can''t walk around it. I tried my best to find a covert path, but we are well and truly surrounded. Just several minutes away from here, a Hangman is leading one hundred foot soldiers with instructions to search every carriage and bring you back alive. I can''t let that happen."
Adam pondered the idea. "Why not? Let them take me captive. You''ll gain favor with the Emperor, and so long as I''m alive, I should have the chance to esca¨C"
"I CAN''T LET THEM DO THAT TO YOU!" Tenver rose to his feet in an erratic, jerky movement. His watering eyes burned with a sad determination. "Adam, I have seen what Ciro does to his prisoners. Do you not remember what he did to my supporters who wanted me to inherit the throne? The very reason that I accepted being banished to Penumbria?"
The knight had shared that memory before. Each of Tenver''s loyal servants and peers had been put through the worst of tortures, kept alive only so that their suffering would not end.
"When Ciro feels slighted...the things he does to a person..." Tenver shivered at the thought. His entire body, from his sword arm to his knees, recoiled from the painful memory that burned in his eyes. "Adam, when he''s done with them, they don''t even look human anymore. Not a night goes by where I don''t have nightmares of what remained of their faces.. Even now...even now I d-don''t know if they were really looking at me, or if their sanity was burnt out along with their eyelids. I pray that it was."
Oh, Tenver...
"I can''t ¨C I WON''T LET THEM DO THAT!" Tenver cried out. "I won''t let them do that¨CTO¨CMY¨CBEST¨CFRIEND!"
His strength seemed to shift from his grip to his sobs, which grew ever louder. "Even if you hate me...even if you curse me until your dying breath...that''s fine. But I won''t let Ciro do anything to you. It won''t happen again."
The knight''s pain and resolve shone through more clearly than ever before. Only now did Adam feel as though he''d truly seen his friend for the first time, devoid of masks of mystery, and without cloaks of danger. Here, naked despair ruled alone.
Tenver...how long have you been living like this? Have you not let anyone see you like this before? Then again...I don''t suppose I''m much better.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Even right now.
"Kill me then, Tenver," Adam coldly stated. "Do it ¨C or I''ll go fight the Hangman and his soldiers."
"Don''t be stupid! There''s no way you can fight your way through a contingent of twenty men led by¨C"
"Then kill me now," Adam insisted. "Or get out of my way." With that, he stepped forward, approaching Tenver, and pushing past his blade.
"Don''t¨Cno¨Cplease¨CI can''t do it if you look me in the eye like that. Please, please, look away, I¨C"
Adam didn''t look away. He maintained his gaze, staring directly into Tenver''s eyes as he approached, gently pushing the sword away from his neck. Adam only stopped walking when he was mere inches away.
The two looked into the other''s eyes for too long, and for not long enough. Fragile fear could be seen in the knight''s eyes, laid as bare and plain as the Painter''s unflinching trust. We''ve been a pair of right cowards, haven''t we?
He put a hand on his friend''s shoulder. "Wait for me," Adam promised. "I''ll be back after clearing a path. We''ll be able to ride the carriage down this way, then."
"Are you insane? That''s not¨C"
"You can''t come help me," Adam cut him off. "Need to appear like you''re a neutral party, right? The Emperor just forgave you for all your supposed crimes ¨C and I know how important it is for you to remain as an influential player on the Empire''s political stage. That won''t be possible if you''re seen fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with a rebel insurgent."
"But...Adam...you''re going to die. There are too many soldiers for you to overcome alone."
"On top of that," the Painter continued, as if he hadn''t heard him, "you can''t fight without exposing your Puppet arm. Not if you want to use your Talent. So..."
Adam trailed off. What are the right words to say here? What do I say to someone who I''ll never see again, so that they''ll seek happiness even after my death?
He could have searched for a lifetime and still not found them.
"Just stay here," Adam said again, injecting false confidence in his voice. "Stay here and wait. If anyone asks, tell them I defeated you in a duel ¨C but not before you inflicted some wounds on me." He flashed the burn he''d received earlier from Aspreay''s Realm. "Remember that."
And with those parting words, he left.
"ADAM¨C!"
--
Would you look at that...it''s started to rain again.
It suited the occasion just fine. Stepping away from Tenver felt simpler with a heavy, falling water to shroud what he was leaving behind. Much easier if I can''t see him.
Easier didn''t mean easy, though. Rain has the odd quality of shading emotions into darker versions of themself. Although he felt rather refreshed, Adam''s lonesome walk still seemed to pierce at his soul with every step.
But...
Tenver never planned on betraying me. A hesitant smile crept onto his face. Much like a condemned criminal granted a favored last meal before being executed, the thought was almost enough to make his dreary death march seem pleasant.
Almost.
Even though Tenver had always been loyal to him, the Puppet Prince''s fear was as real as it was justified. Adam could hardly fault him for not throwing his life away, let alone ask him to knowingly walk toward his demise. Hangmen were beyond powerful, having transcended the realm of mortals to become demigods walking among their inferiors. Fighting one ¨C one accompanied by a Royal Guard contingent, no less ¨C was tantamount to suicide.
On top of that, after being reminded of the torture inflicted upon the Empire''s prisoners...
Adam shuddered as if a chill had passed over his grave. The least I can do is not be captured alive. That might alleviate Tenver''s conscience a little.
If he were to stop here, the Empire would inevitably capture him. The only way through was forward ¨C right through the checkpoint. His freedom had been barred by military might that could have brought an entire city to its knees. Adam was a pessimistic person by nature; on any other day, this set of circumstances may have driven him to despair.
But not today.
Because Tenver hadn''t betrayed him.
Solara didn''t, either. His smile crept wider. I wouldn''t have been able to use her Resurrection if she wasn''t trustworthy. Neither of them were like Eric.
The idea brought him more peace than he cared to admit, even to himself. While all people were fated to die someday, only the truly fortunate got to cross to the other side knowing they had left behind genuine friends ¨C people who would mourn them sincerely. Adam had long assumed that he would never find himself among those privileged few.
Not since Eric''s first betrayal, anyhow.
After Eric plagiarized his life''s work, Adam had been torn between allowing death to take him or finding a way to bathe himself in riches so he could forget his pain. Everything seemed different afterwards, he thought. I wanted to find a way to live, not just survive. Like making it through the nightmare of today wasn''t enough to want a tomorrow anymore.
Even when this resolve of his was tested, Adam had remained steadfast. Having stared at death, his gaze unblinking and defiant. he couldn''t bring himself to care for merely living day-to-day.
Now, though...
If he was being honest...
He wouldn''t mind surviving.
It didn''t need to be glorious, grandiose, or even particularly dignified. I have people who care about me now, he thought, shamefully. I want to share drinks with Tenver again. Learn more about how he thinks. Paint more models with Solara. Get her to explain how the damned game even works. Have adventures around the world with them. As long as they''re around, I...
I don''t want to die.
The notion was still fresh in his mind when Adam felt a sword pierce his chest.
"Sorry," said a cloaked figure from atop the hill, apologetically holding up one hand. "I didn''t want to take chances."
There was a disarming lack of pain. The feeling of his legs trembling as energy fled his body was far worse. As Adam''s life started to fade, he saw his assailants ¨C a pair of armored soldiers. Not even Hangmen. They had been waiting to ambush him.
Is this...how it ends? Adam grit his teeth and forced himself to stay upright. He reached to strike at the soldiers, yet both had already drawn their weapons and retreated back. They fell in line with what seemed to be at least twenty other fighters, all led by a cloaked figure who sat atop the hill, overseeing their contingent from above as if ruling from a throne.
"Don''t bother fighting," said the cloaked figure. Adam couldn''t make out their face, but from her voice, it sounded like a woman. "We have orders to bring you back alive. Our weapons are coated with a special poison ¨C within moments, your blood will carry the poison through your body and render you unconscious."
She shrugged. "Nothing personal. The Empire''s peace comes first. That is all."
Poison. Adam called upon his Stained Ink. I won''t let it spread. His red blood became dark, corrupted Ink, then stopped flowing inside of him. It prevented the poison from circulating through his veins while also stemming further loss of blood. "I''m not so weak as to fall from that," Adam shouted.
"Mother of Gods," the cloaked woman said, in a disturbed tone. "Your very blood has become rotten. How can you speak as if you aren''t possessed by the darkness? Nay, how can you live?"
She shook her head and rose to her feet. "Before, this was a mission I reluctantly partook in. Now...now I know your death is necessary for the Empire''s survival."
Adam forced out a weak laugh. "You think this one painter''s life is a threat to the Empire?"
"Yes," the cloaked figure admitted. "I do."
He smiled faintly. "Well, all the more reason for me to live then, isn''t it? This Empire is more rotten than the rot itself."
To his surprise, he wasn''t met with anger from either the woman or her twenty soldiers. "Mayhap so," she admitted. "But your blood has rotted, your soul is stained, and your continued existence is an act of treason. This Hangwoman must stop your Canvas here."
Adam swirled the Ink around his body, trying to feel out the extent of his injuries. Nausea threatened to overtake him, and his reflexes felt slower...but his knees hadn''t buckled. It will have to do. "You accuse my birth of being treason against the Empire?"
"Nay," the Hangwoman replied. "Your birth was an act of treason against life itself."
He considered how he had traveled to the Painted World. "Yeah," Adam admitted. "Maybe so, my lady."
"So you will surrender?"
"No," Adam said without hesitation. "Not at all."
He took a moment to examine the poison inside of him. It made him feel sick and lightheaded, but it wasn''t as bad as it could have been. I ranked up my Stained Ink recently...there''s a chance it can stop poison now. Although Adam hadn''t been afforded the time to put that theory to practice, and it wasn''t really something he could safely test, anyway.
But he had tested his ability to make his body faster and stronger by forcibly accelerating Inked Blood through his veins ¨C almost like supernatural doping. While I''m in my Stained state, my body won''t die even if my heart isn''t pumping any blood. How far can I push that, though? What''s the limit before I just straight-up die? Will it be enough to stave off the poison while I fight?
Adam really didn''t know.
With that in mind, the most logical decision would have been to surrender. The second-most logical decision, if he chose to fight, would have been to limit his use of the Stained Ink and stall things out in the vain hope that someone would save him. Solara should be approaching with their Airship any moment, and the prototypical machine could likely sneak in undetected above the cover of dark stormclouds. If he just stayed back and bought time...now that had a better chance of working.
Adam generally considered himself a logical person. Until tonight, he had usually committed himself to following the most rational, reasonable way to handle any task before him. Be it painting someone''s soul, executing Baltsar, or usurpring Penumbria from Aspreay ¨C every one of his actions possessed a solid rationale behind it. And right now, that logical reasoning was telling him to fall back, refuse to engage, and wait for backup.
BUT TONIGHT¨C
Adam raced his Stained Ink through his veins, circulating the poison and the rot in equal amounts.
¨CMY BLOOD IS BOILING!
His skin seemed to burn hot, the falling rain turning into mist upon contact. If he were to melt away, to spread the poison, then so be it ¨C but he would go down fighting. The wet shirt that had so annoyingly clung onto his skin ripped apart and fell to the wayside.
"Let''s dance, Hangwoman."
She stared at him for a moment, taken aback. "I must admit, I had not taken you for the emotional type." The Hangwoman pointed a spear at him, and her troops readied their weapons in response to her signal. "The man who outfoxed Aspreay should not be this emotional."
"Apologies," a new voice said. "It must be my fault, Lady Ernanda."
Adam wasn''t sure whether or not to feel surprise as Tenver suddenly walked up beside him. The Puppet Knight entered the battlefield as if he was fashionably late to a party, a carefree smirk adorning his features. "I''m afraid I have been a bad influence on him," he continued, with a short, mocking bow.
Beneath the dense rain, it was hard to make out the Hangwoman''s reaction, but her brief silence spoke loudly. Eventually, she found the wherewithal to reply. "Prince Tenver, your crimes were only just forgiven."
Her unsaid words spoke even louder. Thanks to Eric giving Tenver credit for slaying the Ghost of Waters, the knight had finally been allowed to return to the Capital, his previous crimes forgiven, and his banishment forgotten. For many years, this had been the Puppet Prince''s dream ¨C to reclaim his birthright, avenge his father, and protect the common folk. Yet just standing beside Adam like this was enough to call into question what he had yearned for so earnestly.
"There''s no way we''re going to win," Adam remarked, eyeing Tenver. "You know that, right?"
The Puppet Knight nodded. "Aye. Even so, I...I thought it over after you left. Mayhap more than I have ever thought about anything else."
"And what conclusion did you reach?"
"That if my lord ¨C if you are going to cast yourself down into the flames of hell..."
Tenver cracked his neck. "Then I will burn down to ashes alongside you."
Adam held his gaze for a moment. Dozens of objections raced through the Painter''s mind. You idiot! I don''t want you to die! Why get both of us killed when there''s no reason for it? This is stupid! Run! It''s better for the Empire, for everyone ¨C just RUN!
Then, he smiled. "Thank you," Adam said, sincerely.
"Prince Tenver!" Ernanda the Hangwoman appeared more than mystified; she was downright furious. "Once you do this, there will be no turning back. Even the Holy Emperor''s generosity has its limits!"
The Knight chose not to respond with words ¨C but with an attack. His Puppet Arm flexed into its real size, shattering the armor that had hidden it from the world until now. Before the metal fragments had even reached the apex of their flight, a number of arrows were shot at the Royal Guard, hitting one, two, five soldiers and knocking them down.
And the Puppet responsible for that attack stood proudly, having shed away both the armor that covered his upper body...and his hesitation. "With this," Tenver declared, "my nature is clear."
The Hangwoman''s face twisted with shock before contorting into a rictus of disgust. There was no need for words or curses. Now that Tenver''s nature as Puppet had been revealed, he could not be allowed to live. Emperor Ciro would order his execution even if he chose to side against Adam.
The die was cast, the ships were burned, the game was afoot ¨C and the Knight stood beside his Painter Lord.
"Forgive me for my hesitation until now," Tenver said, quietly. "Let us burn away our regrets."
"With pleasure." Adam quickened the Stained Ink across his blood. "Thank you, Tenver. For being my friend."
Painter and Puppet stood side by side. Above them was the heavy rain, before them was the army of death, and on their proud backs was the symbol of trust, shaded with their resolve.
Adam only wished he could see the finished result. What did the painting he''d inked on both their backs look like, exactly?
Although in truth...he didn''t really need to see it. Even without looking at Tenver''s back or his own, Adam knew what to title this final portrait.
The Painter and His Loyal Knight
His Talent burned as the two of them exploded forward.
Chapter 43
Adam dashed uphill. Inked blood overclocked his body, turning his steps into a violent charge towards the Empire soldiers. They called out to him, ordering him to stop and surrender, but he ignored their pleas. There was no time left for words.
Yet there was time for thoughts ¨C albeit few. His Ink heightened his rate of thinking, letting him perceive the battlefield almost as if it was moving in slow-motion.
''We''re tired and outnumbered,'' Adam thought. A cold, calculating tranquility suffused his being as he observed the environment with pragmatic clarity. ''Our only shot is to break through their formation and escape before they can regroup. Do you know what the Hangwoman''s ability is?''
''Unfortunately, no,'' Tenver replied inside his mind. The Inked emblem on their backs was connecting their thoughts. ''But she''s not prepared for us, either. If you can get past Ernanda''s archers, then you''ll have one chance to use your Shadow Realm on her. That should be all we need.''
''Will she truly not notice?''
''She''ll notice you ¨C but not your less beautiful partner.''
Nodding, Adam quickened his pace. Beneath the heavy rainfall, obscuring vision and noise alike, he could barely even tell where he was going. His boots struggled to find ground solid enough to properly hold his weight, yet he marched on, guided by the muted sound of loading crossbows before him.
"Prepare yourselves!" Ernanda''s imposing voice rose above the clamor. The Hangwoman''s tone was filled with genuine zeal and excitement, as if she was greatly anticipating what was about to happen next. "Today, we give service to the Empire! By our hands shall the Emperor''s will be done, and his hated enemies scoured from this world! Let none suffer the Rot or Puppets to live!"
Her words emboldened Adam to run ever faster. They served as confirmation that he had crossed the point of no return. Even if he decided that things were truly hopeless and attempted to surrender, the Hangwoman would execute him without remorse, right here and now.
It was do or die.
He''d just about made it halfway up the hill when a thought suddenly screamed inside his head, so loud and urgent that it nearly brought him pain.
''60 seconds! Make it to the top within 60 seconds or die trying! You hear me Adam?!''
Despite how jarring it was, the voice still brought a smile to his face as it resonated through his Inked Emblem. Simply hearing it bolstered his confidence. It meant that they were within range ¨C he couldn''t have heard them if they were too far away. ''How close are you?'' he asked.
As if responding, a massive, oversized wooden arm shot forward. Steam burst out of Tenver''s joints as a number of arrows seemed to load themselves into him. ''Don''t look back,'' the Knight said. ''Keep running, and I shall keep you safe.''
Ernanda the Hangwoman raised one hand, never diverting her gaze from the Painter. When she ordered her troops, it was with a commanding presence fit for an army general. "READY¨C"
''You don''t have to tell me that,'' Adam replied, running up the hill. ''I already know I can trust you.''
"¨CFIRE!"
Rows of soldiers fired their crossbows in an orderly, practiced fashion. A hailstorm of arrows fell from the sky, mingling with pouring rain.
''Our first defense will be the weather,'' Adam reasoned, as the projectiles drew closer. ''Hitting a moving target with low visibility is hard enough, and the wind should make that even more difficult. Their odds are low.''
Low did not mean none. Twenty bolts shot in his general direction would find their mark at least once or twice, most likely. Adam could easily have been killed if a lucky bolt happened upon his chest.
Yet likeliness was the realm of Lady Luck ¨C and the Puppet Prince hereby banished it from his claimed Empire.
"Once, I saw the sun blocked by a storm of arrows. My father died that day." The Prince''s voice was fraught with restrained emotion. "This sight is similar enough to disgust me."
He raised his arms. "I declare it illegal."
''50 seconds left, Adam!''
Tenver''s arrows flew overhead at an impossible speed, faster than his Rank should have allowed. His rebuke clashed midair with the soldiers'' volley, knocking their arrows safely away from Adam. The way forward had been opened.
It was an opportunity that the Painter would not squander.
''I have to get to the top.'' Adam pushed his feet to move even faster. ''I have to bet on my friend.''
The Royal Guardsmen froze. Well-trained as they might have been, they had just witnessed twenty arrows swept aside by the efforts of one Puppet ¨C and now what looked to be a human-creature of Rot was rushing up to meet them. It resulted in a single moment of hesitation.
Too long of a moment.
Any moment was too long before the Painter and his Knight.
''Uncle surely trained the Royal Guard on how to slay me,'' Tenver thought. Even inside his head, the thought was colored by unrestrained laughter. ''They think me a Baron of Archery. Ah, poor bastards!''
It was true that among the twenty soldiers, perhaps ten of them were Archers, while the other half consisted of Swordsmen. Among those, at least five appeared to have a Rank equal to Tenver''s. In a clash between their Talents, it should have been a massacre.
But they didn''t know. They couldn''t have known. The inked trust that burned on Tenver''s back had reached deep inside him, and from its ashes arose Adam''s Talent¨C
The Stained Ink.
Like Adam himself, Tenver was now circulating Ink inside his body at incredible speeds, increasing how fast he moved ¨C including how fast he could load more arrows.
''They''ll curse me as a monster,'' Tenver mused, ''but this arm of a Puppet unleashes arrows far more destructive than their crossbows ever could.''
''Let them choke on their ignorance,'' Adam replied.
A Talent of weaker Rank could not surpass a stronger one. This was an immutable law of the Painted World. Yet Tenver''s body violated another supposedly primordial rule of existence: he fought with more than a single Talent.
And the physical manifestation of that union greatly surpassed what his original birthright could have ever achieved on its own.
''If your birth gives you not what you need to reach the peak,'' Tenver thought, ''then go not alone. Climb the summit with a helping hand.''
''30 seconds left, Adam!''
Ernanda stared in disbelief as her elite soldiers failed in their opening strike, the Painter drawing ever closer. "Are you fresh-faced recruits on your first day of training?!" she shouted. "He is but one man! Overwhelm him with numbers! Worry not about the Prince''s covering fire ¨C he''ll inevitably lose sight of the Painter!"
It should have been true. Even Adam was struggling to see past his own hands; he''d mostly just been following the voice that commanded the Royal Guard. Tenver shouldn''t have been able to see him.
Thankfully, he didn''t need to.
Adam was covered in Stained Ink ¨C and Tenver was a Puppet. His arm was made to feel the Rot''s influence, able to detect it well beyond the limits of mere sight. So long as Adam maintained his Talent, his Knight would never lose track of him.
That slight difference in expectation let Adam run past the first row of soldiers unharmed, their second volley of arrows rendered just as useless as the first.
''Here''s where it starts getting complicated.'' The Painter grimaced. ''At close range, I can probably only take one or two of the lower-Ranked ones. And if they fight together...'' At this thought, a primal fear of death crept towards him, nearly seizing Adam by his arm.
Tenver parried the emotion away. ''Don''t stop,'' he said. ''They won''t all come at once.''
In the heat of the moment, and lacking the battle experience of the Puppet Knight, Adam truly had no idea what that meant. He couldn''t remotely figure out how he would be safe running through so many armed enemies.
He chose to follow Tenver''s words regardless.
Good thing he did, too.
"Your performance shames the Empire!" Ernanda bellowed at her soldiers. "Kill the Painter, lest you be tried for treason by incompetence! Kill him! KILL HIM!"
Several men tried to attack him, but surprisingly, it was never more than one at a time. The first soldier came at him with a hand crossbow still half-cocked, and a longsword swing that was doomed to never reach its target.
Adam''s Stained Ink wrapped itself around his wrist, shaping itself into a hidden knife. He lashed out and deflected the strike, immobilizing the soldier long enough for Tenver''s arrow to land directly in-between their eyes.
A second soldier cried out with rage at the death of his comrade. He charged forth, any notions of self-preservation forgotten. Adam extended his Stained Ink into vines, grabbed the unsuspecting soldier by the ankles, and whipped him up into the air.
Multiple arrows pierced him before he hit the ground, like a hunter shooting wild game.
So it continued. Without hesitating, without thinking, Adam pressed onward. Another soldier. Another quick exchange. Another victory.
Another step closer to the Hangwoman.
''Only 20 Seconds left ¨C keep going!''
It should have been a quick death. Had three of the soldiers fought at once, they would have killed Adam in short order.
Yet the safety of numbers was both misleading and cruel. Each soldier was hoping, consciously or subconsciously, that their neighbor would be the one to step forward next. None of them wanted to put themselves in front of Adam''s warpath. Having just witnessed his unlikely survival, having heard the bards'' tales of his usurping of Penumbria, and having lived through the terror of his Stained Ink...
They viewed him as a monster. An incarnation of the Rot itself.
Perhaps he was.
"You should not exist!" Ernada''s glare was more piercing than one of Tenver''s arrows. "Purge him, my soldiers! Attack with all your might and cleanse this Stain from the land!"
''My lady asks this, yet herself fails to attack,'' Tenver remarked. Unceasing arrows flew towards the soldiers. He would rather avoid killing if possible, but he couldn''t take chances here. ''She''s afraid too, isn''t she?''
Fear. The knowledge of their overwhelming superiority. The suddenness of the Painter''s approach. It all combined to give birth to a single, uneasy idea: that even the most well-trained guard, that even the almighty Hangwoman could not escape.
''Killing him would be simple,'' Ernanda likely thought. ''But...just in case he has a trick...I''ll let others handle it.''
That brief hesitation, aided by Tenver''s arrows and the heavy rain, was enough for Adam to break through twenty soldiers. His never once stopping for an instant, his Ink-reinforced legs running up the muddy hill.
And now, he stood face to face with the Hangwoman.
''10 Seconds! Go for it!''
Adam could feel it, with both his Inked Emblem and his Talent. The defining moment was coming soon.
''Need to make this count ¨C before the Hangwoman realizes it''s not just me she should worry about.''
His gaze met the Hangwoman''s. For a moment, as the rain fell, time stood still. Comprehension dawned on her, and danger befell on him. She''s catching on fast, Adam noted. I have to act before she realizes what''s going on.
But he underestimated Ernanda.
Even shrouded in confusion, the Hangwoman did not stand still and allow him a free hit. Her hand shot forward in Adam''s direction without so much as drawing her weapon.
She''s going to kill me. Every atom in his soul was screaming that death was approaching. Without knowing the how or the why, Adam surrendered himself to his raw instinct, placing his left arm over his chest like a shield.
And right before his very eyes, within fractions of a second, the limb became older, wrinkled, darkened, rotten.
Then, starting from his fingers, it turned to ash.
The fading didn''t stop there. His hand was next, followed by his wrist. Just as it reached his forearm¨C
"ADAAAAAM!"
¨CTenver''s arrow cut through the darkness, slicing off Adam''s arm and immediately halting the rot of time.
Everything seemed to hold still as Adam stared at his stump in quiet disbelief. I...lost an arm. But...it...it doesn''t hurt. Maybe the pain was such that his mind could not yet process it yet.
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No. That wasn''t quite right. Rather, it was that his entire body had gone numb. He could only vaguely feel anything as his knees buckled down, his world turned on its head, and his limbs started collapsing to the side.
''ZERO SECONDS LEFT! IT''S DO OR DIE, ADAM!''
Adam jolted awake at the words exploding inside his mind. With an automatic, survivalistic instinct, he shouted an internal command.
STAINED INK ¨C STOP THE BLEEDING!
For a moment, an influx of agony nearly caused him to lose control of his Talent. He fought through it with the urgency of a man sensing that victory was near. And when he had at last regained control of himself, the Painter stood tall, as if unbothered by his grievous wound. The pain still burned, but this would keep him alive, at least for now.
Adam saw surprise in the Hangwoman''s eyes, and he heard the sound of fighting behind him. None of it mattered. Tenver won''t let anyone reach me.
The moment had come. Just as Adam underestimated Ernanda once before, now it was her turn to underestimate him. She had presumed him dead the moment her hand grasped his arm.
It left her unprepared for when Adam shifted with a sudden burst of energy. The Stained Ink in his veins stemmed his blood loss, the fire in his heart moved his leg forward, and his Lord Talent laid down the gauntlet.
He stepped on the Hangwoman''s shadow.
"You''re playing by my rules now," Adam declared. He called upon the extension of his Lordly Realm. She could no longer move away from him.
Ernanda sent him a silent, hateful gaze, before her lips twisted into a rictus of scorn. "Too late, Painter. Your Realm will not heal injuries that occurred outside of it. This does little to prevent your death."
"Worry more about yourself. You''re not so strong that you can ignore my Realm''s influence."
"I am too strong for you to order me to kill myself, however."
"Be that as it may." Adam put on an authoritative tone. "While you''re inside my Realm, I can still order you to: Step away from me!"
Sparks of blue nobility surrounded his body, crackling and jolting against the flickering sparks of red death emanating from the Hangwoman. The blue and red battled for supremacy, neither giving an inch.
The more impossible my order is, Adam recalled, the more my power is tested. If I fail that test...I don''t even know what would happen. But this is a simple order; even if you''re stronger than me, you can''t ignore it.
As far as Orders went, this one was both simple and nonviolent. A mere banishment ¨C akin to what Aspreay had done to that petitioner such a long time ago. There shouldn''t have been any issues whatsoever.
So why...why did he feel his knowledge of the Talent swell up so suddenly?
The Hangwoman yelled out an earsplitting screech. "I¨Cwill¨Cnot¨Cbow¨Cto¨Ca¨CPRETENDER!" Her eyes bulged with reddened veins of mania. "Your false power does not impress me, boy!"
The clash between the Talents of a Lord and a Hangwoman was brief and brutal.
Ernanda winced at the contact, her left shoulder flinging back as if an invisible force had grabbed her by the arm. One of her legs left the ground, and only her toes kept her from being flung off completely. Yet she persisted, unyielding, refusing to be banished or sent flying away.
The Painter, meanwhile, almost fell to his knees. He''d gotten the worst of their exchange, and would have coughed up blood were it not turned to Ink. Instead, he forced himself to remain upright, his vision twisting and turning, but not quite fading.
Before he could catch his breath, Ernanda threw her arm forward, grasping Adam''s forehead and rotting it to dust. Had they not been inside his Realm, this would have resulted in immediate death. As it was, the end result was only intense agony as he came back to life ¨C still missing his arm from before.
"I''d call this an impasse," Ernanda gloated, with an almost musical note to her taunt, "were it not impossible for you to maintain this for much longer."
Checkmate, it seems. Adam gritted his teeth. My blood loss may have been halted, but I''m still affected by it. I also can''t heal injuries that occurred outside my Shadow Realm. Very soon, I''ll be unable to even maintain my Realm at all...and that''s when she''ll kill me.
"Do not hope for your friend to save you." Ernanda now spoke with a dry, disinterred air. "The Prince is occupied fighting my soldiers."
"I know he is," Adam barked out. "And I know that as long as I''m still standing, Tenver won''t let a single blade be pointed at my back."
"Admirable loyalty ¨C for a pair of monsters. But it doesn''t change a thing, does it?" The Hangwoman casually reached forward. In one motion, she killed him again. "You have no moves left to play."
Adam coughed as he revived, splattering Ink onto the ground. "It''s true that Tenver can''t save me," he admitted, slowly. "But the thing is...unlike the rest of my life up until now...I think I''m pretty popular these days, you know?"
He let out a hoarse laugh. "Now I have more than one friend."
"What do you¨C"
An airship descended from above the stormy clouds.
It was in fact the sole Airship capable of such stealth, speed, and maneuverability ¨C a prototype that the Empire had built long ago, never to replicate. Even the Painter himself only knew of its approach because of two reasons. The first was his Captain Talent, granting him knowledge of the Airship''s location within a certain range.
And the other was the burning Ink on his back. Tenver wasn''t the only one he''d painted a symbol of trust with.
''Adam, I''m right above you!'' Solara shouted in his mind. ''Use your Talent to lower the stairs!''
He didn''t need to be told twice. This entire time, Adam had been attempting to time his desperate charge with Solara''s arrival. If Solara showed up too early, the Hangwoman would have destroyed their ship. And if she showed up too late...well...
That didn''t matter now.
They had timed everything perfectly.
"You...the stolen prototype," Ernada mouthed in disbelief. "No. No! The living ship cannot be allowed to exist in the hands of rebels and abominations!" She raised her hand and opened her palm, stretching it up towards the ship. "My lady would have preferred death instead of seeing it be turned against¨C"
"Don''t attack," Adam ordered. His vision blurred, his world shook ¨C and his grin widened, as the Hangwoman froze in place. Even if I''m in this sorry state, I won''t let you do as you please.
Ernanda practically snarled at him. "Painter, you¨C"
The sound of falling arrows silenced her. Although his footsteps were masked beneath the heavy rain, Adam could still sense him approaching slowly, with that innocent arrogance of his. Hearing his voice came as a relief, like a gasp of fresh air after running a marathon.
"The Royal Guard has been taken care of," Tenver said, through a heavy breath. "Ah, thank you, Adam. The stairs came all the way down! Rather kind of you."
"We can escape now," Adam managed to say, in a weak voice he barely recognized as his own. "Just have to board the ship and disappear through the clouds ¨C the Empire won''t be able to chase us down that easily."
Adam''s next death told him the Hangwoman was not entirely in agreement with that plan. "You need to board the ship yet, damned Painter!" Ernanda''s voice shook with pure, unbridled fury. "Do it. Dismiss your Realm, step off my shadow, and see what happens next. I will not permit you to merely walk away with your life."
"With all due respect, Hangwoman, I do not request your permission. I am Adam Arcanjo, Lord of Penumbria." He gestured at the enchanted staircase leading down from the ship to the ground. "Tenver, go ahead and stand by the ship''s doorway. Once you''re there, cover me with your arrows. I''ll dismiss the Shadow Realm and make my way "
Ernanda laughed. "Do you think the Prince''s Talent of Archery can keep me at bay?"
"Yeah." Adam''s response was calm, quick, and without emotion. To him, it felt like an immutable fact, one of the very laws of the universe. His gaze burned with certainty, its fire prompting Ernanda to recoil. "Tenver won''t miss a single shot. He will keep you away."
"As you wish, my lord," Tenver said, walking up the staircase without a second thought. "I''ll make it happen."
The two didn''t bother saying their farewells. After all, there existed no doubt in their hearts that they would meet again, just in mere moments. This would not be their end.
Slowly, the rain started to cease. Adam found some joy in the thought. A part of him hoped that Tenver would time his ascent with the rain. There was something beautiful about the idea of fighting for his life as sunlight pierced through fading storm clouds.
Unfortunately, the Puppet Prince was not one for sentimentality. One of his few flaws. Tenver went straight up, then turned around to shout at Adam from the doorway leading into their airship. "Now, Adam!"
The Painter''s gaze never wavered from Ernanda''s. Despite his battered body, the loss of his left arm, and the excruciating pain that struck at his soul with every passing second, he stayed ready to move at a moment''s notice. A certain grim determination was evident in his stance; an unwavering resolve that he hadn''t even known he possessed.
Maybe he hadn''t, until recently.
The Lord of Paint sneered at the Hangwoman of Death, spreading his arms wide and opening his palms as if laying his cards down on the table. "Showdown," Adam declared, with a manic grin.
Then, without ceremony, he dismissed his Shadow Realm and turned his back to the living incarnation of death before him.
Both man and woman burst into a flurry of movement. Adam''s was one of desperate energy, an irrational joy flowing through his wounded body, like fuel powering his limbs as he stumbled up the staircase as fast as he could.
Ernanda''s was driven by pride, fury, and duty in equal amounts. She charged forward to catch him with fanatical zeal. A mere touch of her hand would be enough to permanently kill Adam, yet Tenver''s hailstorm of arrows worked as both shield and threat alike. Each step up the staircase was a fight in and of itself ¨C a series of battles where a single loss would mean his demise.
"PRETENDER! YOU WILL NOT LEAVE HERE ALIVE!" Her scream tore through the air. It was the lightning before her Talent''s thunder, the certain death growing louder and closer to Adam''s back.
Yet he did not look back.
Even when he caught the silver flash of an arrow approaching his eyes, Adam never thought of anything except continuing his frantic march upward. The arrow flew so close to his eye that he could feel its grim whisper, but his resolve and trust remained unshaken.
He heard Ernanda let out a vulgar curse just as he reached the doorway. It was the sound of safety. Of victory.
Tenver and Solara both immediately held him tight, as if afraid he would forever disappear. Despite their concern, though, they still allowed Adam to turn around and say one last thing before making their final retreat.
"Tell the Emperor that I am innocent of the charges he has laid against me." Adam shouted at the darkness below, his voice a mixture of challenge and contempt. "But if he insists on treating me like a rebel, then he will do war with me properly. Unless he chooses to take back his absurd claim that I am not Aspreay''s trueborn son..."
A lie in at least three separate ways, he thought.
"...Then Penumbria shall bend its knees to the Emperor no longer."
Solara firmly gripped his shoulder, then shouted down at the Hangwoman. "Gama will stand and fight with Penumbria," she declared. "We will not let the Emperor commit another injustice."
Tenver stood firmly by his other side. "The Puppet Mines shall stand with Adam of Penumbria as well," he proclaimed, in a booming voice. "As will THE RIGHTFUL EMPEROR OF THIS LAND!"
There was one last thing Adam wished to say. One last thing he could say before succumbing to his injuries and passing out.
"Tell this to your Emperor, Hangwoman ¨C tell this to Ciro," Adam thundered. "He will take back his accusations and have us repaid for the indignities he caused...or we will have his head on a pike."
Chapter 44
Despite his missing limb and many wounds, Adam only allowed himself a short hour of rest before readying the Communications Raven that the Grandmaster had gifted him. "I hope Valeria has good news for us, but I wouldn''t count on it," he confessed to Tenver and Solara. "Our situation is rather dire right now."
Tenver gently pet the raven, then set it down on a wooden table. "True enough. My dear Uncle will not let our survival stand. We should expect the mightiest army that the strongest Empire in history can summon to come marching down our gates soon."
"And how mighty would that be?" Solara raised an eyebrow. "There''s a reason why even your father hesitated to commit resources to Ciro''s military. Even leaving aside the Rot, there''s a long strip of inhospitable land between the Empire''s capital and our side of the world."
This was true. Both their quick arrival and quicker escape had only been possible due to Baltsar''s one-of-a-kind Airship. "You think the Emperor will be hesitant to send a large army?" Adam asked. "Because he can''t afford to feed that many soldiers over a lengthy campaign?"
"Orbs make the world turn," Solara said, in a soft tone. "He wouldn''t be able to bear the expense."
At that, Tenver laughed. "You speak as if we can fend off even a smaller army. The Puppet Mines may aid Adam''s cause, but they do not rally to them. With only Gama and Penumbria''s forces...how long do you think our defenses will hold?"
"Father and Adam are both Lords," Solara pointed out. "Fighting from inside their Realms will turn their cities into veritable fortresses."
Tenver shook his head. "Not without cost. You saw how powerful the Hangmen are ¨C we were extremely fortunate to survive. If Ciro sends even a few of them, they would shatter the Realms'' Walls and erase our advantage immediately."
It didn''t escape Adam''s notice that Tenver had hinted at the solution before stating the problem. "Not without cost," Adam slowly repeated. Earlier, using one of the Puppet''s Ravens, he''d watched Aspreay''s duel against the Strongest Hangman. The experience was eerie, sinister ¨C but most of all, informative. "You mean altering the Realm''s Laws?"
"Their attacks cannot break a Wall that isn''t blocking their path," Tenver said, with a shrug. "If we grant them access, they''ll be forced to enter the Realm to strike at our Lords. They''d likely destroy the cities in the process, aye, but¨C"
Solara slammed her fist onto the table. "And then what?" Her voice was fierce, and her eyes blazed hot with righteous fury. "Adam has been doing everything he can to acquire enough Orbs to keep people from starving...and you suggest we simply let Ciro annihilate an entire city? How would the survivors make it through winter ¨C survive the Rot? Even if we achieve victory, it would merely be death by a different name!"
"Well, mayhap the lady will offer an alternative suggestion then, hmm?" Tenver''s face tightened. He wore the expression of a man who took no pleasure in his choices. "Would it be more noble to let ourselves be fully slaughtered by the usurper, then?"
"That''s not what I''m saying! We need to find a way to survive with our walls intact!" Solara whipped her gaze at Adam. "Tell him! Tell him I''m right!" Tenver also turned his head towards him as well.
But Adam wasn''t looking at either of them. Instead, he was still patiently waiting for the raven to show signs of life. Phantom pains itched at his missing arm; he wouldn''t be able to heal it until Solara''s Resurrection recharged tomorrow.
"I think," he said, eyes still on the bird, "that our first priority lies elsewhere."
Elf and Puppet exchanged confused glances. "Adam?" Tenver ventured, with a sliver of hesitance. "What do you mean?"
"What I''ve always meant." Adam faced the duo and met their gazes. "My goal, now and forever, is to keep my people safe. From starvation, from the winter, from the Empire...but also from the Rot."
He clenched his fist. "Without the Empire''s machines that keep the Rot from spreading, winning or losing won''t matter. Penumbria and Gama are both going to be Rotten within months."
Solara opened her mouth, then closed it again. It was nearly a full minute before she spoke. "That''s why you gambled on speaking with the Emperor despite the likelihood of betrayal, wasn''t it?"
Adam nodded. "Yeah. Even if we kill Ciro, it isn''t as if we could easily take over his Empire''s techniques and technologies. Not quickly enough to contain the Rot, anyway. I was hoping for at least a temporary alliance ¨C something long enough for us to try and steal their secrets."
With the stump of his arm, he gestured at their collective wounds. "Evidently, it didn''t work out."
"Yet you aren''t panicking," Tenver noted. He smiled. "Why?"
The Raven piped up. "Mayhap because I am here," Valeria said, speaking through it.
At once, the trio turned to face the bird. lowered one wing, then crossed it over its chest, as if bowing politely to them. Goddamn unsettling is what this is, Adam mused. When it finished its greeting, he could have sworn that the thing smirked.
"I looked into what you asked for," Valeria continued.
Solara stepped closer to the Raven. "What did you find out?" She cast an accusatory glance towards Adam. "And what did you ask for?"
"About the location of a Puppet," he said. "About the Grandmaster''s original body."
Perhaps Solara and Tenver would''ve been more shocked had Valeria allowed this moment the gravity it deserved. Instead, she laughed loudly and haughtily through the Raven, its beak repeatedly opening and closing like a door shutter beset by the wind. "Ah, my lord, you amuse me greatly! I''ve spent much of my life trying to uncover that very secret, yet you hand it out to your allies so freely!"
"Not freely," Adam firmly stated. "I only speak because they''ve earned my trust." He paused. "They are...my friends."
Though he meant the words, he wished not to let anyone comment on them. And so, he continued, "The Grandmaster is among the original Puppets; the ones created by Dragons to combat the Rot. They can feel it and absorb it."
Tenver nodded, his eyes still wide. "Forgive me, my lord ¨C my friend." He stopped to consider both his words and his thoughts. "You mentioned the Grandmaster''s first body. Do you mean..."
I thought Tenver was already aware of it, Adam thought. Or was he only aware of Serena and the Grandmaster being the same person?
It didn''t really matter at the moment, though, so he pressed on. "The Grandmaster has been using his Talent of Communications to transfer his consciousness into new bodies," the Painter explained. "And while I''m not sure on all the details, I do know that their original body was incredibly effective at resisting Rot."
"What does it matter?" Solara asked, losing patience. "Would that truly help us?"
Adam nodded. "It would. If we assume that the Grandmaster''s first corpse was taken over by Rot, then it should still be shambling about like a mindless beast, yeah? An exceptionally strong one."
Tenver winced. "I hope I''m misreading your plan."
"The Grandmaster is unlike all other Puppets," Adam said, ignoring the side comment. He pointed at Tenver''s wooden arm. "His ability to detect and counteract the Rot is innate ¨C and unmatched. Other Puppets merely have that ability shaped into them as he creates them."
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Tenver shook his head with a mournful air. "It is as I feared. Your plan really is what I presumed it would be."
Adam smiled at him. He''s been dealing with the Grandmaster for years. My guesses have probably crossed his mind a few times before. "There''s a chance that the Grandmaster''s innate ability is a Talent. And if it''s a Talent¨C"
Solara gasped, then jumped up with a triumphant laugh. "If it''s a Talent," she excitedly began, "you can paint it, can''t you?"
"Yes." Adam flashed her a smile as well. "Granted, that''s only if my Painter Talent can affect the Grandmaster''s original shambling corpse. For all we know, the Rot absorption Talent left its body along with the Grandmaster''s consciousness."
I''d like to try painting the Grandmaster''s current body, but I doubt he''ll give me the chance. Even if I managed to figure out his soul, it won''t matter if he simply never allows me back into the Mines. He can probably guess what I''d try.
Adam shrugged, considering other possible issues. "Also, to paint the corpse, I''d need to be capable of accurately painting the Grandmaster himself. No guarantee I can do that."
He shrugged again. "Oh, and there''s a chance that his Rot absorption ability isn''t a Talent at all. My painting ¨C accurate or otherwise ¨C would be worthless in that case."
Another issue jumped out at him. "Right. There''s also the chance that even if it is a Talent, and even if we can use it, we still won''t be able to protect our cities from Rot without a proper vessel. The Dragons of old made Puppets for a reason."
Adam turned towards the group, his smile growing ever wider. "Well, aside from all that, it''s a flawless plan."
Solara glared at him. Tenver nodded thoughtfully. Lastly, Valeria cackled through the Raven. "Ah, well," the Detective began. "There''s a reason this wasn''t your first plan, yes? But it is a plan. That''s something."
"And you hopefully have good news," Adam added.
"To a point. Thus far, my research indicates that your assumptions about the Grandmaster''s Talent...are correct."
The Raven''s eyes seemed to gleam with anticipation. "I can even locate his original corpse quite easily."
"Is it safe?" Solara asked, her voice sharp.
"Is it far?" Tenver asked, with a grin.
"You''ve already passed the graveyard of the damned," Valeria said, answering both. "The Santu¨¢rio das Chamas ¨C Aspreay Arcanjo''s homeland before it was claimed by the Rot. It was an old settlement built near the base of the mountain where the Dragons of old lived."
Adam recalled how they''d flown over it earlier, but the memory only served to confuse him. "We did pass by Aspreay''s hometown," he acknowledged. "It''s where Eric used his Genius Realm for the first time. However, there wasn''t any mountain there."
The Raven cackled, then threw its wings up in the air, as if offering an apology it didn''t truly mean. "That is most astute of you, my Lord!" Valeria couldn''t keep a note of dread from entering her voice. "Indeed, there is no mountain. Not anymore. Not since the Age of Dragons."
Adam bit back the questions on his tongue. There are more important things to ask about. I would rather my curiosity burn than my people. For now...
"Will the Grandmaster work with us?" he inquired, keeping the desperation out of his tone. "If his corpse shares the same life story as him, then¨C"
Tenver laughed. "¨CThen there''s no way the Grandmaster will cooperate," he finished. His lips curled into a smirk, and his eyes burned with a quiet rage. "In order for Adam to paint an accurate portrait, he would first need to learn the Grandmaster''s life story ¨C including his life''s secrets. That would give Penumbria the upper hand in any future negotiations."
He shook his head. "Furthermore, while the Puppets may be willing to offer funding, that is different from sending soldiers to die on the field of battle. As of now, they have little reason to fear us. Especially not to the point where they''d openly stand against the Empire. We''ll need far more leverage to cow them into submission."
Solara stepped backward as if she had been slapped across the face. "You would intimidate your own people into fighting a war?"
"When Emperors squabble, kingdoms fall," Tenver quietly said. "I will do whatever necessary to ensure that my dear Uncle is never allowed to rule or slaughter again."
Adam didn''t know whether he could feel as ruthless as that. Whatever we do, people will die. People would''ve died even if we hadn''t gotten involved, but now their deaths will come about as a direct result of our actions.
"Yeah." Adam nodded, his voice solemn. "There is no path forward without death."
Silence fell upon the room. Solara twitched, pacing around in silence with an air of dark unease. Tenver gazed at the ground, arms crossed and tightening his trembling grip.
"So I shall paint one."
Elf, Puppet and Raven all turned to look at him, momentarily spellbound by his unwavering tone. "Just because every choice requires death doesn''t mean that I will allow it," Adam declared. "I''ll end this with as few casualties as possible. War won''t come to visit Penumbria, Gama, or even the Mines."
"Where will it vacation, then?" Tenver asked, with sincere curiosity.
"The Santu¨¢rio das Chamas," Adam replied. "Aspreay''s homeland ¨C and where the Grandmaster''s corpse is. Ciro has little reason to send his army to our cities if we aren''t there to begin with."
Solara nodded firmly, yet spoke hesitantly. "Although I welcome the idea, it would mean fighting an army without the use of your Realm. That does not bode well."
Tenver shrugged. "It''s not as if a traditional fight would do us much good, anyhow. A few hundred men and making ourselves a target elsewhere may be enough." His eyes gleamed. "Provided Adam has a plan, that is."
"I do. Assuming I can find out the Grandmaster''s secret beforehand...and that we can handle one other matter." He sent an inquisitive glance at the Raven. "Valeria, do you know of his whereabouts?"
"Aye," she replied. "I shall ensure his health as well."
"Good." Adam clenched a fist. "Then we can win this war."
Solara seemed close to pounding on the table again. "But how?" Her voice was filled with anguish, frustration, and an ember of growing fury. "Even if we mustered up all our troops, even if we convinced the Puppet Mines to fight alongside us, even if the Emperor doesn''t send a large army...we would still be outnumbered ten to one at best! Do you really think we''re stronger than the Empire, Adam?"
"Is strength measured by power? If so, no." Adam contemplated the pain of his phantom limb once more. How many others had suffered worse wounds than this because of Ciro''s tyranny? "But I define strength by victory. If we win, we''re stronger. Simple as that."
"How?" Solara insisted.
"Orbs make the world turn," Adam said, using her own words against her. A manic grin spread across his face. "And I plan on hitting the Emperor where it hurts most: his purse strings."
Chapter 45
Out of everything that Adam had gained from collaborating with the Grandmaster, he was particularly fond of his ravens. The Puppet''s Talent of Communication was much more impressive than he had initially expected, and it wasn''t like Adam''s expectations had been set low, either.
The advantage that came from having the magical equivalent of cell phones ¨C in a world without instant communication ¨C simply could not be overstated.
Just being able to check up on how Penumbria had been faring was already a huge boon. Making plans with his retainers while he was halfway across the world almost felt worth more than the Orbs he''d obtained from the Mines.
The Empire has a much stronger military than we do, Adam thought. A single Hangman should be enough to destroy Penumbria, assuming I''m not there to defend it. However, they don''t have access to Talents with instantaneous communication. We may not be able to outfight them...but we can certainly outmaneuver them.
Esteban, speaking through the raven, agreed with gusto. "We haven''t had any attempts at rebellion since you left," he reported. "Despite Aspreay''s escape. Fucking coward." He grunted loudly through the raven ¨C an oddly amusing sight, as it forced the raven to open its beak wide in a pantomime of emotion. "Thought there would be more people rallying to his side, but the few that did found that their champion decided to abandon them."
"That''s ironic," Adam hastily replied, forcing a laugh. It wasn''t the time to think on it, much less to debate matters with Esteban, but he couldn''t forget that Aspreay had saved his life earlier. And suffered deadly wounds for it; enough to kill any man. Had the former lord managed to survive his duel with the World''s Strongest?
If not...had he really given up his life for the man who stole the world from him?
I painted your soul and I still don''t understand you, Aspreay. "What did you do with those who rebelled?" Adam asked.
"Arrested them all. Confiscated their Orbs." Esteban seemed unable to answer any questions without adding a grumpy ''hmph'' at the end, as if the mere memory annoyed him to no end. "Didn''t execute any."
Adam raised an eyebrow. "Isn''t treason punishable by death?"
"Aye. But laws don''t prevent our people from starving. Many of those fucks are from well-off households who help fund the city. Were the exiles banished to this hellhole we call home? Sure. But their families still want them alive."
The Esteban-Raven barked out a disdainful, raspy laughter. "And even if they don''t, it looks bad not to pay ransom to keep kinsmen alive."
It wasn''t what Tenver would have done. When he was in charge of Penumbria''s safety, he found the edge of his blade to be more effective than verbal negotiation.
Then again, he was raised as a prince, Adam mused. Esteban knows when to prioritize Orbs over honor. Or maybe the Puppet Prince thought it safer to end rebellious matters with a certain finality to it, while Esteban focused moreso on building safety and stability through Orbs.
One could argue that Esteban''s approach was shortsighted, ignoring long-term problems for the sake of short-term gains. Another could argue that Esteban had been poor for long enough to know first-hand how much more dangerous a lack of money could be. Even more dangerous than the threat of hidden knives behind every corner.
I suppose I did pick the right man for the job...even if he was an ass to me when we first met. "That''s good," Adam said, nodding with approval. "Keep doing that. Bleed them dry. We''ll need the Orbs very soon. And speaking of laws¨C"
The Esteban-Raven interrupted with a noise of disbelief. "You''re really going to do it, then?" After a pause, he added, "My lord?"
"We don''t really have a choice," Adam replied, clenching his fist. "If we don''t, then even a smaller Imperial detachment is going to be a problem."
"But our Orbs¨C"
"I know," Adam cut in sharply. "I have the Orbs to forcibly kickstart our economy afterward. So long as we have the supplies to survive a short siege, everything will be fine."
"But can you manage that?" It was an uneasy question, lacking Esteban''s usual understated annoyance. He seemed sincerely concerned this time. "Altering a Realm''s Laws can be quite difficult, even for those tutored in the Talent of a Lord. Is it truly possible?"
It was a rude question, but a fair one. Adam had experimented with the Laws that governed his Realm ¨C the territory whereupon Penumbria was situated ¨C and quickly learned of the difficulties with making potential alterations.
First, he''d imposed a simple Law: whoever laughed four times within four minutes would find themselves dropping to one knee as if before an invisible lord. This had succeeded, as Esteban reported, but only partially. People who found the idea of kneeling embarrassing, or who were in a situation where the act would''ve been impactful in some way, were either able to resist the Law or were completely unaffected by it.
Narrowing down his Law appeared to make its effect stronger. When Adam rewrote it so that only Esteban would be forced to kneel after laughing four times within four minutes, the man seemed completely incapable of stopping himself from doing so.
And he was rather pissed at me for it too, Adam thought, recalling the angry raven he''d received shortly thereafter. But it did tell me that I was on the right track.
Based on this experiment, his personal readings, and what Tenver and Solara had inferred about the Lord Talent given their upbringings, Adam developed a theory. The strength of a Realm Law depended on not just the Rank of his Talent, but also the specificity of the Law itself.
That wasn''t all, though. There was one more tricky aspect to it ¨C which was likely Esteban''s chief concern.
The Lord also needed to be able to imagine the Law in detail.
When I tried to make a courtier who I''d barely spoken to affected by the same Laughing Law...it didn''t work. Because I couldn''t remember them very well.
Solara confirmed as much. Her father, himself an experienced Lord, had explained this to her once before. The effect of any Law was limited by the Lord''s ability to visualize it. As Adam could barely envision what that specific courtier looked like, he could not imagine them being subjected to the Law itself.
Aspreay, to his credit, was unusually talented as a lord. The more Adam looked into Penumbria''s finely crafted Laws ¨C which he could only do now that he''d increased his Rank and overall got more used to Lordship ¨C the more impressed he was.
Penumbria''s Walls had been crafted with the finest of rules regarding who was allowed to enter. Only those who fulfilled a number of requirements, such as having the proper travel documents, possessing a minimum amount of Orbs, and so on, could be admitted. Even then, their admittance was still subject to the Guards'' final approval.
Exceptions were also made for Imperial citizens with Talents below the rank of Baron. Those above Baron rank were outright barred from entering, presumably to protect Aspreay''s rule from would-be usurpers. He likely would''ve preferred to ban all Imperials outright, but in order to account for the Emperor''s Laws regarding how its citizens should be treated, he did allow for those below Baron rank ¨C if they came unarmed ¨C to be taken prisoner for a trial at the Penumbrial Guards'' discretion.
Unfortunately, another exception had needed to be made in accordance with Ciro''s demands. Simply put: irrespective of rank, those who arrived bearing the Emperor''s Imperial Seal were to come and go through the Walls as they pleased.
Meaning that the Imperial Army ¨C or even a single Hangman ¨C could waltz right into Penumbria and destroy it from the inside if they so pleased, all without having to deal with the Wall''s barrier whatsoever.
Changing that clause was imperative. Penumbria''s defenses would be little more than a paper tiger until Adam altered Aspreay''s Laws into an adequate substitute.
"I don''t think I can make something as intricate as Aspreay...at least not yet," Adam admitted. "We don''t need to do anything too complex ¨C all we need is enough to survive a siege. Have you bought the supplies? Food, water, protection against the Rot? Sufficient to last a month or two?"
"Yes, my lord!" Esteban fired back with clear enthusiasm. "Although I must say that it doesn''t seem like a wise use of our Orbs."
"I''ve got more Orbs to bring to the city when I''m back. For now, we just need to make sure that Penumbria can survive without any trade or contact with the outside world."
"My lord ¨C I must try to convince you again, this is a bad idea."
Adam shook his head. "And try you did," the Painter acknowledged. He called upon his Talent. "Realm Law: None shall leave or enter Penumbria."
Accounting for trade, visitation, and general traffic was far too complex for his current understanding of the city. Instead, he opted for a simpler solution. No one could leave, and no one could come in. This way, the Emperor''s army wouldn''t be able to completely ignore Penumbria''s Walls. It was an approach that worked even with Adam''s lack of practice with his Talent.
With that said, once I enact this Law, I''ll probably have trouble redoing the system Aspreay implemented. But that''s a problem for a different day ¨C first, we need to survive.
"What''s stopping the Hangmen from merely tearing your Walls down?!" Esteban shouted through the raven, so loudly the bird itself appeared to vibrate at his indignation. "This won''t help! We''ll just decimate our ability to trade, lost the trust of the people, and¨C"
"¨CAnd the Hangmen won''t destroy the Walls," said Tenver, walking into the room and nodding at Adam. "We''ve been planning quite carefully. While the Emperor and his Capital are infinitely stronger than any of the Imperial Cities, that does not mean Ciro is without risk. He needs Orbs to fuel the inventions that keep the Rot at bay...or have you forgotten?''
"Huh? Tenver? Is that you?!" the Esteban-Raven shouted. "Well, what of it?! What does it matter that the Emperor needs Orbs?"
The Puppet Prince heaved a heavy sigh, as if this matter was too uncomplicated to warrant an explanation. "Because even if he can put down any rebellion with ease, Penumbria is located far enough away that Ciro still needs to partially rely on obtaining troops from his vassals to advance."
Tenver drummed his fingers on the table. "He needs their cooperation ¨C and simply being stronger than them is insufficient. If he pushed too far, and his vassals all rebelled, then the Empire''s economy would sink faster than at anchor at sea. Military conquest wouldn''t bring back the millions of Orbs he''d lose to a widespread revolt. Not with Stained Monsters roaming, and the Rot plague feasting upon the corpses of cities suffering from the fires of war."
"I...that is...ah...eh...what?" The raven continued its confused stutter for a moment, then collected its thoughts before asking, "Tenver¨CLord Adam¨Cplease explain more plainly."
Adam took this chance to step in. "If Emperor Ciro topples Penumbria''s Wall, then monsters will swarm upon the city and destroy it in short order. His vassals would rebel at this treatment of a city, especially if the treasonous lord himself wasn''t even there at the time. The Emperor needs taxes to fuel his need for Orbs, so he won''t go that route. At least not if he has a better option."
"And that better option would be..."
"My head," the Painter plainly stated. "I''ll be heading to the ruins of an abandoned city...to try and obtain the Talent in the Grandmaster''s Corpse. Away from my Realm, and an easy target for the Imperial Army ¨C especially its Hangmen. Why would Ciro upset his vassals when he can win a much easier fight?"
Tenver laughed softly. "Get it now, Esteban? That''s why when the Imperial Army shows up at our gates, you will tell them precisely where we are. Even with Adam''s new Law, you should still be able to speak to them through Penumbria''s barrier."
After some earlier debate, Adam, Tenver, and Solara had decided that there was no point in concealing their whereabouts. The Emperor would likely find them regardless. And in the event he didn''t...without a serious lead to follow, his armies might consider ransacking Penumbria wholesale in case the Painter was hiding within.
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"I, I see," Esteban muttered. "Then what will you do once the Emperor''s army catches up to you?"
Adam sat down and rested his chin upon intertwined fingers, letting out a deep contemplative sound before answering. "By then I should have acquired a way to combat the Rot. And if our diversions succeed, it should give time for reinforcements to arrive. That should deal with Ciro''s forces."
"What kind of reinforcements do we have that could deal with an entire Imperial Army?" The Esteban-Raven raised its wings in sheer bafflement. "What army do we have? Which city has agreed to betray the Emperor? Is it the Puppet Mines?"
The Painter grimaced. I wish it was the Mines. Even so, he couldn''t tell Esteban of all people the truth about the reinforcements. The man was mostly loyal, but he would raise hell about having to keep a city running during a siege if he knew what his only hope actually was. Still, Valeria sounded certain she could manage it. She''d better be right.
"Just trust us on this," Adam replied. The words must not have sounded adequately firm, because he heard a complaint through the Raven. "You have your orders," the Painter Lord said, more gravely. "Will you disobey them?"
Esteban caved. "No, my lord."
¨C
Their journey to the ruined city was both too long and too short. It was close enough that Adam would nervously wake up in the middle of the night, dreading the impending hour of destiny, yet far enough away that this process stretched on for days on end.
During one of those rough mornings, Solara brought him news that filled him with an odd blend of hope and despair. "You''re sure of that?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow and sipping at his water. "Only six Hangmen are coming?"
She laughed haughtily in response, but concern laid just beneath the smirk. "Only six, he says, as if that wouldn''t wipe cities clean off the map. Three heading for Gama, three more for Penumbria."
"And as for Gama..."
Solara nodded. "Father will do as you did. He has already rewritten Gama''s Laws so that the Emperor''s armies will be unable to enter. He then departed the city with his most trusted retinue to meet us at the Santu¨¢rio das Chamas."
"Good. That should keep him and Gama safe...provided our plan works."
The Elf put a hand on his shoulder and sat to his left on the dining table bench. "I would say you needn''t worry about our plans, but there is more to your concern, isn''t there?" She tightened her grip. "You worry of your rival?"
Rival...now there''s a word. "Eric will come after us. After me."
"And you fear not being able to best him?"
"That too," he admitted. "But most of all...I fear it all coming to an end. One way or another, Eric has been a huge part of my life. Regardless of what he did, I don''t know if I would''ve fallen in love with art without him."
He gestured at the painting supplies he''d laid out on the table. If nothing else, the downtime had afforded him the chance to draw for fun again. Intrusive thoughts kept his enjoyment ever elusive, though.
"Feels strange to practice like this," Adam admitted. "Eric was the first person to teach it to me. Now, after everything...it feels wrong to continue applying what he taught me."
Solara shook her head and slouched over. "Why?" Her voice was almost too jovial, failing to hide a note of bitterness at the end. When Adam didn''t answer, she allowed herself a moment of silence before saying, "Even people who don''t hate elves keep their distance from me. Not at first, but the pressure and ridicule of being seen near me eventually become too much."
He turned to face her in surprise. What could he say to that?
"I despise them," Solara said, so quietly that Adam had to lean closer to listen. "To be brave enough to approach me in earnest friendship, then to leave out of cowardice...why could they not have been whole cowards from the start? That would hurt less."
Adam bit his lip, hesitating before replying. "I''m sorry. I can''t imagine how hard that must''ve been." Was that the right thing to say? "I promise," he added, "that no matter what happens in the future, I won''t¨C"
Solara held up her hand to interrupt him. Her gaze was intense, and it told Adam that this wasn''t about that. "Even so, every morning I brush my hair the way I was instructed to by the young maid at the castle...who eventually left out of fear. To this day, I still love the game of Espada de Guerra that the quartermaster taught me...before he ran off to the other side of the Empire lest he be seen as friendly to an elf. Even now, I smile and taunt in a manner that this boy I used to like said he found perplexing. Although I can barely remember my mother''s face, I still eat my soup before my potatoes, just as she once taught me."
The elf held her flickering gaze at him. "All of their love is a color ¨C and I am the painting that came out of it. Even if the ink is dry, it is still a part of me."
She picked up the tablet and gently laid it across Adam''s lap. "Do not throw away that which is already part of you. Take what you can. Embrace what you need. And let go of what you must."
The Painter felt like he wanted to think over his response, to make sure that his words sounded right. But he also knew that speaking without thinking would be more true to the heart. "I''ll try," he said, softly. "I''ll keep what I got from him...and reclaim what I lost."
There was a lot he''d lost when befriending Eric. If Adam was being honest with himself, he had abandoned numerous hobbies out of fear that his then-friend wouldn''t approve. Even today, he occasionally remembered how he''d stopped playing tennis because Eric hated the sport.
Adam felt haunted by how much complex of a person he used to be, before he made himself acceptable for Eric''s sensitivities.
He must have been lost in his thoughts for a while, because he didn''t even notice when Tenver approached. The knight sat next to his right side on the dining table bench. "Do you hate the Gryphon?" he asked, sincerely.
"I need to hate him," Adam whispered. "Because in the cold winter I was left with after he betrayed me, hating him felt addictively warm. It made everything easier. The bright red from that fire made my blue life less noticeable."
"Yet fire cannot burn forever," Solara pointed out. "You have to learn to live without it."
Adam nodded. "It''s scary," he admitted, "to snuff out those flames. I''m worried I might freeze to death."
Tenver tossed an arm over his shoulder. "We''ll be there to keep you warm," he promised.
"Thank you," he muttered.
They sat like that for some time. Not a word was exchanged ¨C nor did they need to. In that companionable silence, more was spoken and shared than a full speech''s worth of intent.
"Well," Solara eventually said, standing up and clapping her hands. "We''re probably dying soon, so why don''t you entertain my dying wish and indulge me with a game of Espada de Guerra? I really don''t have many people to play with."
Adam smiled at her. Spending hours painting those figures with her had been a blessing over these last couple days. It''d let him focus his mind on something other than the upcoming war; to forget about the weight of thousands of lives that he''d placed upon his shoulders.
I know how much this game matters to her, too. It should be a crime that people refused to play with Solara simply because she''s an elf. For a moment, Adam absently considered actually making it a crime. If she wants to play, we might as well give it a shot.
When he looked up at Tenver, he was surprised to find a raised eyebrow on his face. "I find the game questionable," the Puppet Prince said, with a dismissive shrug. "It appears too simple to be engaging."
Adam could feel the sudden stiffness in the elf beside him. "Have you ever played it before, your oh so Royal Highness?"
"No, but I am familiar with the rules. It''s not a difficult game. We may play if it amuses you, however."
The Puppet Prince maintained his typical regal air, combined with a gentle, almost haughty confidence. He brushed fingers through his thick hair as he spoke, punctuating it all with a captivating smirk.
¨C
One Hour Later
"THE DICE MUST BE LOADED!"
Tenver''s voice was so loud that it could have been heard across the ship. He sank his head into two open palms, practically vibrating with frustration. "That is not ¨C that is not fair!"
Adam eyed Tenver with growing curiosity. Frankly speaking, he''d never seen the knight this upset before. Hmm...no, that''s not quite it. I''ve seen him downright furious in the past. What''s different now?
For one, Tenver didn''t look as charismatically attractive as he usually did. His distinctive smirk had been replaced by something close to a pout, his ever-perfect hair was now messily falling over his face, and his regal air had been banished away by a mask of petty anger. "This game is a sham!" he declared. "You''re a sham! I want a rematch!"
Solara laughed, sipping at the drink Tenver had brought her earlier, and then grinned at him. "Oh, does His Royal Highness not think the game so simple anymore?"
"Rematch!" Tenver exclaimed, with drunken enthusiasm. "As future Emperor, I demand it!" Despite his intensity, there was a smile hidden behind the man''s exaggerated outrage. "Now! Play again!"
The elf laughed haughtily and started to set their pieces again. "Very well, as you wish! Now listen, you have to position your pieces better¨C"
"¨CI want to poison your water supplies!"
"That''s...not in the rules."
Tenver turned his cup upside down until no liquid was left, slammed it against the table, then stared at Solara for a few seconds. "War has no rules," he said, in a slow, deep voice. "Let me roll the dice."
"It doesn''t work like that!" Her reply was nearly muffled by her own laughter. Tenver said something in response too, but his own laughter drowned it out.
That''s it, Adam realized. Tenver is just...relaxed, right now. He''s usually always putting on airs. Trying to seem like the noble, better-than-you, calm and collected type. Now he''s dropping his guard. Appearing vulnerable. Adam fixed his gaze on Tenver''s messy hair. Not trying to look perfect.
That was good. Tenver deserved that. Trying to project an image like that to everyone was exhausting ¨C Adam would know.
Solara looks happy and relaxed, he noted, looking at the inebriated elf. That''s good too. She deserves it after all the time she spent in her tower...and how lonely her life was even before that. I''m happy for them both.
Adam carefully placed an elbow on the table, fully aware of how much he''d drank as well, then attempted to rest the side of his face on his palm. He would''ve succeeded if he didn''t suddenly jerk upright over an unexpected sensation. "What ¨C what''s that on my face?" he shouted.
Tenver and Solara were quick to rush to either side of him, nearly falling over in the process. "Adam, is everything okay?" the knight asked. "There''s nothing on you."
"Then what''s..." Adam rubbed the side of his face again. It had started to hurt a while ago. What was¨C
Oh. Me too, huh?
"I''m smiling," he muttered, in disbelief. "I...didn''t even notice when I started doing it. Just realized it when my cheeks started to hurt, and my face felt weird."
Solara slapped him across the back with so much strength that the momentum sent her falling to the floor as she laughed hysterically. "Are you fucking serious, Adam?"
Tenver filled in his glass once more and raised to the sky. "To our dear stupid genius!"
And he would have drank it all again, had Solara not leapt to her feet and tried to stop him. "Puppet bastard, you had enough already, I don''t want to clean up after you ¨C Adam, help!"
Though he did help, he couldn''t keep the Prince from drinking, and the three of them went on laughing and having fun for hours to come. How long had it been since Adam felt this relaxed? I want to feel this way again, he thought, a quiet determination burning in his heart. Over and over again. I don''t want this to be a memory. I want it to be my future.
There was only so much planning they could do, and the Airship controlled itself. It let them enjoy several more carefree nights like these, each better than the last.
And then...
And then they arrived at the Santu¨¢rio das Chamas, whereupon the showdown with Eric awaited.
Chapter 46
Their reunion with Vasco was like a ray of sunlight piercing through dark stormclouds.
Adam, who had been frowning deeper and deeper as they drew closer to the abandoned city, couldn''t help but relax into a smile when he saw the Lord of Gama embrace his daughter. The man held her as if afraid she''d disappear, and the elf returned his embrace in kind.
They were probably afraid they''d never see each other again, was Adam''s first thought.
"Vasco brought around a hundred men with him," were Tenver''s first words. "We can likely house most ¨Cif not all of them ¨C in our ship, though the horses might prove difficult. This ought to preserve our fighting strength while you paint the Grandmaster''s corpse."
"Dude, not the time," Adam fired back, in a whisper. "Maybe don''t talk about murder for like, fifteen minutes? Please? Things are going to get depressing real quick after today, so just enjoy the goddamn moment."
Tenver grinned mischievously. "Why, my lord friend, this is how I enjoy the moment."
"Tenver, I swear to the god you haven''t even heard of that I''ll¨C"
Vasco stepped towards them. "Your ship flies fast, but rumors fly faster. I hear you fashion yourself King of the Frontier now."
He looked different, clad in his metal armor, than he had in Penumbria''s chambers when negotiating with Aspreay. He''s in his element here, Adam determined. What he''d once assumed to be girth beneath the man''s ill-fitting cloaks now showed itself clearly as muscle. Vasco was a massive man who moved with long-ingrained confidence, the steel suiting him more comfortably than any golden garment could have.
"He does not," Tenver replied quickly, as if outraged. Then, in the same tone, he added, "He fashions himself the Painter King, thank you."
Adam winced slightly, both at the title and its implication.
Spreading the moniker had been Valeria''s doing, using whatever devices she''d managed to steal from the Grandmaster. The idea itself had come from Tenver. Easier to rally people to our cause like this. Make us seem equal to the Emperor, rather than mere ants he can squash.
They hadn''t officially made the claim yet, though. Rumors were safer, affording them a measure of plausible deniability. This way they could back down from the claim ¨C if only temporarily ¨C in case the Emperor agreed to a tentative peace, all without losing face.
"My claim is not...official," Adam said, with awkward regality. "I haven''t declared for that title yet. As of now, the Emperor thinks me a traitor and is sending troops to execute me for treason ¨C for impersonating Aspreay''s son, and thus making a mockery of the established line of succession."
Vasco peered happily at his daughter, who still stood by his side, then ruffled her hair as if uninterested in the current conversation. "So though I fight with you, I need not call you king."
"You needn''t," Tenver remarked, dryly, slowly ¨C until his hand suddenly dropped to his sword hilt. "But you should."
Solara and Adam both shifted their eyes uneasily between the two men. The Lord of Gama did not blink, tilting his head sideways. "I am unfond of doing anything I do not need to," he threatened, in a low voice. His gaze shifted to Adam. "Do you have any objections, my lord?"
There was a silence. It didn''t escape Adam''s notice that he had made a point of emphasizing the title of lower rank. Just because he fights on our side doesn''t mean he trusts us. He loves his daughter and his city ¨C and I effectively killed his lover. I should be prepared for him to betray me, even if he is Solara''s father.
"Call me what you wish," Adam said, attempting to feign nonchalance. "Titles are not needed. What is needed is that you''ll obey my orders when the war begins."
"That I will," Vasco flatly answered. He drew one step closer. "Do you have my orders yet, my lord?"
"Not yet," Adam admitted. "There''s a general plan, but we just arrived here. I don''t want to carelessly bet everyone''s lives on a hastily-made strategy."
The Lord of Gama''s gaze felt harsher now. "Mistake not prudence for procrastination, my lord."
Adam grit his teeth. "There are things I need to know. How close the enemy is, how fortified our position is, how¨C"
"¨CThe Empire''s army is two weeks away from us," Vasco cut him off. "Their numbers total five hundred men. Among the Imperial Men, there are perhaps two dozen of the Imperial Guards, led by three Hangmen. Eric the Gryphon, Ernanda, the Lady of Ash, and Valente, the Dark Captain. Their ranks are bolstered by the remaining lords of the Frontier, Edmundo Crespuculo of Coimbargo, and Romario Revandor of Almarades. So, I ask again, my lord ¨C what are your orders?"
It felt like a demand, an attack, and a show of exasperation all in one.
Looks like Tenver''s logic held up, Adam thought. It''s too expensive for the Empire to send an entire army to the wastelands of the Eastern Frontier, so they''re forcing their vassals to fight for them and sending only the bare minimum themselves. Of course, from everything they''d heard, the Dark Captain himself was more than enough to destroy both Penumbria and Gama. None of this was good news.
Which still didn''t mean that recklessness was the solution. "What of the ruined city?" Adam stubbornly asked. "Any fortifications we can use? What about Stained Monsters? How long can we survive here?"
"There are still walls standing to the north, which is where the Empire''s column is supposed to arrive from. We can fortify the position with archers, then force the Empire into a prolonged siege. At least until their Hangmen spring into action."
It was Tenver who spoke up next. "What of the other directions? Can they not flank us from there?"
"No. Too many Stained Monsters surrounding us on all sides, including the south. Were it not for that..." Vasco gestured at the remains of a mountain that was so tall it disappeared into the clouds. "I''d say we should defend Dragon''s Peak."
A sudden chill went through Adam''s veins. The Grandmaster had spoken of this place once before. Atop its mountain was the castle where the Dragons of Old used to live ¨C where the first Puppets were created. Around that castle, a city had grown, driven by worship of the divine beings who could oppose even the Rot.
"Too many monsters up there," Vasco lamented. "They mostly keep to themselves, those. It''s why the city survived for so long even after the Dragons left. But...can''t exactly invade all that. So we''ll settle for these ruined walls. Might keep our casualties from Stained Monsters down to just several a day. Should also have supplies to last us about two to three weeks."
He raised an eyebrow, huffing with impatience. "Well, my lord? Your orders?"
"I...need more time," Adam said. Upon noticing the intensity in the other man''s eyes, he added, "To make a proper decision. We have to ensure that our plan is the correct one."
"Then do so by tonight," Vasco grunted. "Morale is important. My men are tired. They need to celebrate with some open space before retreating up to the claustrophobic quarters of your Airship.."
Adam felt his anger boil. While he didn''t like to consider himself as important, nor to demand respect from others, Vasco was being ridiculous here. Venom touched his tongue as he began to shout. "LORD VAS¨C"
And then stopped, upon feeling Solara''s grip on his arm.
Her hands steadied his emotions. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes. "I''ll make my decisions by tonight."
The Lord of Gama held his gaze. A moment later, Vasco whirled around and left without another word to him, only barking commands at his own men to ready themselves for the night to come.
Adam''s gaze silently followed the man. He seems different here, in the prelude to battle. More confident. More demanding.
More haunted.
Solara''s pull on his sleeve reminded him of what. "Pay him no mind," she assured him, albeit with a nervous laugh. "He is often clumsy with his words, but Father...Father is a good man. I promise you that. He only wants to make sure we all live through the coming weeks."
"Does he?" Tenver said, crossing his arms and frowning. "He might want you to live. But as for Adam and myself..." The Puppet Prince laughed. "He would burn us to save your kind, would he not?"
"Father would never!" Solara cried out immediately. At Tenver''s half-smirk, she relented with one of her own, adopting a darkly humorous tone. "Well, he has been known to slaughter his allies to save me."
"That he has," Adam said, in the same joking tone.
Although it felt like less of a joke on the inside.
Daylight turned to dusk. Throughout the night, even as soldiers joked, laughed, and feasted, Adam couldn''t keep the feeling that he was being watched out of his head.
"You''re being silly," Solara assured him. He pretended to agree, then redoubled his vigilance. The Painter Lord refused all wine offered to him, steadied his nerves, and reinforced his guard. Were Vasco to attempt at any hidden daggers, Adam would see them coming.
Which was why, in part, he was so surprised when the man spoke openly to him.
"Come," said the Lord of Gama. "Let us discuss our plans."
"Let us discuss them here," he quickly retorted. "I keep no secrets from Tenver."
Vasco looked at the Puppet Prince and laughed dismissively. "Well, I do." He whirled around and motioned Adam to follow. "Come, my lord."
To refuse the public invitation of a Lord would have been to reject his aid in the coming war. It wasn''t something that Adam could afford in any sense of the word. Tenver shook his head emphatically, but Solara whispered, "I''m sure father means no harm. Please, go see him."
Then, more emphatically, she added: "Please, trust me."
Adam and Tenver shared a hesitant glance, followed by a quick nod.
And so the Painter Lord went for a solitary walk with the Butcher of Greenisle.
--
Enshrouded by silence, two Lords walked into an empty field.
Twice Adam opened his mouth to say something, then realized he had no idea what to say, biting his lip before shaking his head in annoyance. What do I tell him? He probably resents me over the whole Aspreay thing.
Well, then again...
Would he?
The initial thought had come to Adam naturally. Just as naturally as the resentment should have come for Vasco. However, the Lord of Gama was unlike most people.
Most people don''t kill their father in a duel to protect a race they were sent to slaughter, he thought, sneaking a glance at the man. Vasco was silent and stone-faced, with a body that matched the masonry of his features. Wide, but not fat. Strong, yet not full of muscle. Old, but likely younger than he appeared. Vasco projected the sense of reliability that only a wise veteran could.
Yet gazing at him now, an image arose in Adam''s mind of what he must have looked like back in Greenisle, butchering dozens of his own fellow soldiers...before finally slaying his own father in single combat.
Years ago, those firm hands had done more than just kill people ¨C they had killed people efficiently.
Today, this executioner in the shape of a man was stalking through the ruins of a fallen city alongside Adam. Beneath those dark skies, on a night where the moon had been banished, secrecy was a divine mandate the Lord of Gama had not wished to defy. Instead, he had actively forbidden his men from following the Lords during their excursion. The two of them were alone, with only a number of Stained Creatures as their witnesses.
And Adam had stolen the Talent, Land, and Soul of the only man Vasco had ever loved.
It was hard not to consider ¨C if only for a passing moment ¨C how the lord from Gama could kill Adam and pass it off as an accident to the world at large. Hell, if anything, he might be heralded as a hero by the Emperor. He could even petition for Solara to be granted amnesty in exchange for my head.
So when Vasco finally said something many minutes later, Adam paid close attention. The man''s voice was low, hoarse, and muffled by his own grunt. It was not too different from your average middle-aged man.
Yet Adam hung onto every word he said. Vasco of Gama commanded that much respect.
"There is something yet unspoken between us," the Lord began.
I knew it. Adam clenched his jaw, then smiled without showing teeth. "I suppose there is." He reached for the Stained Ink inside of him, swirling it within the inside of his sleeves, wrapping it around his arm like a fluid cloth. "So let''s remedy that."
"Yes. Let''s." Vasco paused. "Ah, damn words to hell. I rather mislike speaking. Nonetheless, there are things that need to be said, so..."
He trailed off, then grasped Adam by the shoulder. His tight grip and large hands forced the Painter to meet his gaze.
Dear god, he''s stronger than he looks. Adam tried not to let his discomfort or concern show on his face.. "Go ahead," the Painter prodded. "You can say whatever you feel necessary."
"Being given freedom to do something doesn''t necessarily make it easy," Vasco remarked, a sardonic laugh coloring his reply. He hesitated for a moment, closed his eyes, and muttered four words.
"Lord Adam...thank you."
Adam froze with shock, his Stained Ink ceasing its writhing, slithering back into his veins. "Thank you?"
"For saving my daughter," Vasco said, plainly. "I believe I have yet to thank you for that."
This time, Adam wasn''t able to keep his bluff going. His face surely must have shown his surprise, given the amusement evident in the other lord''s expression. "I ¨C forgive me," he said, "that is...not what I was expecting."
Suddenly, his eyebrows shot upward. "Wait. You have thanked me for that before."
Vasco shrugged. "For saving her from the tower, aye. Not for this." He shook his head and pointed at the crows overseeing the ruined city. "Those creatures are too intelligent. It''s unnerving. Do you know why they''re following us?"
Because the Grandmaster of Puppets created them? "No, my lord."
"Because they seek the death that will befall us," Vasco said, in a solemn tone. "War with the Empire will come soon, and the crows sense it ¨C as they should. It''s obvious enough."
He cast his eyes downward. "Solara senses it just as well."
Adam steeled his resolve. "She...is aware of what comes next. And she isn''t scared of it."
"I know," Vasco replied, his low voice almost muffled by his massive graying beard, yet his amused laugh ringing true in the night. "Oh, I know. And that''s just it, lad ¨C lord. She has accepted that death might visit her, yet I haven''t ever seen my daughter this happy before."
All at once, Adam understood the reason behind Vasco''s searching expression back at base camp earlier. He hadn''t been looking at the group with suspicion, but rather...puzzlement.
Puzzlement that his daughter was happy.
And he seemed to think Adam was the cause for it.
I''d better correct that misunderstanding. "Sir," Adam started, carefully, "I should inform you that Solara and I aren''t...like that. We aren''t ¨C we aren''t romantically involved. We are just...just friends, not...ah..."
Vasco barked out an amused laugh that blew his mustache as if a gust of wind had touched his face. "Surely you know by now that out of all people, I am the last to care about who you lay in bed with. It matters very little whether you two play together with those plastic toys from that game of hers, or other types of toys."
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
This was an awkward thing to hear at the best of times. Hearing it from his friend''s father was definitely not something Adam had much experience with. He reasoned and hoped that most people didn''t. "I...ah...no, we just ¨C we''re just friends, I swear it, I¨C"
"Again, thank you," Vasco repeated, more firmly this time. His gratitude had the air of a grandfatherly command. "Thank you for saving her. Thank you for being my daughter''s friend."
Adam shook his head. "That''s not...I...uh, you don''t ¨C you don''t have to thank me for that, I mean..." Shit, I''ve been so good at keeping my composure, but I wasn''t expecting this. Focus, goddamn it!
He shook his head, trying to blow away his hesitation. "That''s not something you have to thank me for."
The Painter''s nervous clarifications gave way to a smile as he thought back to spending time playing Espada de Guerra with her, discussing books, and laughing over drinks. It was a fond memory ¨C enough so that he almost felt nostalgic over it, though it had happened the day before. Likely would happen tonight as well.
How absurd was it to be thanked for that?
"She''s terribly easy to be friends with," Adam said, sincerely. "I consider myself rather lucky that I met her."
Even beneath his thick beard and the darkness of the night, there was no mistaking the genuine smile on the Lord of Gama''s face. "If only that were a common opinion, Lord Adam. If only."
There was enough genuine emotion in the man''s voice that Adam felt dishonest over keeping his fears to himself for any longer than this. "I''m sorry," he said, finally. "For...Aspreay."
But Vasco shook his head again. "Thank you for saving him, too."
This time Adam didn''t even try to appear stoic. "You cannot be thanking me for that. I stole his soul!"
"Eh, it was good for him, I figure." He gave a noncommittal shrug. "I rather think we haven''t seen the last of him. Mayhap he''ll sound less stressed when he''s not ruling over a city."
"Have you heard, my lord, that..." Adam let the rest of the words die in his throat.
Vasco frowned. "That he crossed blades with the Dark Captain? Aye. Bloody idiot." There was a gentle anger in the curse. "He could''ve died."
"You have reason to think he''s still alive?" Adam asked.
"He''s Aspreay Arcanjo. That''s all the reason I need." Vasco''s tone was unwavering, and his gaze only grew fiercer. "What of you, boy? Do you know what happened to him after that?"
Time to change topics. "You...wanted to speak about the war. Let''s get to it, then."
Vasco needed little more prompting than that.
--
"Besting the Gryphon will be a hard task," Vasco said. He tossed firewood onto the pile, watching as the flames grew brighter. "Hangmen are an anomaly, and he is an anomaly amongst them. Do you know why?"
Adam winced. "The Genius Realm," he said, wryly. The memory of flying brushes turning the souls of monsters into ink was still fresh in his mind. "Not that I really get the details of how it works, but it didn''t look like something I can just learn."
"It''s not." Vasco paused, then looked upwards for a thoughtful moment. "Well, most likely. Almost no one can. Inheriting a specific Talent is difficult, but you can still nudge the odds one way or another, save for things like Lord or Hangmen. But a Genius awakening...that''s something else entirely. You have to be born with the ability. No amount of hard work will get you there."
This would be dire news indeed ¨C if it was actually news. In reality, Eric being a talented freak of nature was hardly surprising.
Doesn''t matter in the end. Won''t change what I gotta do. "What exactly is a Genius Realm, anyway?" Adam asked. "The name makes me think it''s somewhat similar to a Lord Talent."
"Similar...I suppose it is." Vasco frowned. "A Lord can impose their egocentricity upon those inside his Realm. A Genius can do much the same."
"Sorry," Adam said, politely yet firmly, "but I need you to be more precise. You said ''almost'' no one can become a Genius. What decides whether someone can? Is it their Talent?"
The Lord of Gama shook his head. "It can be any Talent, I suppose...at least theoretically. Truth be told, although nearly all of them have possessed valuable Talents, there are precious few Geniuses born every generation ¨C not nearly enough to make a definitive conclusion either way. Right now, the Empire is only aware of three Geniuses in existence."
Adam could hazard a guess. "Eric is one," he muttered. "What about the others? Valente, the Dark Captain of the Hangmen, and Emperor Ciro?"
"Aye."
That tracks. It explains why Ciro felt comfortable challenging Tenver''s father despite having a lower Rank at the time, and why Valente is so feared. If Eric is capable of becoming as strong as the guy that Aspreay fought...
Adam clenched his fist. I won''t let it get to that point. I''ll take him down before then.
Talent and genius doesn''t mean anything if you waste it.
"The Empire is constantly looking for more Geniuses from all walks of life," Vasco added. "Aspreay and I were tested at the Academy, and we both failed. They test most citizens at birth nowadays."
Which implied that Tenver wasn''t capable of it either. That oddly felt like a surprise, although it probably shouldn''t have. He''s competent, but that doesn''t mean he ranks among the top few phenomenons in the world.
More importantly, Adam needed to know what to expect if Eric used it in a fight. "As for what a Genius is...is it sort of like the Lord Talent?" he slowly asked. "It creates a Realm where the user can impose any rule they choose?"
To his surprise, Vasco chuckled. "Mayhap it would be easier if that were the case. But no, not quite. A Genius has far more ego than a Lord, and less responsibility. Their Realm cannot expand too far, never beyond their sight, and usually much less than that. Moreover, they have no access to the Three Pillars of Realms. Law, Knowledge, Immortality ¨C none if it is accessible to Geniuses."
Meaning they can''t impose arbitrary Laws that violate the laws of reality, read the minds of people inside their Realm, or heal themselves when injured. That''s good. Except...
"Eric fundamentally changed the way his ¨C our Talent worked after summoning his Realm," Adam pointed out.
"That''s the second thing you have to be most aware of regarding Geniuses," Vasco told him. "They cannot create, erase, or change Laws the way you and I can. Instead, their Genius Realm is embodied with a specific set of rules that represent their Talent. Do you understand what I mean?"
Adam nodded. "I think so." Vasco seemed poor at stating things plainly, but when it came down to it, there wasn''t a lot to understand. The Painter withdrew his tablet and smirked as he opened up a familiar file that he hadn''t glanced at in a while.
Notes on the Painted World
About the Genius Realm
- Any Talent can potentially generate a Genius
- A Genius Realm has very limited size compared to a Lord''s Realm
- A Genius Realm does not grant Immortality, Knowledge of Minds, or the ability to arbitrarily reshape Laws.
- A Genius Realm comes prebuilt with an immutable Law related to the Talent it originated from.
"One more question," Adam said. "What happens when one Realm is built inside another?"
"I can demonstrate, if you''d like." Vasco tapped on Adam''s shoulders and created a few steps of distance between them. "It would be faster than explaining."
In truth, Adam had a pretty good idea of what would transpire if two Realms clashed.
The Grandmaster''s ravens ¨C albeit used by Valeria, likely without the former''s knowledge ¨C had watched Aspreay''s duel with the Strongest Hangman, then relayed everything to Adam in eerie detail through the animal''s own eyes. Better to keep that a secret from the Lord of Gama for now, though. It would keep Adam from having to lie if the topic came up in the future.
Besides; by most standards, he was still pretty new to using his Lord Talent. A more practical demonstration wouldn''t hurt.
Or, well, so he thought.
"¨CAARGH!" Adam cried out on the ground, a moment later. "What ¨C what the hell was that? Why did it hurt so much?!"
"Because I activated my Shadow Realm after you," Vasco grunted, as if the matter was so obvious it hardly warranted explaining. "We have the same Lord Rank. But you stepped into my shadow shortly before I stepped into yours. Our Shadow Realms possessed the same size, construction quality, and Rank ¨C but the one formed later has a small, if noticeable advantage."
Adam''s first thought was, Ah, so that might have helped Aspreay create his Realm inside the Emperor''s, in addition to refining its size to something more manageable.
His second thought was, HOLY SHIT THAT HURT, WHAT THE HELL MAN?
"Okay, but was the punch to the stomach really necessary?" Adam stumbled to his feet, struggling not to faint or vomit. He knew his voice to be closer to whiny than regal at this point, but he didn''t care anymore. "What the hell did that teach me?"
Vasco shrugged. "Pain teaches nothing. It only carves what you have already learned deep into your heart, so that you never forget." He held up his massive hand, then tensed, falling back into a fighting stance. "This lesson shall save your life one day, my young lord."
There was no malice hidden in the man''s words, but the threat was plainly visible in his clenched fist. Tough love, huh? Looking up at him, Adam remembered why Vasco had earned the title that gave him so many enemies.
The Butcher of Greenisle.
"Being able to make calm decisions while wracked with pain is the mark of a true lord," Vasco shouted. "Most importantly, it is necessary for you to master this. So, I ask you again, Lord Adam ¨C what are your orders? How will we fight the Gryphon?"
"That''s not¨C"
Vasco abruptly leapt forward, his right foot sinking into the muddy ground and through Adam''s shadow. "NO TIME, LORD ADAM!"
Adam''s mind raced back to the punch he had just received, and to how he desperately wanted to avoid that agony again. I''m inside his Shadow Realm now. But considering what he told me, if I summon mine right after his, I should be able to win our clash this time. Then¨C
Once more Adam stumbled backward to the ground, unable to breathe yet gasping for air like a fish out of water. The pain in his stomach was secondary to the feeling of his entire body collapsing, as if his organs were close to shutting down..
Realms...also make you...physically stronger. Right. "What...what was the lesson there?"
"That just because summoning your Shadow Realm second would help in a clash of equal Ranks, it doesn''t mean you can simply take your time with it," Vasco barked out. "If I trap you, and then knock you out, it doesn''t matter what your Talent is capable of."
Violence overwhelms Talents, Adam repeated to himself. I knew that already. But what am I supposed to do about it? My reflexes aren''t sharp enough to handle the speed of an elite soldier Lord. Not like I can make a split-second decision that quickly, and we don''t have the time to train me to be quicker to respond. What does he want me to¨C
Still on the ground, from the corner of his eye, Adam saw the Butcher of Greenisle stomp towards him.
He''s going to fucking kill me. Concerns about what he could or couldn''t do flew out of his head. There was no time for them.
But neither was time for overconfidence.
Wait for him to step into my shadow, he thought, his eyes widening with focus. And then...step into his.
Focus...focus...focus...
NOW.
There was a flash of motion.
"Very good, Lord Adam," Vasco said, through a heavy breath.
Adam was still on the ground. He hadn''t even bothered getting up. It just didn''t seem important at the time. Instead, he had concentrated solely on waiting for the precise moment that Vasco stepped on his shadow...
And then reacted appropriately.
The Lord of Gama gave him an appraising stare. "You caught me this time. Why?"
"I don''t know," Adam answered, truthfully. "I don''t think my reflexes could have improved that quickly."
"They didn''t," Vasco said. "But the human mind works in curious ways. Responding instinctively to something is difficult. If you''re waiting for a specific thing to respond to, however, it can hasten your response time. This isn''t about Talents ¨C it''s how it works for any human being. Do you understand?"
"Yeah, I...think so." Adam slowly rose to his feet, making sure that a part of his body was still on top of Vasco''s shadow lest the man teach him any other ''lessons.'' God, this hurts. "Responding to a question I''m anticipating is easier than one I didn''t know was coming."
He understood that concept, he really did. What Adam didn''t understand was... "And your point, Lord Vasco, pray tell?"
"That you don''t possess the hardened reflexes of a veteran to make quick decisions." Even frozen inside Adam''s Shadow Realm, Vasco still glared at him. "So you have to compensate with planning. Every detail of the upcoming fight must be mapped out in order for us to have a prayer of coming out alive. And I ¨C we need you to do that."
The Lord of Gama closed his eyes. "You are far stronger than I, Lord Adam. Right now, struggle as I might, I cannot break free from your Realm any more than a bird could free itself from its steel cage. I bear not the genius of the tyrant, nor the ambition of my lover, or even the rightful vengeance of my daughter. Yet even someone like me wants to live. So...please. Help us survive."
At that, Adam dispelled his Shadow Realm, and Vasco extended his hand to help him to his feet. The Lord''s eyes burned with a violent compassion, and his palms were calloused with the many years of wielding countless weapons to protect his people. The white of the moon reflected in the man''s gaze, and his earlier words flashed back in the Painter''s mind.
Mistake not prudence for procrastination, my lord.
To be honest, he already had all the information he needed to make a decision. But Adam had enjoyed these last few days so much that he simply couldn''t help but want to delay things. Just one more day like this...surely it can''t hurt.
Unfortunately, he knew otherwise. Especially after this clash.
"Tenver will return to Penumbria immediately," Adam said. "I will go deep into the ruins by myself to paint the Grandmaster''s soul. You, Solara, and all our available forces are to hold off the Emperor''s army from reaching me...no matter the cost."
His throat closed at the words, but the Painter''s voice remained steady. "If you can hold them at bay for even a week, then I swear to you ¨C I will win."
Vasco didn''t need to hear another word. He nodded twice, the first slow and methodical, the second prompt and confident. Then he dropped to one knee, closed his eyes, and said, "As you command, my king."
Chapter 47
Emperor Ciro wore a smile. A genuine smile ¨C not the sharpened upturn of lips meant to rattle simpering nobles. It was an unfamiliar sensation, although hardly an unwelcome one.
Little painter. Usurper of Penumbria. His smile deepened. Our duel is the most enjoyment I''ve had in ages. Oh, how I hope you''re having as much fun as I am! On this auspicious day, Ciro was so pleased that he nearly felt like being considerate.
Only nearly, however.
Pity for the elf.
"Most kind of you, Nayt," Ciro told his Hangman, "to accompany me on this trip."
The lazy soldier of death grunted in response. "The kindness lies in your words, Your Imperial Highness ¨C not the actions themselves."
"You accompanied me on a trip where I cannot take even my honor guard. That is worthy of praise."
"My duty as an Imperial Hangman is to follow your orders, within reason." With a rude motion, Nayt rested his elbow on the carriage''s windowsill. His pointed Elven ears twitched with suppressed emotion. "These orders bear enough reason for me to follow."
Had anyone else behaved in such a way, Ciro would have collapsed their mass into a lightless void. But then again, he had ordered the slaughter of the last elven city, so some allowances needed to be made. At least he knows to serve me rather than oppose me ¨C however grumpily it might be.
Besides; Ciro found a certain enjoyment in testing the limits of the man''s loyalty and patience. "But were my orders reasonable?" the Emperor asked, in a pondering tone. "I could''ve requested anyone else to follow me. It is hardly an emergency. And most importantly, this isn''t within your usual imperial service hours."
Ciro often thought that the day Nayt''s patience ran out would come before his loyalty.
Yet today was not that day.
Nayt grit his teeth, making no effort to hide an audible sigh, yet he did little beyond that. "You needed to travel far for this. It''s not as though you could just demand any man to take you, whether they be of the coach or Hang variety."
"True," Ciro agreed, looking at the blurry exterior outside their carriage. "Those beasts only listen to elves, do they not?"
Surprisingly, that drew more of a response than the rest. "Only certain elves can. It''s a rare aptitude," Nayt spat out. After a moment of hesitation, he added bitterly, "Rarer these days with so few elves left."
Ciro didn''t mind upsetting the man, but upsetting him unintentionally was most displeasing. He was the Emperor of the world, and very keen to have things behave precisely as predicted.
Thus he changed the topic of conversation to the chessboard positioned between them. "Nayt ¨C might I interest you in my duel with Adam the Pretender?"
The Hangman''s tight expression loosened somewhat. "You mean to duel the Painter?"
"I already am," the Emperor answered, as he shifted the board''s pieces. "Albeit not personally. He is the leader of this would-be rebellion in the Eastern Frontier, and their strategist, at that. Even if our blades are not clashing against one another, the winner will ultimately be decided by our choices."
Nayt blinked blankly in response. Little surprise there ¨C the elf was nearly as lazy as he was intelligent. Despite being a capable man, he wouldn''t spend a sliver of energy to understand something when he could make others explain it to him instead.
This suited Ciro just fine. It was a long journey to Penumbria, even with the beasts pulling their carriage, and this would serve as an adequate distraction. "Have you heard of chess?" he asked the elf.
"No."
Of course not. "It''s a game from the World of Ink," Ciro said, with more enthusiasm than when giving a speech to his subjects. "Each piece has its own solidly-defined role. You always know how each will perform when put against another. As such, victory is decided not just by the pieces that you have ¨C but mostly by how you wield them."
Nayt nodded once. He picked up a marble rook between two long fingers, his interest outweighing his disgust. "And you''re using this game to determine whether you or the Pretender is playing their pieces more effectively?"
The elf gave a sudden start, then studied the pieces more closely. "Is this one supposed to look like me?"
"It had better. I crafted it myself," Ciro told him, with a haughty chuckle. "That is also what makes this situation rather unlike chess ¨C and why I know not if I''ve truly played to greater effectiveness than the Pretender. This game of ours was never equal or fair. I simply have stronger pieces than he."
The Hangman studied the board carefully. "Our side has...four Hangmen, two lords, five hundred men, and Your Imperial Majesty. Though I doubt you plan to fight yourself."
Ciro agreed with gusto. "Aye, my Hangman. It would not look good if I were to massacre my own people who were merely tricked by Aspreay''s false son."
There are the Puppet Mines to consider as well, but no matter how much the immortal fool hates me, the Grandmaster would not dare to fight the Empire. He knows what happened to his precious Mountain last time he tried. The Puppets will remain neutral.
"That''s the justification you gave to the two Eastern lords, yes?" Nayt quietly asked. "They fight because Adam the Painter has no rightful claim."
This was true, yet the Emperor frowned nonetheless. He hated that he''d needed to appease even the weak Eastern lords. They think themselves worthy of more rights than I give them. Unfortunately, although he could easily kill them, sweet satisfaction would not undo the damage done to his Empire''s economy if the fools thought to rebel.
"And for the Hangmen," Ciro continued, "I have yourself, Ernanda of the Ash, Eric the Gryphon, and Valente the Dark Captain."
"What''s the point of strategy when you direct Valente at the traitors?" Nayt, in an incredulous tone. "He could win this fight by himself."
"Mayhap so," the Emperor acknowledged, outwardly confident. Inwardly...
He''s shaken from his duel with Aspreay. Too young, too kind for his own genius, that one. I need to shape him better. "Nevertheless ¨C Adam cannot best me. My strategy is flawless, and my pieces are overwhelmingly stronger."
Ciro gazed down at the chessboard. For a moment, he almost felt disappointed.
"This game was rigged from the start." He laughed. "As it ought to be."
¨C
Solara walked atop the city''s crumbling walls, feeling sore, tired, hungry, and miserable. The Empire''s army was still a small cluster of torches in the distance, but preparations to receive them had taken all night. Her father was in charge of leading Adam''s army, which left her in charge of carrying out his orders.
"The left wing is finally ready," the elf snapped, leaping over a cracked stone and nearly falling to her death. "Any more requests?"
Her father kept his eyes on the distant enemy. "Not unless you can reinforce the walls. They''re liable to crumble to dust if those miserable fucks so much as touch them."
"You said they wouldn''t try, though," she remarked, her eyes also fixated on the incoming army. "Not for a few days. That was your plan."
Vasco nodded, his face grave. "They cannot resupply this far out from the Empire ¨C especially not in the middle of Stained territory. Would bet anything they''ll be careful."
"Why?" Solara asked. "A single Hangman can destroy a Lord''s Realm, and they have three. Why bother exercising caution?"
"Because strong or not, Hangmen die just as easily as other men. Becoming embroiled in a chaotic battle could end their legend with just one loose arrow." He sighed. "No. Much better for them to approach us man-to-man first. At least until they think Lord Adam or I would resort to reconstructing our Realms here."
The elf snorted. "Neither of you would ruin your cities for this."
"Aye, but the Empire would. They expect the same of their enemies. That''s why they''ll keep most of their army on my side of the wall ¨C defeating me in combat is their priority."
Solara''s eyebrows shot upward. "Father, surely your plan is not for my sake."
Her father''s expression tightened. "If only. I have not the luxury of keeping you safe." His voice lowered. "I must trust that you''ll be fine. That is key, as we have less men than the Empire. If they''re forced to split their forces unevenly, then you''ll have a chance at sallying forth, destroying their left wing, and flanking them from behind. My men and I will fight defensively from atop the wall while you do so ¨C it''ll make up for how they outnumber us."
"I thought Adam only wanted us to buy time."
"Our orders were to ensure he wasn''t disturbed while setting the corpse''s soul to ink." Vasco''s eyes narrowed in focus. "And winning will ensure he''ll have all the time in the world."
Solara smiled. "As you wish, fath¨C as you command, General."
The elf quickly whirled back around to her side of the wall. Although she didn''t fully trust Vasco''s bravado, it still held its own purpose. The Empire won''t attack on the first day. Not immediately. If they know we have a way of winning, unlikely as it may be, they''ll be more hesitant to strike decisively. Aiming for victory will see us buying time if we fall short.
There was no point in saying that aloud to Vasco. Not when the Stained Monsters were likely going to make defending the Walls even more difficult. Just tonight, five of her men had already succumbed to an abomination before it was finally put down.
In the end, her duty was the same ¨C to keep an army from invading the city of the damned, until Adam could dance with the Grandmaster''s corpse.
I suppose it could be worse, she reasoned, breathing in the night air and taking in the sound of crossbow bolts being loaded. I could be in Adam''s shoes.
¨C
Adam was just about to tell the soldiers how to avoid the Stained Monsters when they stumbled upon a corpse. "It looks fresh," he murmured. "But it''s probably not actually fresh, is it?"
The young Captain Diego of Adam''s makeshift honor guard lifted his helmet''s visor. "No. That...that''s not a person. It''s a Puppet. One infected with the Rot."
He drew a hesitant step back and pursed his lips. "My lord, we can''t ¨C it''s too dangerous. If we get too close to it, we might get infected."
"I have a resistance to the Rot," Adam noted. "Most likely, anyhow."
"Most...most likely, my lord?"
Being able to use Stained Ink probably meant that he was resistant to Rot. At least partially. And truth be told, if Adam wasn''t resistant to the Rot in some fashion, then this expedition had been doomed from the start.
Best to act with the assumption that I am, then. "More importantly ¨C you brought the paintings I prepared on the ship? Plus the supplies I requested?"
Captain Diego gestured at his men, who were busy pulling the paintings from their supply bags. He then fumbled through his own bag to produce the paint, brushes, and other tools that Adam had left him in charge of. "As requested, my lord. You think this is wise?"
Adam nodded absently, stepping through the ruins as he inspected them. "It''s the only logical way to do this. The Grandmaster is so powerful that calling him a monster would be an understatement ¨C and his corpse can''t be too much weaker than that. Not to mention how it''s been empowered by the Rot infection. We''re going to avoid direct contact with it if we can."
If that means doing some cave painting, then that''s just fine with me.
His Painter Talent didn''t require the use of a tablet. The death of Belmordo, Solara''s uncle, had been proof of that. Adam left the would-be lord a parchment drawing as a present, and it still captured his soul just the same.
There was no margin for error when dealing with an opponent like the Grandmaster''s corpse. A single mistake would spell death. So rather than risk their lives by getting up close and personal...why not devise a similar trap for this scenario?
It was a simple plan. To start, they would stake out their quarry''s location. Next, they would leave one of Adam''s paintings nearby where the Corpse could see it. If that painting failed to steal its soul, they would repeat the process with more until one eventually succeeded.
Today was their first attempt.
"Alright," Adam muttered, eyeing the last incomplete painting. "What should your name be?" He''d prepared a number of them aboard the ship, but this one he meant to finish here, after getting to see the ruins with his own eyes.
It was a sight that fascinated him in many ways. Aspreay''s hometown, Santu¨¢rio das Chamas, seemed familiar yet different. The city itself didn''t look entirely unlike Penumbria in architecture, but the geography of the land made it appear wholly unique.
Ornate buildings had been built around a towering landmark, ascending up into the sky and all the way past the clouds themselves. Rather than a natural phenomenon, the edifice was halfway between a hill and a mountain, but somehow steeper than both. Like a bridge connecting the Earth and the heavens above.
Scaled Rock. Where the Dragons of Old used to reside.
Wonder what Aspreay must''ve imagined, gazing upon that massive thing every day as he grew up. The Dragons would''ve been long gone before Aspreay was born, but corrupted as the land had been, its complete surrender to the Rot was a more recent development. Thinking about it really got Adam''s imagination going.
And now was time to commit those thoughts to ink.
Given his time constraints, it was to be a simple painting. One crafted based on what little he knew of the Grandmaster. Which are all things he told me himself, Adam mused, recalling their meeting. Who knows how much of that is true or not.
He peered around at Santu¨¢rio das Chamas and the Scaled Rock, taking in their sights, sounds, and smells, immersing himself in their contours and shapes. What information could he infer from this environment?
What did it tell him about the Grandmaster''s history?
This place used to belong to the Dragons of Old...but they aren''t here anymore. Although they fashioned themselves as something akin to gods, their mortality proved them false, in the end.
Despite possessing the ability to focus much of the Rot plague on one spot ¨C like a lightning rod that defended the land from infectious death ¨C it still wasn''t enough. The Dragons had needed a more mobile solution to their problem.
Which is where the Puppets came in.
To stave off the Rot, no transgression would have been considered too great. Thus did the Dragons, the ancient rulers of the world, grasp and reshape the souls of the dead, trapping them in semi-functional bodies robbed of autonomy.
''At the time, we looked far more inhuman than we do now,'' the Grandmaster had once said. ''Our bodies had no skin over them; just misshapen, pragmatic wood, and rare spots of Dragonforged steel on plain display. We weren''t allowed to wear clothes nor take a name, lest any truly ''living'' creature grow attached to the dragons'' disposable tools.''
The Grandmaster himself was a mistake. A product of happenstance. Unlike all other Puppets, he''d retained his consciousness.
Which meant that from the moment of his birth...the Grandmaster had been aware of his eventual fate.
''Do you know why Puppets are made of wood, rather than steel? Because once we absorb too much of the Rot, we are meant to set ourselves ablaze, reducing the infection to mere ashes. Burning the Rot itself does little, but if it''s absorbed by a Puppet first...''
How exactly would that affect someone? To know that they were born made to absorb a horrific plague unto their body, then immolate themself and disappear, as if they were never there ¨C all to protect an uncaring creator?
The souls of the dead were robbed of the emotions they had when alive, Adam remembered. No one would even mourn their deaths. Not even the souls themselves.
Just how cruel had the Dragons of Old been?
The Puppet Grandmaster was a being of overwhelming strength. His aura of power, his sheer presence, was matched only by the Emperor himself. Yet when recalling his past...Adam had seen the Grandmaster tremble ever so slightly.
''I saw...I saw many of my friends ¨C my family ¨C burn. Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands. Every day, someone else embraced the cleansing fires. And slowly, but inevitably, my own body started to fail me.''
What would have been more frightening? To see your friends die, consumed in pyres of burning Rot, or to know that you would soon be next?
Even so, the Grandmaster persisted. Night and day, he invaded the domain of his old masters, stealing the technique of Puppetry from their archives. With it, he saved the friends he could, lost the ones he couldn''t, and continued making Puppets for centuries to follow.
That''s what Adam''s painting needed to capture.
But what was ''that'', precisely?
What was the core of the Grandmaster''s being?
His burning determination to save his people, surely? Or maybe the melancholic, desperate grip of a life doomed to a fate far worse than death? Perhaps his defiance of the very draconic gods that had created him?
No. Adam didn''t think so.
Oh, he''d painted a few different portraits with each of those feelings in mind, just in case they landed closer to home than he expected. But his gut was telling him otherwise.
This final painting, the one he finished as they walked through the ruins of that once-beautiful city...it focused on loneliness.
He depicted the Grandmaster as a distant, shapeless figure, climbing the massive mountain of Scaled Rock that rose up into the clouds above. He can''t remember what his original body looked like. The exact form doesn''t matter. What I want to portray is...
A bright, scarlet figure that contrasted the suffocating darkness encroaching on him. However, Adam didn''t want to simply paint him as a noble, lonely light that shone in the darkness. That faint glimmer was a dark shade of red, nearly unable to illuminate its blackened surroundings.
But even so, it was there.
Even so, it persisted.
It wasn''t brilliant. It wasn''t destined at birth for greatness. The glimmer was a happenstance of fate; a mistake that occurred when it was shaped into the world. Only mere coincidence allowed it to have the slightest of fighting chances.
And the Grandmaster embraced that chance with all his might.
Need to balance the colors just right. The dark red should be noticeably different, but not so different you can''t miss it. His fragility has to be captured there as well.
This contrast...this nobility...it only shows up because of how lonely a walk his life has been.
"There we go," Adam said, rubbing the sweat off his brow and grinning. "This is a good start ¨C provided we can make the Corpse see my paintings."
Of course, that only meant anything if they could track down the Grandmaster''s Corpse. That wasn''t something Adam could accomplish himself. He needed to rely on his ¨C well, Vasco''s ¨C soldiers.
It was most fortunate, then, that they appeared up for the task. "Fear not, my lord!" said the young Captain Diego. "Lord Vasco assigned me the lead for a reason. My Talent of Tracking won''t fail us here."
Adam nodded, although he remained doubtful. "Surely it must have some limitations, though."
The captain rubbed the back of his head and looked away. "Well, some." He spoke in a low voice, as if dismissing the notion. When he continued, it was with a loud, excited tone. . "They won''t matter, my lord! It''s just that I, ah, can''t use it unless I have something that connects us to the target. And, well, there''s a range limitation, too ¨C but we''ll be fine!"
"I see." Adam didn''t hide the wariness in his voice. "What do we have available that connects us to the Corpse?"
Diego smirked. "His Highness Prince Tenver provided us with some of his royal hair before departing for Penumbria."
"What does Tenver''s hair ¨C oh." Adam frowned as he rationalized the connection. Tenver was reborn as a Puppet thanks to the Grandmaster, and the Grandmaster is obviously connected to his Corpse, so...
Well, I guess that holds up. Considering how flimsy the connection was between the Puppet Prince and the Puppet Grandmaster''s Corpse, Adam didn''t even want to think about how many Orbs Vasco had likely spent to improve Diego''s Talent. "So our target will show up here at night?"
Stolen novel; please report.
"That he will, my lord," the Captain affirmed. "The Corpse has been following a specific route. It seems quite fond of repeating it, for some odd reason."
Adam eyed the ruins around them. He spotted a house that had gotten most of its walls and ceiling blown off by some disaster or another, yet had still retained a solid foundation and one solid side to place his paintings on. With Captain Diego''s Talent, we''ll know where it''s safe to hide from the monster. Don''t want to get overconfident...but this might work.
For the most part, it did.
When night came, Adam''s honor guard moved quickly and efficiently, relocating their camp to a safe spot. From there, they could observe the paintings without being at too much risk of being found out by the Corpse.
Diego''s instructions were precise, professional, and most of all, perfect. Despite the young man''s earlier exuberance, he appeared quite capable when it was time to get serious.
Which, Adam had to admit, was something he should''ve anticipated. Vasco wouldn''t have spent this many Orbs on a soldier who wasn''t in control of his own nerves. Guess I didn''t need to worry so much about this part of the plan.
But there were still other things he couldn''t have accounted for.
Chief among them was his own stunned reaction upon seeing the Grandmaster''s Corpse with his own eyes.
Adam had expected the creature to resemble the Lord of All Puppets. At least in some general way. He''d prepared himself for a sudden, crushing pressure, not unlike the Grandmaster, or even the Emperor himself.
To his surprise, the creature possessed no such aura of invincibility.
His first impression was that the Corpse was a vaguely human-shaped tree, one cut out from a large trunk by a particularly unskilled artisan. Though it had legs functional enough to walk ¨C if stumbling forward could be considered walking ¨C none of his limbs seemed to have the same width, height, or even shape. Each appendage had at some point been carelessly cut from wood, and the passage of time had not been any kinder to its appearance.
As the Grandmaster had told him, every part of his Corpse was made of wood, except for a few small areas near the joints where Dragonforged Steel connected them together.
The passage of time had covered its darkened wood with moss ¨C to say nothing of the thriving plants growing both on top of and inside the Puppet, their roots swirling around the Corpse''s arm. Some of those were only small flowers, yet others were misshapen trees so large that they felt as tumorous as the Rot itself.
And of course...there was the Rot.
To Adam, it was a substance akin to dried, rotting ink. To this world, it was the visage of misery incarnate. Inked tumors protruded in some fashion from every inch of the corpse. Sometimes in small spherical masses, other times larger, more wildly grown, twisting and turning in a multitude of shapes and forms. There were even some blots of Rot that seemed to grow from other blots of Rot; a sort of infection within an infection.
Slowly, this shambling creature halted at the sight of Adam''s paintings, its march stopping dead cold.
Could it see in the dark?
Or had it simply done this same walk so many times that any deviation, no matter how minor, would grab its attention?
Whatever the cause, the Corpse was enthralled by the paintings set in the ruins of that old house. With hollowed surfaces where eyes should have been, it scanned each and every painting Adam had prepared, intently studying them as if perusing an art gallery.
And then, without fanfare, it simply turned around and moved on.
A grim silence passed by.
"Okay." Adam kept his tone calm and forthright. "So none of my paintings worked. We might need a Plan B."
¨C
"DON''T BE A COWARD, VALENTE!"
Ernanda, the Lady of Ash, accelerated the lifespan of the tent around her. The cloth turned to dust, and the dust to wind. "Emperor Ciro commanded us to take the Pretender''s head immediately!" she bellowed. "Have you no shame? Have you no desire to make up for your failure to His Imperial Majesty?"
Valente didn''t look up. The Strongest Man in the World clutched his hands in silence, wearing a face carved from stone. "If only I could forget." Nightmares washed over his expression. For him, they lived when asleep, and haunted him when awake. "Hundreds died because of my recklessness. I cannot allow more to die because of my pride."
Even now, he found himself unable to forget Aspreay''s taunting expression. A weak Lord...yet I couldn''t kill him. I let him trick me into slaughtering innocents. What if I fail again?
Ernanda stomped on the ground. "Let their deaths live in your heart," she snarled. "Let us avenge the fallen. Let us avenge your ¨C our failures. So long as the Empire lives, it won''t have been in vain."
On this point, the Strongest remained firm. "No. I won''t lead men to a needless, early end. We''ll leave it up to the Gryphon. He can end this with minimal bloodshed."
"And if he succeeds in preventing the sacrifice of the innocent, then we shall pay with our pride instead!" Ernanda shouted. "We need this victory to regain our honor, our dignity ¨C to regain Ciro''s trust!"
"I owe more than my life to His Imperial Majesty." Valente''s tone was hoarse. His gaze dropped as he thought back to the piles of corpses he''d created in the capital city, their bodies crushed, bent, and broken under piles of collapsed buildings. "My answer is still no."
Ernanda tightened her expression. "Our army''s right wing is yours to do with as you please. If you wish to stay idle, be my guest. But know that the left wing is mine, and that the Empire shall take flight beneath my wind."
¨C
"I don''t suppose you have any more hints for me?" Adam asked, directing his question to the raven perched on his shoulder.
"No," it replied, with Valeria''s voice. She''s spoken through the raven enough times that nowadays Adam associated the detective with the bird moreso than her actual body. "Not a single one."
"You do realize how imperative it is that I succeed here, yes?"
Valeria pecked at his ear, as naturally as a normal bird very much wouldn''t. "The Grandmaster is already going to be unhappy with the amount of help I''m giving you now. He especially wouldn''t take kindly to me looking more deeply into his past."
The Painter winced, but decided that he couldn''t complain much. In fairness to the King of Puppets, feeding Adam information about his character was akin to hand-gifting him a blade that could cut the Grandmaster down. It was an act nearly as treasonous as assassination.
Still, three days and many paintings later, his growing sense of annoyance was no longer rooted in reason. "Stubborn coward," Adam grunted. "I know it''s risky, but trusting me should be a better option than living according to the Empire''s whims."
"I agree," said the raven detective. "Yet I dare not speak of ''reasonable'' to someone as stubborn and strong as the Grandmaster. I''m hardly even admitted into his Workshop these days."
Adam frowned. "What of our project? How did it go?"
"Smoothly. It completed without issue, and is currently on its way."
He wanted to ask for more details, but chose not to, just in case. The two of them preferred to speak about their plan in code, lest they be overheard. There''s always a chance the Grandmaster would betray us to the Emperor. Can''t be too specific when we''re using his goddamn birds to communicate.
At least he could trust Valeria to understand his plans without him needing to say much. She''d shown how capable she was when the Ghost of Waters attacked their airship. They''d also had multiple meaningful pauses in their conversion that were too consistent to pass off as coincidence.
And more than anything else...Valeria spread ravens through the capital on the day that Adam met with Emperor Ciro. Weeks have passed since then, yet there remains a certain bounty that I''m sure the Empire would''ve publicly claimed if able to.
None of that would matter if he couldn''t paint the Corpse''s soul, though. "There''s gotta be something you can give me," Adam insisted. "Anything! You''ve lived in the Mines all your life! If you can''t tell me of his past, then what about something more current?"
The bird laughed, pecking at Adam''s face, seemingly just to annoy him. "My lord, what use would that even be? Anything current would be irrelevant to the corpse. Its experiences diverged from the Grandmaster far too long ago for recent events to matter."
Adam had already started to sigh ¨C and was then surprised by his own smirk. "Actually? That''s a really good point."
¨C
On the third day of fighting, Solara stumbled off her horse. It was a bad enough fall that her knees nearly touched the ground.
But only nearly.
Righting herself at the last second, she hurled her helmet aside, grit her teeth, and cried out: "Water! Give me water, gods ¨C gods damn the Hangwoman!"
A short, nervous-looking man no older than fourteen brought her a canteen. Solara emptied it all in a few short sips. "Bring me news of the battlefield in one hour''s time," she commanded, wiping her mouth. "I''ll be in my tent."
Only when alone did she allow her breath to catch, her pain to show on her face, and for the curses to leave her throat. My men cannot see me falter. They need very little convincing to dislike being led by an elf.
A woman elf at that, and one with little firsthand military experience on top of everything. Solara had been taken by her father to suppress the Dockmaster''s Rebellion just once, and then twice more to hunt down bandits. Apart from that, her knowledge of warfare had come about solely from books and tutors. It was hardly enough to justify leading a small army of elite soldiers against the Imperial Army.
Especially a small army led by Ernanda, the Lady of Ash.
Charitably, Tenver and Adam''s combined efforts in the Capital had ended in a stalemate against the Hangwoman. More objectively, the two managed to barely escape with their lives when Solara rescued them with the Airship. And now the woman was her problem to deal with. Somehow.
Ernanda''s Talent of Hanging had manifested in the cruelest of ways. It sped up the passage of time in whatever she touched, so that even the mightiest of soldiers would crumble to ash at her fingertips. When the Lady of Ash descended upon the battlefield, there was little for an opposing army to do but to cede ground and let her push them off the battlefield. Her mere presence was more effective than a siege tower.
If not for Solara''s existence, they would already have lost.
"Kill me," the elf muttered, in a feverish haze. "Turn me to ash. I''ll come back as many times as it takes."
Her Talent of Resurrection was a natural counter to the Talent of Hanging. Twice a day, every day, she had died crossing blades with the Lady of Ash and made for a desperate retreat. Their army had held with only a few losses, as most of the Imperial Army was still focused on Vasco''s side of the wall.
Ernanda could still die from an errant arrow. Despite her monstrous offensive strength, she wouldn''t dare press onward by herself ¨C nor could she fight without drawing attention. Conversely, Solara had coordinated her men so that they would prioritize delaying the enemy, using her very life as a shield when needed. Until now, it had worked.
But what of tomorrow?
Solara couldn''t continue to outmaneuver a more experienced, stronger opponent, even with the advantage of terrain. Not forever. Resurrection didn''t heal the mental wounds each death inflicted upon her. Neither did it rid the elf of her mounting exhaustion, the ever-rising pressure of duty, or the crumbling morale of her men.
With every passing day, it felt like her final death drew closer.
Adam...you said you needed one week. Please...please...make it less than that.
¨C
Captain Diego seemed particularly weary that morning. He had good reason to be. Six days had passed since their detachment entered the heart of the ruins. Six long days of running for their lives, fending off attacks by Stained monsters ¨C all while his Lord failed to produce results and capture the Corpse''s soul.
Adam understood the man''s sentiments. He really, truly did. But at the same time, he found reason to feel optimistic today. They''d managed to avoid casualties so far ¨C albeit barely ¨C and had just discovered a new lead.
More accurately, Adam had developed a new approach. A bolt of inspiration came after Valeira once again denied his request for information on the Grandmaster. It''d forced him to reassess what he was doing, pushing him to view his existing knowledge in an entirely new light.
The facts hadn''t changed. But the way he looked at them had.
"The Corpse is approaching, sir!" Captain Diego reported, his voice trembling. "Let''s leave the painting behind and retreat to a safe position, quickly¨C"
Adam dismissed the possibility, choosing to stay. He knew it was risky and irresponsible. But when he thought about his theory on the shape of the Corpse''s soul...the painter knew he owed the shambling curse this much.
You continued to walk, to live, like an echo of a life that didn''t belong to you ¨C all without ever being looked at properly. That must''ve hurt, didn''t it?
He was a Painter, not a god. There was no way to turn back time and undo the lonely, tiresome road the creature standing before him had been forced to tread.
But he could look it in the eye.
Like a colossus of tortured oak, the Corpse appeared from around the corner. Upon catching sight of everyone, it froze, scarcely able to comprehend the presence of living creatures who weren''t Rot-mutated abominations. The creature''s eyes fell on the portrait tucked under Adam''s arm, its countenance stirring with unreadable emotion.
"Hello there," said the Painter Lord. He waved off his men, striding towards the monstrosity with his painting in hand. "Might I interest you in something?"
At first, Adam wasn''t sure whether the Corpse could comprehend his words. It just stood there and gawked at him, the blots of ink pulsating in its eyeballs approximating something between a blinking motion and a heartbeat.
Then, reluctantly, the Corpse nodded at the Painter.
And, immediately, the Painter showed the Corpse his portrait. Its title was emblazoned in restrained, subdued lettering.
The One That''s Left
"This is who you are." Adam said, after a long pause. "It''s not about who the Grandmaster is today ¨C it''s about you. The person you became."
A long silence stretched onwards.
The Corpse lowered its wooden fists. Frail, hoarse, mechanical laughter echoed from within its broken throat, mixed in with a static that seemed to fade in and out of reality. It shouldn''t have been possible for it to feel exhaustion. Dragon Puppets were crafted to be perfect tools above all else.
Yet, beneath the crumbling tornado of ink, the Corpse''s slumped shoulders could tell no tale other than this:
He was tired.
So tired.
And within that drained, desperate face, was now a blooming relief that hadn''t been there a moment ago. "...I accept...your understanding, Painter..."
It spread its arms wide.
Were it only possible to give you a life elsewhere...but the Rot inside of you is too unstable. There''s no other choice.
The least Adam could do was deliver him this final end gently, with the most beautiful painting his imagination could muster. He pressed his pen to the canvas and drew a deep breath. "Farewell, strong Puppet. May you find peace in¨C"
A familiar jolt of blue, electric light shot out from the Corpse.
What? Adam stood there dumbfounded, shock coloring his features. I...captured his soul? How?! I haven''t finished the painting yet!
His gaze followed the familiar travel of the light as it danced across from the Puppet, around the soldiers, and finally towards Adam. It had a sort of hesitancy about its movement, as if uncertain what to do. Instinctively, the Painter held up his tablet toward the misty soul, offering it the home it craved so dearly.
At first, the soul remained motionless. It only regarded Adam carefully ¨C almost apologetically.
Until, at last, it moved.
Right through Adam''s tablet.
The soul ignored him completely. It moved all the way behind him, suddenly curved upwards to the rooftop of a ruined building.
Where a man with winged boots and a tablet of his own stood proudly.
"Ah, Adam...you always make sure to help me out, don''t you?" Eric Gryphon wore a smile that was closer to a sneer. "You really came through. That corpse was too strong for me to steal its soul, even with my Genius Realm. Would''ve needed to understand what it was about and, eh, who cares about a dead man''s dreams, you know?"
Writhing like a fish caught on a lure, the Corpse''s soul rushed into Eric''s tablet. A glow of blue suffused the surrounding air, illuminating the joy dancing in the Hangman''s eyes.
"Thanks for doing the hard part for me again."
¨C
Miles away, back in his carriage, Emperor Ciro gazed down at his chessboard. He pointed at one piece in particular, nodding confidently.
"I have faith in my youngest Hangman." Eric''s piece had been carved with two wings and a cocky grin. "The Gryphon will deal with the Painter quite easily. Adam''s defeat is assured."
Ciro let out a sigh. "And good thing, too. After that disaster with Valente and Aspreay, I don''t want to leave anything up to chance."
Nayt, the elven Hangman, appeared far less convinced. "And you think that so long as the Gryphon doesn''t hesitate, the Pretender has no hope of victory?"
"None. Eric Gryphon''s Talents are all ranked higher than the Painter''s ¨C to say nothing of their sheer quality. The only troublesome Talent of his is the Lord Talent, but that is not something to worry about."
The Emperor''s face turned vicious. "Using his Lord Talent would put Penumbria at the monsters'' mercy until he was able to raise its Walls again. And Adam, for all his bravado and audacity, is no hardened battlelord. He''s a boy. One who lacks the resolve necessary to sacrifice his lessors in order to prosper."
Though Nayt huffed gravely in response, he did nod along with the argument ¨C albeit with an air of dark reluctance. "I suppose there is some truth to that, Your Imperial Highness."
"Some?" Ciro laughed. "There is only truth in my words. Consider Adam''s past behavior. Historically, the Painter has never once attempted to use the Lord Talent, even when his life was in peril."
"And yet he survived all of those instances," Nayt pointed out.
The Emperor hardened his gaze. "That is exactly his undoing," he firmly told the elven Hangman. "His ability to survive when dancing on the knife''s edge of life and death will make him believe he can do so again. And even if he changes his mind..."
With a dismissive gesture, Ciro knocked the Painter''s piece over. "It would already be too late."
¨C
Eric''s thoughts were plain on his face. He didn''t think that Adam had it in him to accept the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands of people who had entrusted themselves to him. The Painter was a naive, optimistic, risk-averse person who liked to believe he could always find the perfect solution for any dilemma.
It was why the Hangman laughed as he stole the Corpse''s soul and plagiarized its Talent, taking the time to appreciate the impact of his sudden appearance. Even surrounded by twelve of the Painter''s crossbow-wielding soldiers, he feared nothing. What could wooden bolts do against a Hangman, the Lord of Death, and a master of the Genius Realm besides?
He had plenty of time to calmly enjoy the result of his actions.
And that was precisely what the Painter had bet on.
"Adam," Eric managed to get out, his face turning white in shock. "What are you¨C?"
The Hangman hesitated. The Painter did not. Adam drew up his arm in a grand gesture, as if saluting an opponent in a duel, and thundered:
"¨CREALM¨CRECONSTRUCTION¨C!"
Chapter 48
It would have been easy for the Gryphon to defeat the Painter in a Clash of Realms.
Adam had relentlessly refined his Realm from the size of a city down to a small, compact area barely large enough to cover the two of them. Despite that, Eric''s Talent was still of a much higher rank.
It should have been easy for the Gryphon to defeat the Painter in a Clash of Realms.
But even the easiest of tasks could become insurmountable mountains before the giant known as inaction. Eric''s issues began and ended with simple procrastination. Rather than call upon his Genius Realm, the Hangman chose to gape in open-mouthed disbelief at his old friend, prioritizing his disbelief over his safety.
''Adam, you just...you just killed your own city!'' Eric thought. Surprise, anger, awe, jealousy, fear, disgust, shame ¨C dozens of emotions wrestled for dominance within his soul. None emerged as the undisputed ruler, and in that war that raged within him, it was the stillness of the night that ruled the empty throne of his body.
All the Hangman could do was think of the words he felt too stunned to utter. ''Thousands of people are going to die...just so you have a chance to kill me? That''s...''
Adam could hear his outrage loud and clear. The Third Pillar of Realms, Divine Knowledge, granted him full awareness of Eric''s every thought as long both of them were inside the Painter''s Realm.
Furthermore, Adam''s thoughts were racing at a speed far faster than normal, each second nearly feeling like a full minute. He could enjoy the luxury of leisurely considering the possibilities before him.
''Eric...if you hadn''t been so shocked, you could''ve killed me right here and now. But you never thought I had what it took to fight like this. To embrace my selfishness and feast on my greed.''
The Painter, with his Lord Realm now fully enveloping the two of them, stepped forward. ''That''s exactly what I was counting on.''
Truth be told, to a degree...Eric had been right. Adam wasn''t so heartless that he would doom the people of Penumbria to certain death.
But he was willing to bet their lives that Tenver could keep them safe.
"Tenver," Adam had asked, just days prior. "If I give you enough Orbs to Rank up your Archery Talent...would you be able to stand atop Penumbria''s walls and shoot down the monsters approaching the city?"
Almost immediately, the Painter Lord changed his question and his tone, his voice filling with confidence. "Rather, how long could you hold them off for?"
"Ten minutes," Tenver had answered back, without hesitation. "If it''s for just ten minutes, I won''t let a single Stained Creature reach the inside of our city, even if you remove the Realm Walls surrounding Penumbria. I swear it ¨C on our friendship."
"And I trust you to do just that," Adam firmly told him. ''I know I''m asking for the impossible, but...if anyone can pull it off, you can."
Adam could read the Hangman''s mind now. Eric hadn''t conceived of the possibility that a Lord might entrust his city''s safety to a single person. Nor that Adam meant to finish the fight within a mere ten minutes, then reconstruct Penumbria''s Realm before too much damage had been done.
Although his mind touched upon the truth, he elected to ignore it. ''Does he think he can use Reconstruction after killing me?'' Eric thought. ''No, that would still cause too many dead innocents. He doesn''t have the stomach for that.''
Even now, the Hangman couldn''t remotely fathom that Adam might rely on someone else.
It was the first mistake of many.
"ADAAAAM!" Eric shouted as righteous, unearned fury took hold of him. "YOU LUNATIC! YOU''VE KILLED YOUR PEOPLE!"
Had he been capable of envisioning the Painter''s plan, maybe Eric would''ve realized that his taunt fell short ¨C that Adam''s complete trust in Tenver rendered the threat completely ineffectual.
Instead, he allowed Adam to step closer to him.
''He''s not stopping,'' Eric thought, in a panic. ''He, he''s really going to¨C!''
The Hangman''s next words were more practical. His fingers swirled within the air, as if holding a paintbrush against the very wind, and he bellowed out: "GENIUS¡ªREALM!"
Had Eric chosen to attack like this from the start, their Realm Clash would have been entirely one-sided. But while their difference in Rank was large, Adam had refined his Lord Realm into a small box, much like Aspreay had done against Valente several weeks ago.
And most of all, just as Vasco once taught Adam...when it came to constructing Realms, timing was essential.
Eric''s delay had been miniscule. It amounted to little more than three short seconds.
It was still enough to make all the difference in the world.
''What¡ªhow is he¡ªhow is his Realm not breaking?'' Eric screamed inside his head, his teeth clenched with fury. ''It''s weaker than mine! This isn''t how it''s supposed to work!''
''Looks like my Realm is holding,'' Adam thought. Deranged laughter exploding from his throat as he lunged at his former friend. ''GOOD!''
Fueled by panic and desperation, the Gryphon''s Genius Realm rapidly expanded from within himself, and then into the outer world. A half-translucent blue sphere appeared next to him, crackling like electricity as it bounced inside the square walls of Adam''s Lord Realm.
Everything paused. At first, it seemed as though the Clash had caused both Realms to freeze each other in place. That notion was dispelled a moment later when the Gryphon''s face twisted in agony, multiple veins bulging over his forearms, as if trying to burst free from his body.
"YOU CAN''T BEAT ME, ADAM!" Every word the Hangman spoke dripped with a venom so strong that it paled only when compared to the pure spite burning in his screams. Although their Clash demanded more strength than the Hangman''s body could muster, the curses he bellowed seemed to empower him more and more. "¡ªNOT ONCE! NOT¡ªEVER¡ª!"
The blue sphere expanded unevenly, like a deformed bubble that threatened to pop any second. It shifted into a multitude of chaotic shapes, convulsing and churning, until the once-sphere now resembled a porcupine''s back with bright, pulsating quills that oscillated on the edge of reality. The Genius Realm was unstable, liable to cease its own existence with any given jolt of electricity in the air.
Yet Eric grew it even further, fearlessly continuing its uncertain expansion.
Normally, a Realm Clash is similar to a pair of drunk men, each trying to headbutt the other into submission. Having started construction of his Realm too late, Eric''s position in the clash was closer to trying to stop an elephant that had suddenly appeared above his head from flattening his entire body.
It wasn''t merely about strength. Leverage, angle, timing ¨C everything was set up by Adam to catch the Hangman off-guard. Even the world''s strongest man would have had trouble catching a forty-five pound dumbbell midair, after all.
''Three seconds,'' Adam thought. ''Tenver and Penumbria bought me three seconds. I can''t waste this opening. Not after you sold it to them at such a steep price.''
Having given up on winning in a direct confrontation, he had aimed to shock Eric into presenting an opening. It was the best plan the Painter could have possibly executed.
However.
"¡ªYOU THINK CHEATING IS GONNA BEAT ME?!" Eric screamed. "EVEN IF YOU SACRIFICE YOUR OWN GODDAMN CITY¡ª" His fury empowered his Realm''s Construction. "¡ªI CAN STILL KILL YOU¡ª!"
Despite Adam''s forethought...despite refining his Realm into a compact area to increase its strength...despite his advantage in timing...
Eric''s Talent was still of a much higher Rank.
No, even more than that ¨C it was the man''s genius that was the problem. Deep inside, Eric held an unwavering belief that he could climb over any wall before him, and his very soul itself backed up his faith. Although he''d never experienced a Realm Clash before, nor been instructed on how to win one, his racing brilliance swiftly landed on the correct choice.
''My Genius Realm is like a sphere,'' the Gryphon thought, eyes wide in concentration. ''Adam''s Lord Realm is a series of Walls. If I can manage to alter my technique''s shape¡ªif I can make it so that my feet aren''t even touching the ground¡ªthen I won''t be subjected to his Realm''s Laws at all!''
Eric Gryphon, the Empire''s youngest Hangman, truly believed that he could outmuscle Adam''s Realm. In spite of his poor position, the difference in their raw power was simply that great. Yet perhaps out of pride, as if wanting to prove a point, he instead decided to further handicap himself, combating Adam''s Realm with technique.
And he was succeeding.
His unstable sphere ceased its chaotic expansion. It started to stabilize, floating slightly.
"Talent of Flight!" Eric called upon one of his plagiarized Talents, summoning wings onto his boots and letting him evade the ground. ''If I can get out of his range and finish constructing my Genius Realm, I''ll become immune to his¡ª"
The Painter launched himself forward with Stained Ink, powering a swing with unbridled rage as his fist connected with Eric''s face. "Like hell I''m letting you finish your Realm," he hissed, through grit teeth. Before Adam could fall back down, he ruled upon the land, "Earth beneath me: construct a bridge towards this fucking plagiarist!"
The earth of the ruined city shot upwards, opting to defy gravity rather than defy Adam''s order. It afforded him just enough footing that his blows could reach the Hangman, stopping just outside of the blue sphere of the Genius Realm. "Don''t forget," Adam threatened. "As long as you''re inside my Realm, I know your every move!"
Eric''s head whipped back, his mighty wings the only thing keeping him from being forcibly punched out of his own Genius Realm. "Hey Adam, did you know? It''s an open book exam¡ª" He summoned a set of sharp blades that went straight through Adam''s heart, killing the Painter instantly. "¡ªAND YOU''RE STILL GONNA FAIL!"
Immediately after death, Adam''s Realm brought him back to life. It happened so quickly that he didn''t even stop his relentless barrage of punches. ''So long as I''m inside my Realm, I''m invincible,'' he thought. ''And so long as you can''t finish your Genius Realm, you''re susceptible to my Lord Realm and its Orders.''
Both former friends looked into each other''s eyes. They found no memories hidden in their shared gaze ¨C only a simple, yet perilous path to victory.
''If I can kill him before his Genius Realm is reconstructed¡ª''
''If I can survive until my Genius Realm is reconstructed¡ª''
At once, both painters unleashed the worst of their violence at each other. Had it been a fair fight, the Hangman with the higher-ranked Talent would''ve easily come out ahead.
Adam had no intention of fighting fair.
"I command you to stop defending yourself!" he decreed. The whiplash from his Order was instantaneous. Adam''s throat filled up with blood, as if an invisible hand was tightening its grips on his insides. It was similar to what Aspreay had suffered when fighting Valente.
Eric tensed, focused on defending himself from the Order. ''A Lord''s Orders are no joke,'' the Gryphon admitted to himself ¨C albeit reluctantly. ''But I''ll be fine if I know they''re coming. My Canvas should be clean enough to resist them, given our difference in Ranks. And even if I stain my Canvas to reconstruct my Genius Realm...who cares? Once it''s built, I''ll be protected from his Realm anyway.''
Adam heard the Hangman''s thoughts. It didn''t change any of his plans. Even if Eric could currently resist the Orders, they still inflicted some degree of injury upon him. In contrast, once the Genius Realm finished constructing its new shape, Orders wouldn''t affect him at all.
The only chance of victory Adam had was an unceasing, unending assault, utilizing the three Pillars of his Lord Talent to their utmost effectiveness.
With the Realm''s First Pillar, he was constantly healing and resurrecting from Eric''s superhuman punches. With the Realm''s Second Pillar, he was predicting and dodging most of Eric''s moves, reducing the amount of times he needed to heal. And with the Realm''s Third Pillar, he issued whatever commands would hinder or damage the Hangman, bridging the inherent gulf in their power.
"Don''t attack me!"
"Look away!"
"Punch yourself!"
"Stop!"
If not for those wasted three seconds, and if not for Adam''s careful maneuvering, the Hangman would have won with room to spare. As things were now, it was anyone''s guess as to who would come out on top.
Vasco said as much several days earlier when Adam asked him about his plan. "If your plan goes perfectly...it''ll still be a coin toss," the man had told him, with forthright honesty. "Fifty-fifty scenario. Whoever gets luckier will reign victorious."
And as it so turned out, the one blessed by the goddess of luck on that fated day...
...was Eric, the Gryphon.
The Hangman''s Genius Realm abruptly finished its reconstruction. A manic grin swept across his features as he pushed Adam to the ground, causing the Painter''s back to smash against a ruined house''s half-broken pillar, eliciting a wince of pain.
"I told you, Adam!" Eric''s tone swelled with a note of vicious triumph. "You should know better than to try to stand on my level. Unlucky bastard. Fate, talent, whatever ¨C you''re never going to measure up!"
"Yeah," Adam confessed, through a heavy cough that sprayed his own blood. "I know you''re more talented than me. You always have been."
The Gryphon''s grin faded ever so slightly before reforming wider than ever, the wings on his feet trembling with excitement. As if that admission was the true victory he''d been aiming for.
''I''ve been waiting for you to say that.'' The Hangman''s Rain of Brushes materialized behind him. ''No reason to prolong this now, Adam. Time for¡ª''
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Suddenly, Adam used his Stained Vines to propel himself forward, throwing his body at the Hangman. That much didn''t surprise the Hangman. Eric had expected some futile, last-ditch attempt at survival.
He was surprised, though, when the Painter''s leg passed directly through his Genius Realm.
"What?" Although Eric effortlessly dodged the kick, his voice was muttering in disbelief. "My Realm should keep people from entering it. How¡ª"
You''re too easily distracted. "Earth: appear where I point!" Adam commanded. Once more the earth shot upward, and it went through the Genius Realm as well ¨C however slightly. A single strip of dirt, impossibly placed at an angle to touch Adam''s foot after his misplaced kick had penetrated the barrier.
''Huh?'' Eric thought. ''What are you¡ª''
Adam dismissed his Lord Realm.
He allowed himself a moment to grin at the Hangman''s astonishment before shouting out. "I COMMAND YOU¡ªBREAK YOUR GENIUS REALM!"
At once, Eric''s Genius Realm shattered. He was so shocked that he''d been left with no chance to respond.
No, that wasn''t quite right. Even if he had tried to resist Adam''s Royal Order, this one was far more powerful than before. Aspreay had explained this scenario back when Adam had attempted to use his Shadow Realm against Valente, the Dark Captain.
"It''s the same principle as to why the Emperor cannot so easily pinpoint your location," Aspreay had mentioned. "The power of your Realm is a simple calculation of its size and your overall strength. At present, it is too weak to function inside the Emperor''s Realm."
"Isn''t the Shadow Realm really small, though?" Valente had remarked. "It only applies if he can step on my shadow."
"Weren''t you listening, white-haired imbecile?" Aspreay replied, with annoyance. "It only looks small. It''s still derived from the Realm he established in Penumbria. Considering the difference in Rank between him and the Emperor, building a functional Realm inside the Emperor''s Realm would require much more finesse."
Valente happily nodded along. "Yes, I''ve got it, I see! You''re saying that if Adam wanted to fight me with his Lordly Realm, he''d need to first undo the one in Penumbria?"
"That''s exactly it. If he were to undo his Realm there...he could recreate it here. Make it smaller."
Aspreay tightened his grip on Adam''s shoulder. "Instead of a gigantic Imperial city, if he focused everything onto a narrow street, then perhaps he would have a chance.
This time was the opposite. Adam had dismissed his Realm entirely. It didn''t exist around Penumbria, or even around the two of them. The only Realm he used at all was...
"A...a Shadow Real¡ª" Eric started to mutter, then coughed up blood, red spattering onto the front of his shirt. "How? When?"
"It''s like I said it before: you''re a genius, Eric," Adam frankly stated. "Much more so than me. I wish I could have unlocked some sort of hidden power during our fight, maybe beaten you with my own Genius Realm. Unfortunately, I''m no genius, really. Never have been."
His gaze sharpened. "Still...talent doesn''t determine where you place in a race, you know? Just the starting line."
The Hangman inched forward, his knees threatening to buckle under the Shadow Realm''s pressure. "What are you even yapping about?"
"You certainly were impressive," Adam said, clapping sarcastically. "Figuring out how to navigate a Realm Clash, despite having had zero prior instruction...that was the work of a genius, alright. However, there''s some things you need an instructor for."
Images of Eric''s college days flashed through Adam''s mind. Eric ignoring his classes. Eric procrastinating on work. Eric laughing at Adam as the Painter studied for hours.
"Your laziness cost you, in the end."
Vasco had been quite clear about Realm Laws. Once a Realm was reconstructed, its laws would also have to be reinstituted one at a time. Eric''s Genius Realm could only allow for very simple rules, yet even those needed to be declared once again.
After reconstructing his Genius Realm, Eric hadn''t yet been able to create a Law that prevented anything outside it from bypassing his barrier. During that brief moment in time, Adam used his Realm to create a patch of land directly below the Hangman ¨C right where his shadow was being cast.
Finally, Adam dismissed the rest of his Lord Realm, called upon his Shadow Realm...and stepped on Eric''s shadow.
With his Realm now refined into such a small space, their difference in Rank meant nothing. Eric''s body had to listen to Adam''s Orders.
"I don''t know what bullshit you just did, but so...so what?" Eric managed, through heavy breaths. "Even if you destroyed my Realm, I also destroyed yours! Our Canvases are far too stained, we can''t call them again. And I''m still a Hangman ¨C without Realms, you can''t hang with me when it comes to pure strength!"
A spiteful smirk possessed the Gryphon. "Not to mention," he spat, "that you won''t be able to reconstruct your Realm for days! You just slaughtered your own fucking people and couldn''t even manage to kill me!"
Adam didn''t fall for Eric''s taunting. He merely cracked his neck and drew a deep breath. "Don''t get it wrong, Eric. I could''ve killed you just now with my Realm. But you stole the Grandmaster''s Corpse''s Talent, and I need you alive in order to take it back. The thing is...destroying your Realm was just Round 1."
Stained Ink whirled around his body. He could also see his men armed with crossbows hiding in the ruins, waiting for their signal. "Round 2 starts now."
And as for Penumbria...they''re safer than you''d know.
¨C
Emperor Ciro considered the chessboard ahead of him with a smirk and a thoughtful silence. He tapped his lips rhythmically, inviting Nayt to ask questions of him. Unsurprisingly, though still upsettingly, the Elven Hangman didn''t say a word.
Well, that was to be expected. Even getting him to drive their carriage had necessitated an offering of extra wages; the man simply wouldn''t do much of anything for free. But the blade of curiosity was sharper than the shield of laziness, and all Ciro needed was a little thrust to get the elf talking.
"It seems the Painter has destroyed the Gryphon''s Genius Realm," Ciro noted. "Curious, isn''t it?"
Nayt didn''t shift his gaze away from the carriage''s window, but the sudden stiffness in his posture betrayed his interest. "How do you know?"
"I am Emperor," Ciro knowingly replied.
The elf frowned at that, although his irritation was of no fault but his own. In truth, Ciro wasn''t playing at riddles, and had rather plainly told Nayt the truth. If he doesn''t understand the implication of what I''m suggesting, then that''s his failing.
Nayt narrowed his eyes. "And what do you know?"
"Valente''s assault on the right wing is slow, but his progress is steady. Ernanda''s assault on the left wing is much faster, albeit more costly ¨C the rebels have no counter for a Hangman''s Talent, after all. The Little Painter himself...well, that is the fun part."
Ciro''s eyes sparkled with excitement. "He undid the Realm around Penumbria in order to duel the Gryphon, likely expecting to be able to reform the barrier before monsters took over the city."
The elf nodded slowly. "Would it be even possible to reform the barrier from that far away?"
"It would," Ciro acknowledged. "A Lord''s range isn''t without limit, but creating a Realm based on size rather than precision makes the task easier. That he already held Penumbria''s Walls for many months before this would also help expedite his Realm''s Reconstruction."
It was simply so quaint to witness the Painter''s challenge. A clever, risky plan that almost worked ¨C how could Ciro not allow himself a smirk or two? "He''s not an experienced Lord, however, and even an experienced one would stain their Canvas far too much with even a simple reconstruction. Only a freakish anomaly such as Aspreay could hope to realistically accomplish that."
Getting a read on Nayt''s thoughts was quite hard. No matter what happened, the man always wore the same dispassionate, tired look, and had a penchant for thinking in elvish. This time, though, the Hangman kindly made his opinions quite clear. "How long would it take for the Pretender''s Canvas to clear up?"
"A day if he sustains no further injuries." Ciro shrugged. "But that is unlikely. Even if he were to beat our Gryphon, his Canvas would end up far more stained than it currently is right now. Penumbria would be without a Realm''s Walls for one week at the very least."
Nayt muttered what was presumably an elven curse. "And how long can Penumbria hold?"
"Normally I''d say that the city''s physical, stone walls would protect it for about two weeks ¨C with some light casualties. While a mass of Stained Creatures could overrun the place, they are hardly a thinking sort. It would take some time until they realized that Penumbria has become a safe hunting ground for them."
The Emperor was pleased to see that his phrasing hadn''t escaped Nayt. "Normally?" the elf repeated, in a sharp voice. "What of now?"
"There are two differences from the scenario I presented. The first is my dear nephew ¨C the Painter plans to use his Talent of Archery in combination with his Puppet arm to keep the city as safe as possible. If Tenver stands upon a high enough tower, he will have vision and opportunity to keep the beasts away with arrows as mighty as cannonballs. With his help, why, Penumbria might survive almost a month before it is fully overrun!"
"And the second difference?" Nayt insisted. "What is it?"
The Emperor chose to respond not with words, but with actions. With a flourish, he leapt to his feet and opened the carriage door, gesturing to the city outside.
This had been their destination all along. It was the reason that Ciro insisted on using Nayt''s controlled beasts in order to speed up their carriage.
Before them stood the City of Penumbria.
"I am the second difference," said the Emperor, with a barely-contained sneer. He climbed atop their carriage and raised his arms as if to conduct an orchestra, laughing all the while.
Is this miserable city the one where so many insufferable traitors hail from? To hell with it. The Eastern Frontier isn''t worth the trouble.
Without further thought for the thousands he was about to kill, he called upon his Talents. One used his closed eyes to sense the Stained Creatures nearby...and the other used his open hands to twirl the space around them, corralling them towards the city.
"Penumbria is dead ¨C although it doesn''t yet know that," the Emperor declared. "Once it falls, the rebels'' fight at the Santuario das Chamas will mean absolutely nothing. All Valente and the Gryphon need to do is wait a few more minutes, though they would win even without my interference."
He laughed louder and faster as he located a large number of Stained Creatures just a little south of the city. Perfect! We can raze it to the ground in a matter of hours, then. "Nayt, do you play the lute?"
There was a pause. "A little."
"Play me a song!" Ciro demanded. His laughter echoed as his hand gestures raced ever faster, changing the realities of the faraway Stained Creatures. "Make it something fitting as I doom this miserable place and rid the Empire of¡ª"
Had the Emperor''s reflexes been any slower, he would have been killed.
As it was, he only just managed to leap away from the carriage''s roof, then roll onto the ground as a massive arrow ¨C nearly as tall as a grown man ¨C fell upon it.
The carriage itself was less fortunate. It erupted into a cataclysmic explosion, the force of which seemed almost unnatural and felt downright malevolent. Splinters of wood transformed into ethereal shards, glistening with an otherworldly light as they flew in all directions. The ground bucked and heaved as if struck by a quake, dirt and grass scattering wildly, and the earth itself trembled, recoiling from the sheer magnitude of the impact.
There were four arrows in total, each more vicious than the last. Ciro evaded the first three with increasing desperation, each near miss a brush with death. The fourth arrow was a harbinger of doom, and only by invoking his dark Talent did the Emperor narrowly escape its lethal trajectory.
In the aftermath, Ciro took stock of the carnage. The landscape was scarred and mutilated, crater upon crater marking the arrows'' deathly impacts. His carriage was a shattered ruin, and the beast that had once been its burden was now a distant, panicked silhouette. A choking cloud of dust loomed overhead, casting a pall over the sun''s feeble light.
"Nayt, are you alive?" Ciro nonchalantly asked. "Where are you? And do you know who dared to attack¡ªah!"
The Emperor''s question was answered not by his Hangman, but by his own eyes. In fact, only his eyes could have answered it.
Too far for even a Hangman to see with the naked eye...just barely far enough for the Emperor of the World himself to make out in the distance...
He was there.
Atop the highest rooftop of the highest tower in Penumbria, watching over the surrounding land like a guardian deity, a lone figure stood with the setting sun behind his back, and the fate of thousands before his watchful gaze.
Even from this distance, Ciro could make out the faint outline of a monstrously large crossbow attached to an even more inhuman arm.
He stood far enough away that he couldn''t have reasonably thought anyone would be able to listen to his words. No one aside the Emperor ¨C and mayhap Valente ¨C could''ve heard him if he were to say anything. Yet his lips moved with intent, and his burning gaze fixated on Ciro, peering far beyond what his untalented eyes should have been capable of seeing.
"Welcome to our city, dear uncle," Tenver challenged.
Chapter 49
Before his Lord Realm shattered, Adam used its last remnants to accelerate his thinking, considering all the possible ways he might be able to defeat the Hangman.
He could...
1. Capture Eric''s soul and end the fight immediately. Their difference in Rank meant nothing to the Talent of Painting.
2. Awaken to some mysterious power, like the Genius Realm, thereby shifting the balance of power.
3. Hope that Tenver, Solara, or even Vasco finished up on their end and arrived as surprise reinforcements.
4. Spend more Orbs to increase his own Rank even further.
5. Defeat Eric in a no holds-barred fistfight while the Hangman was still weakened from their Realm Clash.
Option #1 wasn''t something Adam wanted to bet on. He hadn''t been able to paint Eric''s soul earlier aboard the ship, and there was little reason to presume that things would be different this time.
Option #2 simply wasn''t going to happen. Adam had never been one of those prodigal geniuses that achieved results when applying the slightest bit of effort. He wasn''t about to risk his life ¨C risk the entire war ¨C on an unrealistic hope outside of his control.
Option #3 was just as unreliable, if not worse. Adam could see the distant smoke of battle burning outside the city. Tenver, Solara, and Vasco were clearly still fighting. And even if they finished soon, they''d need hours to find him, let alone reach him. The Stained Beasts ambling around the city would slow their movement to a crawl.
Option #4 wasn''t possible either. He simply didn''t possess enough Orbs to match a Hangman like Eric. The numbers didn''t add up.
That just left...
1.
Capture Eric''s soul and end the fight immediately. Their difference in Rank meant nothing to the Talent of Painting. Low chance of succeeding, too risky.
2.
Awaken to some mysterious power, like the Genius Realm, thereby shifting the balance of power. Not a genius, can''t do it.
3.
Hope that Tenver, Solara, or even Vasco finished up on their end and arrived as surprise reinforcements. They''re all accounted for and too far away.
4.
Spend more Orbs to increase his own Rank even further. Not enough Orbs.
5. Defeat Eric in a no holds-barred fistfight while the Hangman was still weakened from their Realm Clash.
...ONE OPTION!
Adam launched himself at the Hangman, knowing and trusting that his crossbowmen would cover him. While he was well-aware of the risk involved, there would be no better time to strike than now. Eric should be busy recovering from their Clash ¨C having stained his Canvas from overuse.
Although Adam wasn''t clear on the specifics of Soul Canvases, he understood the general concept. The Ghost of Waters had spoken of it when entering his dream, and Eric had thought of it frequently during their earlier exchange. When a person overused their Talents, their Canvas became stained, and only proper rest could cleanse it.
There was much for the Lord of Penumbria to learn still, but he was certain of this much: Eric had exhausted himself with his Reconstruction and the subsequent shattering of his Realm. Out of the two painters here, the Gryphon was undoubtedly the one more affected by their Clash. Despite his higher Rank, he would be left vulnerable by¨C
"What is this amateur hour shit?!" Eric shouted. He dodged four crossbow bolts, grabbing two midair, and allowing the rest to bounce off his skin as if he were made of stone. "Arrows? Against ME?! I''M STILL A HANGMAN!"
He should have been left vulnerable.
Adam bit his lip. This wasn''t the time to hesitate. He called upon his Stained Talent, turning blood to ink and pumping it through his veins at incredible speeds to increase his strength. Then, after strengthening himself as much as he could...Adam stepped inside Eric''s range.
The ensuing clash was not one of Realms, but one of fists, violence, and bitterness. Both men traded punches again and again, heedless of the blood and bruising starting to adorn their features. The Painter refused to give an inch, treating Eric as a canvas upon which to paint red, his mind sharpened to a razor focus.
Unfortunately, Adam''s body couldn''t keep up with his resolve. Despite the Ink circulating throughout his veins, his strikes felt weaker than before ¨C and without Noble Guard, he couldn''t easily recover from the injuries inflicted by Eric''s blows. Would he even still be alive if not for his Talent reinforcing his body?
No matter. The Hangman''s skin may have been tough as stone, but even stone weathered under the fury of a storm.
I''m hurting him, Adam realized, noticing the darkness contained in the Hangman''s grimace. I''m pushing him back. As long as I can keep this going¨C
"LOOK OUT, MY LORD!"
The one responsible for that shout was Captain Diego, the leader of Adam''s honor guard.
He was also the one responsible for keeping Adam from being killed that very moment.
Out of a mixture of reflex, trust, and a sudden feeling of dread, the Lord of Penumbria abruptly halted his clash of fists and Ink, instantly flinging himself to the ground as if evading an explosion.
And it might as well have been one, for the fiery lethality it wrought.
Eric''s winged boots had moved upward, now sprouting from his back ¨C and when his wings fluttered, men died. The deadly gust of wind couldn''t have lasted for longer than a few seconds, yet the destruction it wrought was reminiscent of an actual hurricane. Parts of the already-destroyed city ruins were pulled out of the ground, pillars now leaning further sideways, and some buildings had been shattered entirely.
Adam didn''t need to turn back to hear the effects the attack had on his men. He could hear the anguished cry of a few...and the harrowing silence of the others.
He owed it to them to look at the results all the same.
With a grimace, Adam forced himself to turn.
The battlefield had transformed into a grotesque tableau of carnage and suffering. Seven of his twelve men lay dead, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the uncaring sky. The survivors were no better off, their bodies twisted in agony, blood pooling beneath them.
Among them was young Captain Diego, his leg cruelly severed, writhing in pain as he desperately tried to stem the tide of his lifeblood. Despite the pain etched across his face, Diego''s resolve remained unbroken such that he could still yell, "MY LORD! W¨CWORRY NOT ABOUT US¨CFOCUS ON THE GRYPHON!"
The young captain''s face was pale, his voice stuttered, his leg lost ¨C and his honor intact.
Adam whirled back around to face the Hangman once more. He struggled to avoid thinking of how many men had just died because of him. Much as he wanted to grieve them right here and now...grief was an indulgence afforded only to the victorious. He needed to win today so he could carry his guilt into tomorrow.
"What''s wrong, Adam?" Eric''s sneer was as ugly as his soul. " Didn''t think I had a Hangman Talent too? I''m the fucking Gryphon, man!"
Despite his bravado, the Hangman was positioned a safe distance from the Painter. He was breathing heavily, though he maintained a cocky smirk. "Fucking coward. Twelve on one and..."
Eric laughed in a transparent attempt to catch his breath. "...And you still can''t beat me."
Adam''s emotions erupted in unison. Vengeance, resentment, hatred ¨C all wanted to seize control of his limbs and wreak savagery upon the Hangman.
His sense of duty won out.
Anger, regrets, guilt ¨C those could wait. He couldn''t afford to let those rule him right now.
No, even more than that. If he wanted the luxury of giving those feelings the room they deserved to breathe...
Then the Gryphon flying before him needed to have its wings clipped.
Adam''s mind locked in, bringing up his list of options. He altered them accordingly based on the current state of the battlefield.
1.
Capture Eric''s soul and end the fight immediately. Their difference in Rank meant nothing to the Talent of Painting. Low chance of succeeding, too risky.
2.
Awaken to some mysterious power, like the Genius Realm, thereby shifting the balance of power. Not a genius, can''t do it.
3.
Hope that Tenver, Solara, or even Vasco finished up on their end and arrived as surprise reinforcements. They''re all accounted for and too far away.
4.
Spend more Orbs to increase his own Rank even further. Not enough Orbs.
5.
Defeat Eric in a no holds-barred fistfight while the Hangman was still weakened from their Realm Clash. Eric''s too strong to defeat in a fistfight, even weakened.
None of those possibilities seemed like what he would consider a good idea. Even so, Adam still needed one of them to work. He had to pick the best option out of the lot, despite the risks that came with it.
Out of those, which was the best ¨C or rather, the least bad ¨C idea?
He grit his teeth. Yeah...it was always going to come down to this, wasn''t it, Eric?
1.
Capture Eric''s soul and end the fight immediately. Their difference in Rank meant nothing to the Talent of Painting. Low chance of succeeding, too risky...
STILL THE BEST OPTION!
"I''m not here to beat you ¨C I''M HERE TO TAKE YOUR FUCKING SOUL, ERIIIIIIIC!"
--
The shattered terrain sang in silence. On the outskirts of Penumbria, a duel between two members of royalty neared its second round. Only the sound of ravens and crows could be heard ushering in the violent family quarrel about to take place.
From inside the city itself, atop the highest tower, and armed with a monstrously large crossbow attached to his mechanical arm...was Tenver, the Puppet Prince. ''I will not let you set foot within our city, uncle,'' he thought. ''Nor will I allow your Stained Creatures to harm even a single person. Try me.''
From outside the city, standing unharmed amidst the destruction his nephew had caused, and caught between amusement and downright excitement...was Ciro, the Emperor of the World. ''Ah, Nephew!'' he thought. ''So today is finally the day, is it? I hope you''ve prepared for it.''
The two men of royal blood had always known, on some level, that they would need to cross swords like this one day. Uncle and nephew by blood, closer to brothers in age, this clash had been fated by their birth.
It was a tale of tragedy penned by two Emperors. First to blame was Gregorio ¨C father of Tenver. He had a talent for politics, yet found himself lacking in both ambition and natural talent.
Second to blame was Gomez ¨C father to Ciro and Gregorio. He was a cold, quiet man who spoke with his advisors more than to his own children. And unlike Gregorio, he was damn talented. It was by his hand that the Empire finished its expansion across the known world and solidified its position, and by his hand that it stayed strong for decades to come.
A man of that caliber would surely not have been deaf to the courtly whispers that followed the birth of his grandchild.
"Did you hear? Prince Tenver has little in the way of compatibility with the Lord Talent."
"Truly? Then what shall befall the Empire?"
"It will stand just fine. Gomez''s Lord Talent will pass down to Gregorio, and from there it will pass down to Tenver. Even if the Talent regresses a few Ranks, it should keep our lands safe nonetheless."
"True...but the expansion Gomez launched will end then, no? What of the search for lands beyond the sea?"
"Well, what do you want me to say? Prince Tenver is Gregorio''s only heir, and Gregorio is Gomez''s only heir. It''s a straight line to our future, I fear. Such is our fate."
But what was fate to someone like Gomez? He who commanded the lives and deaths of the entire known world?
To him, fate was merely the whims of gods that existed beneath him ¨C if that.
Surely he couldn''t be blamed for having second thoughts about the Empire''s future. Or that he thought it better to intervene rather than let it rust away in mediocre hands.
Why else would he have chosen to sire another heir? Surely he must have known that his failed son would have spawned another failure into the world, and sought to correct that mistake.
Every whisper about the matter appeared to think much the same.
"Prince Ciro''s potential is immeasurable ¨C far greater than Gomez himself!"
"Ah...if only he were our heir instead...imagine the glory days ahead of us!"
"Shhh! Did you hear what Gregorio did to the last man who suggested that?"
"Bah, to hell with him! If our Empire wishes to prosper, to survive the Rot..."
Ciro had always surmised that his father''s logic was in line with the general sentiment regarding his birth. Pitifully, Gomez had passed away before Ciro had grown old enough to understand such courtly matters. Their last conversation had been a painfully mundane one about toy wooden swords.
Conversely, Tenver had likely been prepared for the future by Gregorio, and what he lacked in Talent he made up for in acumen. He must have expected this day to come as well ¨C mayhap after his father''s natural death. But defying expectations is the way of conquerors, and thus Ciro had felled Gregorio in battle, laying the blame squarely on the Puppets.
''Then you ran, Nephew,'' Ciro thought, dodging another giant arrow nearly as tall as himself. ''And I thought this fated duel of ours would never happen. But as it turns out...''
The Emperor of the World''s superhuman eyes locked onto the Puppet Prince''s deathly stare, dozens of miles away. ''...YOU DECIDED TO INDULGE ME AFTER ALL!''
Because both men had always expected this day would come, neither had held anything back in researching the other''s powers.
Tenver''s limits had been easy enough to uncover. His Talent of Archery was forced upon him the day of the Arrow Eclipse, when he nearly died. Although, no, that wasn''t quite accurate. Tenver had died that day ¨C his return now only possible thanks to Puppetcraft.
''And it''s exactly those Puppets that are the problem,'' Ciro thought, with a measure of annoyance. A godslaying arrow clashed with the ground and detonated on impact, sending fragments of both itself and the fractured terrain in all directions. The fragments moved at such high speeds that even Ciro could feel the mildest of scratches as they grazed his skin. ''Their Dragonbirthed technology is an abomination that cannot be allowed to exist in this world.''
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Talents cannot harm Talents of a higher Rank. That is an immutable rule of the Painted World.
However, how many degrees of separation were needed for a Talent to affect something else with the capacity to hurt Talented individuals? Such as ¨C for example ¨C explosive arrows wielded by a man with the Talent of Archery and an immensely strong Puppet arm?
From what Ciro had learned, more than one degree of separation was required. Tenver''s arrows by themselves should not have been able to kill him. But the Puppet Arrows were rigged to detonate on impact, damaging their surroundings and turning the very world itself into his target''s natural predator.
''Such troublesome technology should not exist, Nephew ¨C surely even you can understand that. Talent rules above all else. Our grasp on this land would collapse elsewise.''
Ciro landed elegantly on a shattered area of the terrain, where the dirt had been split open into two hills that protruded upwards. "But you don''t know much about my Talent, do you, Nephew?" The Emperor smoked. "You must be thinking that I am mortal here, for I would not dare undo the Realm around the Capital for the sake of defeating an insignificant failure like yourself. In that sense, you are correct. However..."
He contemplated his next move. There might have been a faster, more elegant way of dealing with Tenver...
But this simply felt more fitting.
''You will die not knowing how outmatched you were. Forever, in the hollow void beyond death, you will gaze upon my reflection in the water and ponder why your claws could not reach me.''
Ciro licked his lips and whispered softly, "I order you to kill yours¨C"
The sudden detonation of a missed arrow stopped his order short. The Emperor of the World cursed with mild dissatisfaction as he dodged. ''Seems as though the goddess of luck offered you this last blessing as an apology for your birth.'' Although one lucky coincidence was an ill restitution for the uselessness of his talents.
Once more, Ciro landed on mutated earth that shot upwards, gracefully balancing himself against the sharp quasi-stalagmites attempting to pierce the heavens. "I order you to kill y¨C"
And once more, the land exploded around him. Irritation colored Ciro''s face as he avoided the blast, his eyes narrowed in discontent, but he didn''t allow the emotion to overwhelm his judgment. This time, the Emperor of the World didn''t wait for his feet to touch the ground before saying, "I order you to¨C"
Another explosion interrupted him.
"I order¨C"
Yet another.
"I or¨C"
This time it was an arrow.
"I¨C"
Another explosion.
The crows and ravens surrounding the battlefield watched over their fierce duel. As if mocking him, they cried out in unison.
''Foolish animals.'' Cito barely restrained a grimace. ''You want bodies to feast on, don''t you? Just wait a little. Your wishes shall be fulfilled soon enough.''
It was odd for such a large flock of birds to be gathered in the Eastern side of the Empire, but mayhap his corralling of the Stained Monsters was to blame. ''How long until they reach the city? Four more minutes, at most?''
It was a comforting thought. Regardless, Ciro had to admit that while his Order being interrupted once could have been attributed to mere coincidence, three times made for a purposeful pattern. But if that were true, it meant...
''I can''t believe you''ve gone this far, Nephew.'' The thought came to Ciro with a mixture of disgust and hatred ¨C yet what surfaced to his expression was an amused smirk, touched with just a hint of admiration. ''Good. It is gratifying that you can put up this much of a fight. Even a failure of the royal line still shares the same blood as I ¨C you need to be at least this much of an anomaly.''
The Emperor, perhaps for the first time in his life, felt tempted to know what strange thoughts were wandering inside Tenver''s head. And the Emperor of the World was entitled to access wherever he wanted.
He reached inside the Puppet Prince''s mind¨C
''You can read my thoughts, can''t you Uncle?'' Tenver''s inner voice was jovial, noble ¨C and most of all, irreverent. ''I already know your secret.''
''It defies belief, but...'' The Emperor inserted his thoughts into Tenver''s head, just as he had once done to Adam the Painter. Not once had he ever wished to speak to his Nephew, but now, at the very end, he found it necessary. ''...are you truly aware of it?''
''Look inside my own thoughts. You will know for sure, Uncle.''
Ciro greedily rifled through his nephew''s thoughts, flipping the pages of his memories like old books that he cared little if he ended up hurting. Tenver did not hide anything from him; rather, the Puppet Prince invited him into his mind palace with a flourish, appearing elegantly dressed and gesturing at the correct door. After what felt like hours ¨C yet cannot have been longer than a second in reality ¨C Ciro finally found the memory he wanted.
It was the memory of Tenver''s conversation with a raven.
"I have concluded my research into Aspreay''s duel against Valente," said Valeria, through a raven''s mouth. "Curious findings indeed. This is the first time that the Capital city has been damaged to this degree."
Tenver and Adam exchanged a look. "Aye, we knew this," the Puppet Prince told her. "The first time any danger has come to the Capital in hundreds of years."
"That''s not quite true." Even though she spoke through faraway ravens, Tenver knew the Detective had a smirk on her face right now. "There was a brief window of a few minutes when Stained Creatures attempted to attack the Capital many years ago, but the Hangmen repelled all their attacks."
"When?" Adam asked, puzzled. "When Tenver''s father...died, and his Lord Talent changed owners? That shouldn''t have created an opening of any sort. The Realm''s Walls should have stayed formed ¨C just like when I took Aspreay''s soul."
"It wasn''t an automatic dismissal," the Detective claimed. "Ciro broke off the Realm for one specific reason: to Reconstruct it completely. With new Laws, of course, but remember that he was simply much more capable than ¨C forgive me for saying so ¨C his late brother."
Her raven''s black, beady eyes shifted between Adam and Tenver. "There are records of Ciro nearly emptying the Imperial Treasury to achieve his maximum 1st Rank Talent soon after ascending to the throne. And do you know what he did next with his newfound power?"
Adam snapped his fingers, cluing in to the possibility faster than his knight. At first he appeared pleased with himself, then furious. "No shot he actually did that," he muttered. "No goddamn shot. You mean he...?"
The Raven nodded in response. "Aye, my lord. Emperor Ciro''s Realm¨C"
Another arrow forced the Emperor to snap back to reality, brilliantly dodging Tenver''s renewed assault.
''Your Realm,'' Tenver declared to his uncle, ''extends far beyond the Capital, doesn''t it? YOUR REALM ENCOMPASSES THE ENTIRE CONTINENT ¨C THE WHOLE OF THE EMPIRE!''
For a fleeting moment, pale shock froze Ciro''s body. Then, a gentle, dignified smile moved him forward. ''So you know, Nephew. It seems like I can allow neither you nor the other betrayers to escape alive after all.''
''The same to you, Uncle.''
Ciro withdrew from Tenver''s mind, not wanting the Puppet Prince to hear his next thoughts. There was quite a lot to ruminate over.
This revelation...changed much.
''I confirmed it from his memories,'' the Emperor mused. ''The rebels have surmised most of my limitations.''
Their guess was correct. Ciro''s Realm did indeed encompass the entire known world.
The Emperor of the World had reconstructed it using the Capital as a basis, then expanded his Realm outward until it''d covered the entirety of his domain.
However..it was not equally strong across all of his domain. Ciro''s control over his Realm weakened the further out he was from the Capital.
He was the first man in history to expand a Realm this far. Unfortunately, a peerless genius had few masters to teach him how to further refine his technique. As far as Ciro knew, there was little way to prevent this weakening from happening. Hells, mayhap every Realm suffered from the very same flaw ¨C they were simply not large enough for it to become noticeable.
And that was not the only oddity he''d found. Over the years, Ciro had learned much through experimentation and trial and error.
For one, the Second Pillar of Realms, the Noble Guard, became slower and less effective outside the capital. His immortality was likely still guaranteed, though he''d likely stay dead for several moments instead of one fraction of a second before returning to life. For obvious reasons, this was an untested theory.
Meanwhile, the First and Third Pillars appeared to work with his physical location in mind. Even if Ciro was far away from the origin point of his Realm, so long as he was physically close to his targets, he could still use the First Pillar, the Royal Order, to force them to obey him. He could also use the Third Pillar, Divine Knowledge, to read their minds as he''d just done to Tenver.
''In that case...'' The Emperor called upon Noble Guard to restore the few scratches that Tenver''s exploding arrows had done to his skin, as well as cleansing the more aggravating dirt stains on his immaculate white clothing. ''No reason to hide this from you then, Nephew. But I must ask ¨C if you know I am immortal, what is your grand plan?''
That was another matter bothering him. Even if Tenver knew the truth of the Emperor''s Realm, how had he known precisely when to attack in order to interrupt Ciro''s Royal Orders?
The Puppet Prince laughed inside his mind. ''Dear Uncle, I don''t have to kill you permanently. I just have to slow you down until Adam can win his fight.''
''How would that change anything?'' Ciro was genuinely curious. ''Even if the impossible were to bless you, and the Painter were to defeat the Gryphon...what of it? His people are still under siege, and nothing would stop me from personally killing him right after.''
''I don''t have the slightest idea,'' Tenver admitted.
Ciro blinked in disbelief. ''I''m sorry?''
''Adam and Valeria predicted you would send a detachment straight to Penumbria ¨C something small that wouldn''t cost too many Orbs. And though you could have sent a Hangman, there was also the chance that you''d kept someone with the Talent of a Lord in hidden reserve, or that you would merely come here yourself. They were¨C''
The Emperor didn''t need to wait for his Nephew to finish. ''They were afraid that I would discover their plans by reading your thoughts. Thus, they didn''t tell you their plans at all, leaving you to defend Penumbria with a protective veil of ignorance. That much makes sense.''
Ciro gaped at the distant city in disbelief. ''But how can you entrust your life to an uncertain plan, knowing nothing of what the future holds?''
''Because I know Adam,'' Tenver replied. ''And that...that is enough for me.''
''Ridiculous.'' The Emperor shook his head sadly. ''Nevertheless, if this is the stage you have chosen, Nephew, then let us dance! Will your feeble arrows be able to reach me? Will you be able to keep me dead for a few minutes ¨C or will my Talent keep me out of your reach, as fate demanded?''
This, Ciro thought, was downright perfect. He didn''t think the rebels would actually benefit from keeping him busy for just slightly longer, but if Tenver truly believed so...then that was just as good, wasn''t it? How fitting, that the Puppet and his rebels'' cause would fall in an impossible fight! It was poetic, it was natural, it was¨C
"Rather unfair, don''t you think?" asked a new voice.
Ciro spun around in a hurry, unease gripping his heart.
Suddenly, the gnawing dread that had been chipping away at his mental walls crystalized into a tangible, horrible reality. The multiplying ravens had grown so plentiful that they cast a long shadow over the land, smothering its shattered landscape with an ominous sea of black.
And every single one of them was staring directly at him.
One raven in particular, larger and quicker than the rest, settled on a shattered rock before him. It rose its head and locked its red-eyed gaze with his.
"Lacking in sportsmanship, aren''t you?" the Raven criticized. "Challenging someone to a fight that you cannot lose."
''It speaks?'' Ciro paused. ''Didn''t this happen in Tenver''s memory too? What is ¨C who is behind this?'' He raced through the library of Tenver''s memories, trying to find the answer.
The murder of crows and unkindness of ravens did not allow him the luxury of time. "After all...you made sure that one of Tenver''s first arrows missed by using your other Talent, didn''t you?"
SILENCE!
Ciro glared at his own open palm, and then at the small, compressed carnage where a bird had once been. With heavy breaths, he felt mild shock run through him. His own body had moved without thinking, something close to a raw survival instinct spurring him to collapse the reality around the bird in an attempt to silence it.
Did, did Tenver see it? No, even if he did, he can''t have figured out what I¨C
Another bird spoke up. "I was already fairly certain from Lord Adam''s retelling," the Second Raven continued. "But observing your dance to Tenver''s tune has made me quite sure."
From behind him, another raven cackled eerily. "Your Talent," said the Third. "You tried keeping it hidden, even as a child, didn''t yo¨C"
STOP! Ciro extended his arm once again, desperately trying to hide the truth in death and blood. Nothing good will come out of people knowing this¨Cstop! DON''T SAY ANOTHER WORD! WHERE ARE YOU?!
But despite his screams, he could not locate the source of the voice.
Neither could he stop the eerie cackling of the Fourth Raven behind him.
This one did more than just laugh. It bowed, as if mocking him, crossing a single wing over its chest and lowering its head as the swarm of crows openly laughed. Then, when its false imitation of respect had ceased, the raven stood up with a flourish, using that same wing to point at him like its feathers were a sharp-edged blade.
"Your Talent, dear Emperor, is GRAVITY, IS IT NOT?" Valeria accused.
Chapter 50
What shocked Ciro most of all wasn''t merely their grasp of his Talent. Others had also learned of it at various points in time ¨C only for them to be disposed of shortly thereafter. While he''d put effort into keeping his Talent a secret, its usage always came with a risk of discovery. It wasn''t unreasonable that the knowledge had slipped under the gaze of his ever-watchful eye.
Rather, it was the way in which the Detective had described the word that sent a chill down his spine.
''Gravity¡'' Ciro bit his lip in frustration. ''The science from the World of Ink. The detective is a worthless elf clinging onto life thanks to the Grandmaster''s Talent ¨C she is of no importance. Did the Little Painter inform her of the concept of gravity? If not, then how is she aware of it? Or did the First Painter¡no, he wouldn''t betray the Imperial Family.''
An infuriating, horrifying thought came to him, driving enough fury into his heart that Ciro drew blood from biting his lip before his Realm healed him. "Who is your source, elf?" he demanded. "Is it the Second Painter? The Dark Sorcerer?"
The bird''s only response was a cackling laughter. "Now why would I bother telling you that, Your Highness?"
Ciro''s first thought was to consider collapsing the entire city into a small, dense sphere, destroying it to prevent his secret from spreading.
It was the Lord Talent that saved him from this fatal mistake, allowing him to process information far faster than how time passed in the world around him.
''It was always a possibility the rebels would learn of my Talent after my meeting with the Little Painter,'' he thought. ''But I assumed he had missed the clues. Why else would they still confront me with this knowledge, then? They must understand that I am invulnerable. Why¨C''
With a start, the Emperor glared at ravens before him. Disgust surged within as his mind caught up to Tenver''s memories. "You¡are the Puppet Detective, are you not?"
The largest of the ravens, biggest among all birds present, put its left wing across its chest, as if bowing. "My name is Valeria, Your Highness. Consulting detective!"
"These ravens and crows¡that is the Grandmaster''s Talent, is it not? Should I assume that the Mines have sided with the rebels?"
"Ah, no, no my lord!" Valeria replied. "Rest assured, the Mines still side with the Empire. This treachery is mine and mine alone ¨C or at least, not the Grandmaster''s. I shall be executed for my theft of the Communication Ravens, surely."
The Emperor cursed as he reached inside Tenver''s memory and searched for an explanation. ''The Little Painter gave her citizenship. She is content to commit treason, believing that she can escape the Mines and take refuge inside Penumbria.''
Ciro''s fist tightened its grip onto itself, drawing his own blood for the second time. ''Whether the Grandmaster is turning a blind eye to this treachery, hoping for my downfall, or was genuinely outwitted by this girl¡doesn''t matter right now. What matters is¨C''
"If I destroy the city," Ciro pondered aloud, his voice surprisingly calm, "you intend to use these ravens to transmit sight of it to City Lords."
"Aye!" the Detective Raven exclaimed, spreading both wings wide as if fluttering a cape. "And that would be a problem for you, would it not?"
''Insolent commoner!''
The Raven cackled. "Your public reasoning for attacking Lord Adam is that he''s a Pretender to Aspreay''s title. Considering how he''s not in Penumbria, massacring it would be quite¡pointless, don''t you think? I wonder if your vassals would still choose to follow you then."
They wouldn''t. Some out of pride, some out of a delusional grandeur that they could survive his wrath. Death would visit them easily ¨C but the Orbs I''d lose!
Ciro simply couldn''t have that. And yet, unnervingly so, the detective''s invisible sword of truth was aimed precisely at that exact weak point.
Valeria''s strike had dealt the first real damage Ciro had received since his assassination of his brother. For the first time since crossing blades with Gregorio, for the first time ever after acquiring the Lord Talent, the Emperor felt uneasy. His mind raced faster than ever as he came to comprehend the dilemma they''d placed him in.
Another raven spoke up. This one, surprisingly, had Tenver''s voice. "Your Talent of Gravity is the world''s most dangerous weapon of destruction, my dear uncle¡yet also the most useless."
The Valeria-Raven flew up to face the Tenver-Raven, rubbing its beak thoughtfully. "That''s right!" she said, in a parody of abrupt realization. "Increasing gravity to a degree that devastated the land itself would cause irreparable collateral damage, yes?"
"Most definitely," Tenver replied, just as pompously. Both birds bowed, enunciating as if they were the leading actors in a theater play. "Can you think of anything capable of stopping gravity from destroying the very user that wields it, Valeria?"
"Allow me a second of thought." The raven tilted its head dramatically, then whipped it back nary a moment later. "Ah! Could it be¡a Lord''s Realm?"
"Aye!" Tenver replied, clapping its wings in an eerie echo of an applause. "So now you see why he had to assassinate my father ¨C to inherit his Lord Talent!"
On that last point, Ciro disagreed. Gregorio''s death had been for the sake of the Empire, not for his own personal power. But they were otherwise correct.
The Lord Talent should''ve been mine, anyhow. Reclaiming my birthright is no crime. Criminal is the man who stole it before I was alive!
Gravity was an almighty Talent, yet not one that could be used safely. In the rare occasions when someone displayed the ability, they endeavored not to use it beyond its lowest ranks, and rarely obtained enough Orbs to improve it. Very rarely, when someone did improve their control of it¡they invariably ended up dead by their own hand.
What good was an ability that made your body denser than your bones could endure? What benefit was there in collapsing an entire army into a black hole if doing so would shatter the very Painted World? Although that last scenario was mere theory ¨C those Talented who dared to use the ability of Gravity would perish before wreaking such havoc.
The Lord Talent, however¡the Lord Talent changed all that.
With the Noble Guard, Ciro could survive the immediate effect of any sudden gravitational change. Perhaps more importantly, Royal Orders allowed him to shape his Realm''s Laws, letting him create small pockets of reality so that his Gravity wouldn''t affect anything except for the areas he so designated.
In the hands of any other, the Talent of Gravity was but a self-destructive explosive. In the hands of the one above fate itself?
It became a weapon that could shape reality itself.
Ciro was immune to Gravity''s adverse side-effects, able to manifest his Talent only where necessary. An errant arrow would always be too light to pierce his body. A peasant''s raised blade would always feel too heavy when pointed at their god. And even if this almighty defense were to fail, Ciro''s Realm, which expanded throughout the entirety of the known world, would heal him of any injuries.
Death bent the knee before him ¨C and thus its avatars served him beneath the name of Hangmen.
It was how he had killed the raven earlier. First by ordering the area around him to be made separate from the outside world, and then by using Gravity to essentially annihilate that area of existence. Even right now, he was manipulating the gravity around his body in order to protect himself from any acts of physical harm.
Upon acquiring the Talent of a Lord, Ciro, The Man That Made Gravity Kneel, had also acquired another title, One that only Valente''s ears had ever been blessed with the chance to hear.
The Man Who Not Even Death Can Touch.
He was invulnerable, invincible, indestructible¡
And yet¨C!
And yet¡today, this magnificent strength of his, the strength that he had earned through the blood flowing through his veins¡
Could kill neither Tenver nor Penumbria.
''You use your weakness as a shield, Nephew! That pathetic, miserable¨C''
"You need Orbs," said Tenver''s crow, cackling eerily. "Your goals, whatever they are, need Orbs ¨C this much we know. And your vassals know this as well. Even though you could destroy any city within the Empire, doing so would reduce your ever-so-important revenue stream of Orbs."
Ciro muttered a curse under his breath. Orbs were vital; the lifeblood of his life''s work, each gem a step toward the future he needed to build. He couldn''t afford to lose even a single Orb more than necessary. Not when the Dragon''s machines already cost so much.
I need the economy to prosper, he thought furiously, for the sake of my dream!
The Emperor stepped forward, crushing more crows beneath his gravity. "Doing so would promote you from a mere failure to a baneful toxin that must be erased, Nephew." His tone was cold as winter. "Have you no mind for what my design would bring? I am the Painted World''s last hope!"
"Then let us embrace despair!" Valeria declared theatrically. "My dear beacon of hope ¨C need I remind you that justification was required for declaring war upon Adam, lest you incur a rebellion? Destroying an entire city is far beyond what your vassals could stomach. This is why you came here alone: so that there would be no witnesses."
Tenver nodded in assent. "If your vassals were to see you massacring a city of innocents when the guilty party isn''t even present¡why, they might foolishly, pridefully, nay, dutifully take a stand against you."
"Aye!" Valeria agreed. "Oh, they would fail, to be sure ¨C but failing would still rob the Empire of its rightful taxes! Can the Empire afford to ruin its economy with a war like that, I wonder?"
The Emperor''s laughter turned bitter. Often he had mocked enemies for lacking in strength, whether in their sword arms, their hearts, or both in equal measures. That they could not match him in battle went without saying, yet their methods often felt cowardly. Too weak to ride the chaos of war to the top.
No longer could he lay that crime at his nephew''s feet. He was weak, a failure, and more ¨C but he was willing to use the Empire itself as a shield in this duel.
Good, Ciro thought, the ghost of a smirk forcing its way onto his face. You need to do at least this much when baring fangs at a god.
"This is your move, then." Ciro rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "To hold my economy itself hostage so that I cannot execute you."
His eyes brightened with malice. "Delightful. Simply delightful. Now, for my counteroffensive¨C"
The Emperor of the World attempted to peer at Tenver''s mind once more, but the Puppet Prince proved remarkably unhelpful. Much of this plan had been kept from him precisely to avoid what the Emperor was now trying to do. WIth a grimace, Ciro glared at the Detective Raven, but his Divine Knowledge failed to work there either.
''Her main body isn''t physically present here. Searching for the Detective by reading her thoughts would be like finding one specific arrow from the night I killed my brother.''
He frowned. ''No, even beyond that¡I have no idea where she is, and barely know what she looks like. I can''t read her mind at all. And if she''s inside the Mines, she might be far enough away to be outside my Realm.''
Tenver, of course, had been left purposefully unaware of where the detective was truly hiding. Searching his mind for answers was a fruitless endeavor.
The Emperor heaved a heavy sigh. ''Dragons of Old¡did you ever have to put up with days like this? When peasants think themselves worthy of your time?''
"I acknowledge your efforts," he said, shaking his head sadly and clapping his hands. "Wonderfully played, I must say. You''ve put me in a position where I cannot carelessly destroy Penumbria. Doing so would reveal the secret of my Talent ¨C which would be immaterial compared to the damage my economy would incur."
''Do they know why I need Orbs? Or is it just a general idea? I suppose it doesn''t much matter.''
Ciro considered collapsing the entirety of the Eastern Frontier into a black hole to rid himself of the ravens, but discarded the idea immediately. Doing so would lose access to loyal cities like Coimbargo. Not to mention that it would execute many of his own soldiers besieging the Santuario das Chamas at this moment, including at least two Hangmen.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
To create a black hole large enough to annihilate all of Valeria''s ravens, Ciro would need to commit wholly to it, accepting no half-measures. Choosing to go down this route would mean creating a pocket of gravity so heavy that the world itself would be irrevocably altered. Two cities, thousands of his men, millions of Orbs ¨C not even light itself would escape from that destructive grip on reality, were he to spawn it.
Only Valente would survive.
''Were that the case¡it would be worth considering,'' he thought, slowly. ''But there''s a third person with an Emperor Ranked Talent on this continent: the Puppet Grandmaster. If that abomination which thinks itself alive could survive this, and maybe even protect its Puppets¡''
That would be rather close to a checkmate.
And thus the Emperor smiled, his voice echoing with a regal resonance. "Nephew of mine ¨C surely you still remember the original issue that resulted from the Little Painter removing the Realm Walls around Penumbria?"
No sooner had the words left his lips than the silence broke under the weight of a horrifying maelstrom.
Stained Creatures, twisted and malevolent, leapt from the devastated forest, clawing their way up towards the stone walls of Penumbria. Amidst the people''s growing terror, Emperor Ciro''s laughter, cold and mocking, filled the air. "Now, Tenver! Can you shoot them down before your city is overrun?"
The creatures looked as if they were born from a nightmarish inkwell, bearing limbs too numerous and joints bending wrongly, moving with a fluid, unnerving grace. Their features were a blur of despair, faces indistinct and contorted into expressions of silent screams and endless agony.
And the citizens of that miserable city would feel an agony far worse within just a few moments ¨C unless Tenver could keep the beasts at bay.
''These monsters should''ve taken longer to arrive,'' Ciro thought, forcing the words into Tenver''s mind. He wanted his nephew to know what was happening. ''But with my Talent of Gravity¡well, you can imagine how easy it was to corral them like cattle. Just by making certain areas more painful to exist in than others, I shepherded the creatures towards your precious dump of a city.''
''Why?'' Tenver responded, inside his own mind. ''If you''re capable of this much, uncle¡why not use this power to keep the cities safe? To reduce the effect of the Rot? If only you ever wanted to do so, I would have happily stepped away from the throne! Father would have too! You''d have been remembered as a legend, the greatest of Emperors¨C''
''I will not be remembered for confining my people inside a cage of bleak, rotting soil. Your dreams are far too small, Nephew. Mine are much grander.''
The Emperor gazed upwards. He reached to the blue expanse above and tightened his fist. ''I dream of the skies.''
The Puppet Prince didn''t reply. Mayhap he had no response to this, or mayhap he could not afford to direct his focus anywhere but the horde of monsters he now aimed his bow at.
It mattered very little, anyhow. Everything would end in the next few minutes.
''Congratulations, nephew! You''ve convinced me that personally crushing your city would be a poor image to paint before my vassals.'' The Emperor clapped sarcastically. ''Yet now Penumbria will fall to Stained Creatures¡and whatever your little Painter does at the Santuario das Chamas shall be for naught. This rebellion is doomed if your city¨C''
The thunderous sound of Tenver''s giantslaying arrows flying across one side of the city to the other silenced those thoughts.
"I PROMISED ADAM!" His scream was so loud that the Emperor suspected he''d have heard it where he stood, outside the city, even without his enhanced hearing. "I PROMISED THAT I WOULD KEEP THE CITY UNTOUCHED AND UNHARMED FOR TEN MINUTES! THAT NOT A SINGLE MONSTER WOULD DESECRATE ITS WALLS OR PEOPLE!"
Even from that absurd distance, the Emperor could tell that the Puppet''s voice sounded strained, pained, exhausted.
Yet it still sounded. "AND I WILL KEEP THAT PROMISE!"
The Emperor shrugged. "Ten minutes¡what''s the point?" He gave the crows an amused look. "Even if you hold on, nothing will change. Surely you understand that much, at least. Why prolong the inevitable?"
This time the crows responded only with silence. Somehow, them acting like normal, silent animals was more unnerving than the alternative.
I mislike this feeling, Ciro thought. It must be corrected. If they have any plans, I will not allow them to come to pass.
But he still could not enter the city himself. Thus he instead crossed his arms haughtily, turning his neck to glance back at the shattered remnants of his carriage. "Nayt ¨C how long are you going to lay there and pretend to be dead?" Ciro asked, with a tone of annoyance. "Your Emperor has need of you. Stand up."
With a creak and groan of shifting stone, the rubble slowly came alive as the elven Hangman, Nayt, rose from his feigned demise. He stood up slowly, brushing off the dust from his dark attire with a lazy swipe of his hands, his head tilted to one side as he massaged the ache with a grimace. It was as if he had been merely napping amidst the chaos.
"I wasn''t paid to kill innocents," he grunted. "Just to escort you here."
The Emperor sighed at first, then allowed himself a brief smile. Ernanda''s undying loyalty was overall preferable, but Nayt''s selfishness was definitely more amusing. "Very well," Ciro conceded. "This is outside your assigned duties ¨C so you shall be awarded an extra twenty million Orbs if you assassinate Tenver."
Suddenly, the elf''s drowsiness left him. "Truly?" Nayt asked. When the Emperor nodded in response, the Hangman eyed the tower above. "His Rank is not too high," he muttered. "And there are few soldiers here to stop me. Shouldn''t take me more than five minutes."
"No reason to reject my proposal, then."
"There is one." The elf gestured at the incoming soldiers, a small band of perhaps twenty sallying out to stall them. "I mislike killing innocents."
"Well, if you don''t want Orbs¨C"
Nayt unsheathed his sword and sighed loudly. "Ah, shut up already, Your Highness," he grunted. "Never said I wouldn''t do it. I just¡"
The elf''s dead eyes sharpened into a murderous gaze as he aimed his blade at the incoming soldiers. "...Mislike it, that''s all."
As the Hangman planned to sell his morals yet again, Ciro settled into the calm self-assurance of one who had already achieved victory long ago. ''This was never a fair contest,'' the Emperor considered, somewhat sadly. Although his true opponent today, as he saw it, hadn''t been Tenver ¨C but rather the Painter.
And the boy had done quite well for himself, hadn''t he? In just a few short months, he''d arranged an army, organized a rebellion, and played the few cards he had to the best of his abilities. No more could have been reasonably asked of him. In truth, Adam had exceeded all expectations.
''But my pieces were simply stronger. This was no game of chess, where both sides are equal and shrewdness wins the day. You cannot hope to match my Hangmen. Never could, Little Painter.''
With a burst of concentration, Ciro summoned his Lord Talent, peering into distant corners of his vast Realm. It was exhausting as it was disorientating, but he allowed himself this vice in order to spy on the other battlefields.
The Battle of Penumbria was just about finished, anyhow.
Blink.
Solara, the adopted daughter of Vasco, was leading her troops phenomenally ¨C and failing utterly to overcome Ernanda, the Lady of Ash.
"RESURRECTION!" Solara called out, as her life''s flame was snuffed out once more. "I may have fallen, but I''ll always get back up!"
"Not always," Ernanda retorted. "Only several times a day. And if my count is right¡my, you''re done now, aren''t you?"
The Hangwoman''s grin turned savage. "That was your last one."
Blink.
When the Emperor''s eyes returned to where he stood, Nayt had already killed seven of the twenty-three soldiers that came to stall him. Only sixteen left.
''Poor bastards. They barely have Apprentice Ranks. Should''ve known better than to dance with a Hangman.''
Blink.
The Butcher of Greenisle, Vasco, was a madman on the battlefield, desperately trying to cut through an ocean of red to reach his daughter.
"STEP AWAY!" His sword swung with the force of a battering ram. "NOT A SINGLE STEP TOWARDS ME!"
Against nearly anyone else, his righteous rage might have pushed them aside. But across from him was a most unfair battlefield ¨C Lord Crespuculo of Coimbargo and Lord Romario Revandor of Almarades, either of which would have been enough to match him.
Worst of all, leading them was the World''s Strongest Man. "I cannot," said Valente, the Dark Captain of the Hangmen, in a somber voice. "His Imperial Majesty gave me a divine duty, and I¡I shall see it through!"
Blink.
There were only nine guards remaining. Tenver''s arrows grew more sluggish, struggling to keep the Stained Creatures from Penumbria. Perhaps four minutes had passed, at most.
''You fought well,'' Ciro admitted, thinking of the rebels. ''One could say you did the best with what you were given ¨C but that doesn''t mean you were ever given the chance to beat me. This feeble rebellion is over.''
Blink.
Even their leader, the mighty Pretender, that damned Painter who possessed the world-spawning Talent, was no closer to besting his opponent.
"Where are you, Adam?" the Gryphon screamed. His fluttering wings launched a harrowing gust of death across the ruins. "I''m not done with you yet!"
The Painter gasped for air, stepping out of his hiding spot with an unearned confidence about him. "I''m right here, Eric!"
Blink.
There were four soldiers left.
''Even the Talent that created this world is no match for the might of a Hangman,'' Ciro noted, both triumphantly and sadly. ''This duel was settled from the start. Talent, Rank ¨C those are things you cannot overcome with mere cleverness.''
There was just a single soldier left.
Ciro closed his eyes.
''Let us bring this farce to a close. One by one they rise to fight my Hangman, and one by one they fall. May Nayt end Tenver''s life quickly, so we may return to¨C''
The sound of dueling steel snapped the Emperor''s eyes wide open.
For a moment, he thought his very sight to be treasonous. It was easier to suspect a trick than to believe the reality he now witnessed:
Nayt''s sword being parried away.
Ciro struggled to comprehend what he was witnessing. One of the Empire''s mightiest Hangmen, repelled in a clash? It simply didn''t make sense!
Yet it had happened.
Both Emperor and Hangman watched the event with a similar sense of mesmerized shock. The elf stood in idle stillness for a second longer, looking at his sword hand as if expecting the weapon itself to explain why it had failed him.
Ciro, meanwhile, chose to search for an explanation in Tenver''s memories. He found the answer immediately ¨C displayed proudly in a memory that was now at the forefront of the Puppet Prince''s brain, as if his nephew had been waiting for this and now welcomed him to a shared reminiscence.
Tenver''s memory took place in a dark cave, illuminated by an odd set of bright stones. Two figures stood before each other, each bidding their farewells. Despite the darkness, Ciro could recognize the first figure to be the Painter, and the memory''s setting to be within the Puppet Mines.
Adam grasped the other''s hand firmly. "Do you think that even you would have trouble with the Hangman in a one-on-one match?"
Evidently, the question had been meant as a joke, but the man across from the Painter answered it in complete earnest. "No," he replied, a grin full of confidence spreading across his face.
"I''d certainly win."
Nayt leaped backward to dodge an incoming thrust. Before him stood a lone swordsman and his extended blade.
"Dance with me, Hangman," challenged Ferrero Acerro, the Puppet Duelist.
Chapter 51
"Don''t even think about interfering," Valeria said through her raven. "Let the gentlemen have a fair duel."
Ciro''s response came with a curt nod and a bitter smirk. "I would not dream of it." He gestured at Penumbria''s brick walls, where Tenver fiercely battled the climbing monstrosities. "Were I to attempt to intrude..."
Further words were unneeded, and ''twas best not to speak more aloud, lest that Puppet whore of a detective broadcast his speech to other lords. It would be hard enough to justify what he''d already said today; no need to make it harder.
Shifting his attention, the Emperor of the World looked upon the two combatants with mild interest. He had to give his enemy some credit for their audacity ¨C even if it would not change the final outcome. "The man with the Talent of the Duelist, Ferrero...he becomes stronger in one-on-one confrontations, does he not?"
It was with a flourish and a bow that the crow answered. "Indeed, Your Highness!"
Ciro grimaced in disgust. "Dueling is a common Talent." He waved his arms at the city. "There are probably dozens of men and women with that same useless ability in Penumbria alone. An improvement to your physical ability when dueling means little if you can''t hurt your opponent ¨C and the Ranks of these two men are quite uneven."
"Correct," Valeria admitted. "Ferrero''s Talent is of the 10th Rank."
"Nayt''s Talent of Hanging is of the 3rd." Ciro regarded the bird suspiciously. "Even if the Puppet Duelist miraculously landed a blow, given their difference in Ranks, reality itself would not allow his blade to inflict violence upon the Hangman. It would be as if he were being repelled by a magnet."
"Correct again, Your Highness! How wise you are!" The bird clapped its wings together, producing no sound whatsoever. "Yet he did parry your Hangman''s weapon."
"That he did," Ciro acknowledged, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "That he did." He returned his gaze to the two swordsmen standing at the edge of the city.
On one side stood Nayt, the Empire''s mightiest Hangman aside from the Dark Captain himself. A man born with a rare Talent only twelve people had awakened to in the past fifty years, and with his ability increased to the ¨C unprecedented for an Imperial elf ¨C nearly peerless 3rd Rank.
On the other side was a Puppet with a mediocre 10th Rank Talent possessed by thousands of other people.
''He''s not special in any way. What is the Painter''s plan? Why bother setting up this confrontation? Ferrero is far too weak to serve as a last line of defense.''
Ciro shook his head and smirked. "Ah, well. It would simply not do to worry over a minor issue such as this. The Little Painter went out of his way to set up this show for me, and it would be a disservice if I weren''t to enjoy it."
With that, the Emperor of the World loudly clapped his hands together. "The stage is set and the players are ready ¨C NOW GIVE YOUR EMPEROR ONE HELL OF A SHOW!"
Both swordsmen answered the call by falling into fencing stances and pointing their sharp rapiers at each other. They stood as eerie mirrors of one another, both showing the same style of footwork: leading foot pointed at the opponent, back foot pointed 90 degrees away from their front, and both knees bent.
Nayt was usually slow to do anything without Orbs as an incentive. Here, however, he thought so quickly and so intently that it was a struggle for Ciro to follow his thoughts even with the Lord Realm''s help.
''I need to find out how he managed to deflect my attack despite his weaker Talent,'' the elven Hangman began. ''Then I have to kill him fast before he has the chance to do anything else unexpected. Think ¨C how was he able to win our last exchange?''
The outcome of any sword fight could always be explained with a simple series of questions.
- What was the distance between the two fencers?
- What were their feet doing during the exchange?
- What angle did they approach from?
- What Talent influenced the clash?
Yet answering those questions brought Nayt no closer to understanding Ferrero''s mysterious parry.
1) They had been within two steps from each other.
''Two steps makes one lunge,'' Nayt thought, repeating the basics as if ensuring he hadn''t lost his mind. ''My attack came from the right distance.''
2) Nayt''s feet had been in a perfect, flawless lunge. His front foot pointed forward as his opponent, his back foot pointing sideways and straightened to give his movement an explosive quality. Moreover, his arm had been fully extended before the move to give it more accuracy.
''My footwork was perfect and my blade was aimed straight for his heart.''
3) The Puppet Duelist had utilized a clever angle, encircling Nayt''s straight thrust and using the strongest part of his blade ¨C the one nearest to the guard ¨C in order to push the weakest part of the Elf''s weapon ¨C the one nearest to the tip. By nudging it ever so slightly to the side, he used the Hangman''s own strength against him, making Nayt miss his intended target entirely.
''His angle was flawless, true, but even that wouldn''t explain how he pushed my blade.'' Nayt absently touched the injury near his chest. It was the smallest of cuts...but it was also proof that the impossible had occurred. ''Nor would it explain how he hurt me. Not when¨C
4) Nayt''s Talent was of the 3rd Rank, while the Puppet''s Talent was of the 10th Ranking.
Their clash shouldn''t have ended this way. It went against the very basis of how the world worked. Even if the Puppet''s Dueling Talent caused his physical capabilities to skyrocket in one-on-one confrontations, he wouldn''t have been able to use it to overcome Nayt as their blades were wrestling for dominance, much less to inflict harm.
''Yet I still bleed,'' Nayt noted, with a disinterested curiosity. ''I wonder...why? Does this mean¨C''
"I owe Adam a favor," the Puppet declared, "and I intend to repay it with your blood, Hangman. Are you curious as to how a mere commoner such as myself can stand up to you?"
Nayt regarded the Duelist with a mixture of admiration and pity. Admiration, because his skill with the sword was undeniable.
And pity, because it wouldn''t matter.
"Nah, I''ll pass," the Hangman told him. "Been in too many fights, Puppet. Seen people with strange quirks to their Talents. Bothering with an explanation only gets you killed. Survived too many fights to care about the how."
Nayt angled his blade high. ''Should I rush for an attack? But I still don''t know what he''s hiding.'' "Mystery and victory befit me better than knowledge and defeat."
With a hint of arrogance, Ferrero''s lips quirked upward. "You''ll live cursed by the eternal curiosity behind my secret."
"Ehhh...mayhaps so," the Elf admitted, shrugging. His eyes narrowed. "But I''ll still live."
At the declaration, Nayt placed the tip of his blade between two fingers and declared: "Ignite." His fingers snapped thunderously, creating a cascade of sparks that exploded outward from the steel and spawned a small blue flame on his sword. With an air of sullen laziness on his face, he tested the blade against the air twice, as if ensuring that the flame would remain alit.
Then he turned his dead eyes to the Puppet.
"You won''t even do me the courtesy of telling me how your Talent works?" Ferrero asked, in a tone of mock outrage. "Most unkind, seeing as how I offered to do the same for you. Why, the Imperial ignorance of sportsmanship is simply¨C"
The elven Hangman burst forward, his flaming sword glaring at Ferrero''s chest.
Ciro was delighted to witness it. ''I''m glad that he isn''t the type to waste time lecturing his opponent about his abilities,'' the Emperor thought, with a note of almost brotherly pride. ''And that he isn''t attempting to restore his lost pride by giving the Puppet a chance to fight at his best. Nayt is so lovingly pragmatic!''
Of course, the Emperor himself was fully aware of his Hangman''s Talent. When Nayt''s created flames vanish, whatever they were touching would immediately perish. However, they also had a range limit; else he could have brought death upon the world with but a single flame.
The Talent''s limit and precision both depended on the size of the flame. A large flame would kill an adult man, while a small ember was enough to ''kill'' a limb.
Originally, it only did the former ¨C either extinguishing a person''s life entirely, or leaving them otherwise unharmed. Nayt''s ability to turn blows incapable of killing someone into killing part of their body was a showcase of his genius. He had refined his already-brilliant Talent into one with more varied uses by redefining his own definition of ''life.''
It was by witnessing him that Ciro came to understand much about how the First Painter''s gifts functioned. Not even the research given by the Dragons of Old had known of that. Nayt was a stardust genius who would''ve been allowed the honor of captaincy were it not for Valente.
Ciro knew that better than most. After all, Nayt had first bared his fangs against him.
Even now, the memory brought a smile to his face ¨C and a phantom pain to where his burn scars had once been. ''I wonder...were my Talent not ranked so much higher than his, would he have succeeded in killing me then?''
His thought was interrupted as Puppet and Hangman crossed blades.
Once more, just as inexplicably, the Puppet Duelist''s blade circled around the other''s like an ensnaring snake, pushing the tip of the Hangman''s weapon aside before delivering a thrust at the man.
It shouldn''t have mattered. Whatever Talent the Puppet was using to enhance his reflexes, he shouldn''t have been able to injure an opponent of higher Rank. Ferrero''s sword should have stopped short of the elf, as if forestalled by the hand of fate itself.
Yet it didn''t.
Nayt''s eyes snapped open with a sudden realization of danger. He retreated with a series of hopping steps, never turning his back on his opponent. The elf''s blade remained raised as he backed away...
While a superficial injury bled from his chest.
''How did he manage to hurt me?'' Nayt pondered. Able to read his thoughts with the Lord Realm, the Emperor mirrored his servant''s confusion. ''It matters little. My flames still touched him ¨C this match is over.'' On this too, Ciro agreed.
Though the Puppet had somehow conquered their first dance, a subtle ember had leapt from the Hangman''s blade and onto the duelist''s shoulder. Even now the flickering ember surged forward, almost invisible to the naked eye, heralding Ferrero''s inevitable end.
A second later, it vanished.
"Farewell, strong duelist," Nayt muttered, so low that only the Emperor could hear his lamentations. "Mayhaps in another life, I will afford you the fair duel you deserve. I¨C"
Ferrero ¨C inexplicably alive ¨C launched himself forward.
This was no dying burst of energy. His feet remained planted in that same impeccable L-shaped stance, and he advanced using practiced footwork. The Puppet finished with a fierce lunge that yet again shattered their difference in Rank, scoring a slight wound on the Hangman once more.
''How is he alive?'' Nayt thought, with a calmness that surprised even Ciro. The elf''s heart raced with the development, yet his mind sharpened into a frighteningly clear, singular focus ¨C his opponent. ''He should be dead. The only way he could dispel my Talent''s ability is if his Rank was higher than mine...So then, how...?''
Ferrero let out a theatrical laugh. He abandoned his stance to bow, sweeping low, as if performing before a majestic audience.
"Kill him now!" Ciro shouted. "He''s defenseless!"
Nayt didn''t move. He continued to study his opponent in silence, not offering the Emperor so much as a reply.
"Oh?" Valeria remarked, through the Raven. "My, my. I had no idea the Hangmen could refuse your orders."
Ciro grit his teeth. ''They can''t. Is this insubordination...or is he so focused he can''t even hear me?''
When the Puppet Duelist lifted his head again, there was arrogance in his tone and politeness in his words. "Fear not, good sir, I''d never curse your life with curiosity to plague your days!" he declared, projecting his voice as if for an invisible audience. "My dear Hangman, the truth is quite simple! I shall explain now, despite your denials!"
Nayt watched the man''s movements with a mixture of cautious concern and, rather unfortunately, genuine curiosity. ''How did he manage it?'' the Hangman wondered.
Ciro cried out again, "KILL HIM NOW!". He was met with silence ¨C as well as the Detective''s taunting. "What''s the matter, Your Highness?" Valeria gloated. "Are you getting nervous?"
Thus was the play''s next stage set: a bloody battlefield, surrounded by an audience of corpses and synchronized crows, with a backdrop of monsters being nailed to the ground by giant arrows raining down from atop Penumbria''s highest tower.
And standing at its center was the nobody who laid claim to the title of leading man for tonight''s play. Beneath an invisible spotlight, there was Ferrero, the Puppet Duelist.
He projected his voice, enunciating his words loudly and with unnatural pauses between them, as if to ensure even the furthest seats from this nonexistent stage could hear him clearly. His declaration came out with a flourish of his sword accompanying each syllable.
"YOU CANNOT SLAY ME ¨C FOR I AM NOT ALIVE!"
The murder of crows laughed synchronously, like a harrowing echo surrounding them from behind, the sides, and everywhere at once. "Judging by his tone, I''d say our duelist is in the zone now," quoth the Raven.
Ciro glared at the largest of the birds and saw beyond it, thinking of Valeria, the detective. ''You must have understood the extent of Nayt''s Talent after his clash with the elven wench from Gama,'' he thought angrily. ''And whether by pure guess or thorough research, you discovered how his Talent can differentiate between what it ''kills'' and what it doesn''t ¨C you know about his perception of life.''
Whether Puppets were alive or not was a matter for debate. Most taverns across the capital were bustling with songs describing them as monsters that only mimicked the appearance of life rather than truthfully exhibiting it. The Puppets'' enemies often used their supposed lack of life to justify massacres.
Ciro himself cared little for the idea, and was eternally baffled by his subjects'' insistence on debating the matter. Why should questions of the Puppets'' souls matter in the slightest? They were dangerous, and needed to be eliminated. He would and had killed human cities for the same crime.
But it was convenient for the thought to remain popular, so the Emperor encouraged it. Much easier to mobilize people in a future eradication of the Puppet Mines if they believed they were slaughtering monstrous automatons.
''Never did I think that it would backfire like this,'' Ciro regretted.
Nayt wasn''t immune to Imperial propaganda merely because he misliked the Empire. Constant torrents of information have a way of infiltrating even the most guarded minds.
''For his Talent to work properly, he would need to completely rethink how he views the Puppets,'' Ciro considered. ''That isn''t something you can do in a matter of minutes. Even he¨C''
"It seems that I do not consider you to be alive," Nayt said to Ferrero. His voice showed disinterest in their fight, yet muted curiosity at this new discovery, as if he were a stranger to his own feelings. "That''s something of a problem. If I don''t respect your right to life, then my Talent won''t be able to snuff it out."
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Nayt seemed unperturbed by this development. Peering into his mind, the Emperor saw only one real concern from the elf ¨C ''Why am I wasting my time playing along with these theatrics?''
It was troubling. ''I mislike this,'' thought Ciro. ''That Puppet might make things... difficult.''
"This folly of yours is most troublesome!" Ferrero proclaimed, with a dramatic flourish, each word pronounced like it were a new edict from a city lord.
"How¨Cwill¨Cyou¨Covercome¨C" The duelist slicked back his hair and whipped head backwards, returning with a wide, cocky grin "¨CME?"
''Ah, missed the meter in that one,'' thought the Puppet. My master would be ashamed. I''d better not miss another.''
Nayt yawned. "Eh. I''ll manage somehow, I guess."
To all present, the elf''s voice remained as dispassionate as it had ever been. Yet to Ciro, there was something he could not hide. An intensity that silently burned behind his eyes ¨C and a distant thought the Hangman tried to hide even from himself.
''I hope you can keep surprising me, Puppet.''
"I am a Hangman of the 3rd Rank," Nayt began. "When it comes to a simple contest, I''m still far, far stronger. And if you happen to survive a straight duel through some unknown sorcery..."
The Elf''s grip tightened around his sword. "Then I will come to respect you enough to kill you."
Ciro appreciated this enough to feel a measure of relief. ''Even now, you continue to amaze me, Elf." He brought his hands together in a gesture of thunderous applause. ''If only more of your kind were like you, mayhaps I wouldn''t have slaughtered them.''
On this Ferrero appeared to adopt a change of some sort that the Emperor could not quite place. "Still, Hangman, you have yet to earn my trust!" the duelist declared, his lips curling into a sly grin.
"Twice have I struck, yet you have not once hit." He pointed first at Nayt''s light wounds, then at his own lack thereof. Throughout it all, the Puppet projected his voice, shouted, and gave fierce emotion to his claims that seemed to ill-match his smile. Every word danced with a movement of his body, a fierce pump of his fists, a needless overturn of his neck. "Among all swordsmen, my blade alone defies the stars above."
Ciro grit his teeth ¨C this wretch knew of the elf''s past ambitions? ''Don''t pay heed to him, Nayt!"
"Beneath the skies and above the waves," Ferrero continued, "from dragons old to kinslayers of now, without a rival I alone stand tall."
The Emperor noticed the mention of the skies and started searching through the man''s memories. ''What does your kind know, Puppet? Who told you?''
He was so focused on the duelist that he almost missed the change within Nayt.
To Ciro''s surprise and concern, Ferrero''s childish taunt appeared to stir some genuine feelings inside the elf''s cold heart. Memories came to him in a flare of long-buried emotion¨C
Inspiring memories of Ciro''s own. A poem that his courtiers had once composed.
Buried within the sands of time lay ruins, Of one great swordsman, a proud soul, long lost. Though now, just gravestone lingers, bored, unmoved, On the elf''s canvas, in the darkest nights, And in the fiercest battles, once again, That ghostly sight, the harrowing mirage, For but a moment, it lived again.
Given name and form, stood the elf''s most forlorn, the blade of death ¨C Nayt the Hangman.
"Allow me to correct that misunderstanding of yours, then," said the elf. "Witness the insurmountable gap between us, Puppet."
"First I shall witness; then I shall surmount!"
For the first time in over a decade, Nayt fought without relying on his Talent as a crutch. His dueling expertise manifested in full, and the weaker swordsman chose to face him head-on.
Ciro froze. Even with the enhanced reflexes befitting of someone with a Talent of the 1st Rank, were it not for his Lord Talent allowing him inside into their minds, he would have been at a loss for what he now witnessed.
This was because much of their duel existed not only in the reality of what they did ¨C but also in the reality of what they didn''t.
Their physical chess started when the two were a distance of four steps across from each other.
''My Talent is of the 3rd Rank and his of the 10th,'' Nayt thought, approaching with his blade thrusting at the Puppet. ''My reflexes are sharper, my legs faster, my shoulders stronger ¨C this will end here. But if he can somehow match my physical superiority...then he won''t bother trying to parry me.''
Nayt''s thoughts were both clear and concise on this point. Whatever sorcery the Puppet had displayed last time, surprise played a huge part in that result. The Puppet''s Talent of Dueling was still low-ranked enough that, even in a one-on-one contest, he could not physically match a Hangman of the 3rd.
It only brought him close enough that he could distantly watch Nayt''s back.
Such was the misfortune of those not chosen by the gods of fate that their Emperor had enslaved.
As long as the Hangman could predict his opponent''s opening move, their duel would end in a single exchange.
''But you also know that I''m expecting a parry after our last exchange,'' Nayt thought. ''''And you know that if I''m stronger. If I prepare accordingly, then force my attack through, you won''t be able to defend it. Which means your only option is...a Counter.''
In a duel between swordsmen, especially one where both were wielding fast thrusting swords such as the rapier, their blades often moved too quickly for either person to truly see. As opposed to reacting, predicting was their best defense.
The most basic, most important trained response for a swordsman is to bring their sword arm to the outside. That way, their own blade no longer blocks the opponent''s attack from reaching them. Instead, they curved their wrist so that their opponent will stab themselves if they move forward.
It was like a simple threat in chess. Move a piece a certain way, and it will be captured.
''He can get around the difference in our speeds like this,'' Nayt considered. ''It''s the most logical move for him to do.''
The elf crept forward, now within two steps from his opponent. Two steps of distance also translated into one lunge away, and Nayt straightened his back leg to demonstrate this.
As he expected, Ferrero held his arm up in a counter. Nayt instinctively shifted his target from the Puppet''s chest to the blade he held. Once it had been knocked aside, there would be nothing protecting him from the Hangman''s thrust.
''Think more highly of me, will you?'' Ferrero thought, half in annoyance and half in satisfaction.
Despite having his thoughts hastened from the Lord Realm, Ciro only came to understand what had unfolded when Ferrero shouted, "The score is three for Puppet, none for elf!"
The Hangman had suffered another cut. Yet this one, albeit superficial, was deeper than the others ¨C in more ways than one.
Nayt retreated, his blade held high above his head, its tip still pointed at the enemy for safety. He drew a deep breath and attempted to still his racing thoughts.
''He predicted I would anticipate a counter, then dodged my beat-attack by encircling my blade,'' the Hangman noted coldly. ''Troublesome bastard. It doesn''t matter how much faster I am ¨C if I end up hitting empty air, my arm is going to need a second before I can move it in a different direction. But if he had gotten that prediction wrong, I would''ve killed him. This Puppet is such a reckless gambler...he''s such an annoying bastard...he''s¨C''
"Hmm, you''re rather good."
The words escaped Nayt''s before he could seal them away. ''Why did I say that?'' "Guess that was a decent read." ''Why am I complimenting the man I''m about to kill?''
"I was confident that a swordsman of your level would anticipate my counter," Ferrero replied.
''Why...why is my face twitching at his words?'' Nayt thought. Unpracticed muscles struggled against an old, almost dormant reflex ¨C and the Emperor froze at the implication.
It mattered not for the elf. He forced himself to focus on the duel, rather than on his surging emotions.
''Let''s see...we''re both using rapiers of similar length,'' the Hangman considered. ''He has quality footwork, perhaps even better than mine. But he''s still weaker and slower. The only way he''s been able to land hits has been by hard-reading my next move. In a match like this...I should aim to prolong our exchanges. Increase the number of correct guesses he has to make.''
It was a simple, straightforward, yet brutally effective idea. Their last exchange had ended unfavorably because Nayt aimed to settle it within one do-or-die exchange, and had been predicted properly. But if he instead slowed down the pace of the fight, establishing gradual footholds along the path to murder...
Everything came back to those four key questions.
- What was the distance between the two fencers?
- What were their feet doing during the exchange?
- What angle did they approach from?
- What Talent influenced the clash?
The exchange that ultimately ended it all would be like a final test or sorts. And though their physical ability and general skill with the blade strongly influenced its result...so did the answers to each of those questions.
''His plan is to stay on my level by countering every single action I make,'' Nayt surmised. He took a half-step forward, moving only his front foot and not his back foot. ''So if I make smaller movements, aim for less gain by giving fewer openings...I can increase the number of correct guesses he must make from one to over a dozen. No matter how good he is, no matter what kind of sorcery he''s using to counteract the difference in Talents, he''ll make a mistake along the way.''
The elf moved with cold, calculating malice. He fought by attempting to deflect the Puppet''s sword without committing to a lunge.
Like before, Ferrero''s sword dodged the attack by circling away. Unlike before, the Hangman hadn''t attacked with a lunge yet. Nayt approached from a distance just beyond it ¨C three steps away ¨C and was out of the range for a reprisal.
''I just have to slowly win the small battles...''
Ferrero''s arm began to tire as pressure from the elf''s sword strikes mounted.
Create a safe distance...''
Now that Nayt had made it apparent he was refusing to engage in a direct exchange, Ferrero was forced to pull his blade back slightly to strengthen his defense and reduce the strain on his arm. This, combined with his slowed steps, allowed the Hangman to redefine the distance that a single lunge would cover.
''Good. Now I can reach him with a lunge, but he cannot reach me.''
Slowly, methodically, certainly...
...The Hangman established his superiority.
"This makes it three to one," the Hangman said, as he delivered a shallow cut. There was no need to risk going for a deeper thrust than that just yet.
It was here that the Emperor shouted, "NAYT! KILL HIM NOW!" Ciro didn''t bother with keeping up a royal, composed tone. This wasn''t the time for it. ''Why isn''t he ending it? Don''t tell me¨C!''
The Raven cackled. "What''s wrong, Your Highness? Does your elf refuse to kill?"
Ciro elected not to answer, instead turning his attention towards the duel. His tightened grip had started drawing blood from the inside of his palms. Upon noticing this, the Emperor of the World forced himself to take a deep breath. ''Stay calm. Nayt hasn''t done anything foolhardy yet.''
"Good!" the Puppet shouted back ¨C still theatrically, though his breath was strained. "Yet you should not rejoice for one small hit, for I have claimed more victories than you."
Nayt instantly thought of many reasonable objections to that. For one, this was a battlefield, not a sport. For another, the single cut he had inflicted upon the Puppet was far worse than the three he''d received combined.
Yet what he said was, "A temporary matter. Time will avenge this injustice with your death, Puppet."
Ferrero brightened at this response. "I''ve said it once before, did you not hear? You cannot slay me, for I am not alive!"
Yet this too would fall to the cruel reaper known as time. With every lengthy exchange of blades, with every fiercely contested inch of dueling ground, the Hangman began to look at his opponent in a different light.
''What a curious beast you are, Elf,'' Ciro thought, mildly awestruck. ''Even after all this time, despite peering into your thoughts for over a decade, knowing firsthand how you view the world...seeing it actually happen is rather shocking.''
Until now, Nayt had seen the Puppet as an ''it'' rather than a ''he.'' Yet more than the idea of a soul, more than the belief in his ancient elven gods, he was a purer sort of creature:
A swordsman. An athlete dedicated to his craft as if it were an art. To him, a literal inanimate log of dead wood that somehow skillfully wielded a blade was more alive than any person who could not do the same.
Because deep inside, this was what life meant to him.
Ciro grit his teeth. ''That he can adapt his mindset in this way is equal parts a blessing and a curse."
"Two to three!" the Hangman muttered after a hotly debated exchange.
"Three to three!" the elf declared after another strike.
"Four to three! The lead is mine now, Puppet!" Nayt shouted, pumping his fist.
Yet the surging thrill brought forth a new concern to the forefront of his mind. ''Why am I not going for the kill? I''m retreating after each strike...why?''
There was something happening that he couldn''t quite comprehend.
His confusion echoed within Ciro, adding onto the Emperor''s ever-growing frustration. "Kill the Duelist already! Skewer his heart! Whatever he did before isn''t working anymore!" Such was his annoyance that he once again contemplated using his Talent to collapse the continent into a massive black hole.
"WHY ARE YOU NOT TAKING THIS SERIOUSLY?"
It surprised Ciro to realize that it wasn''t he who had shouted this.
Rather, the one who''d voiced his rightful fury had been one of the crows.
"What is wrong with you?!" exclaimed the Valeria-Crow. "Why aren''t you fighting at your best?! Kill the Hangman already! We have not the time to waste!"
The wounded Puppet stood up, dusting off his clothes and brushing away the blood dripping from his lips. With a sincere tone, he said, "Forgive me, Valeria. I hate to fail you so."
That was a deeper truth in the duelist''s heart, more private than the detective could ever know. Yet truer still was that there was one person who ¨C above all others ¨C he could not fail.
His master.
"To win a duel, yet not give them a chance? To such a fate, my master would say nay!" Ferrero said, arrogance and confidence blending into a swordsman.
He raised his arm skyward. "That is not the way of a great champion!" His fist unfurled into an accusation to Gods themselves, only a single finger pointing up. "A Champion''s Duel ¨C Must be En-ter-tain-ing!"
A burst of annoyance flickered through the Emperor. The phrase triggered deep memories within him, a confrontation with another flamboyant, dramatic swordsman many years ago. ''The Merry Man...''
His mood only soured further when he read Nayt''s thoughts and emotions. Despite himself, as the Hangman witnessed Ferrero''s audacity on full display...Nayt found a measure of satisfaction swelling within him.
"Let us dance then, Champion."
Chapter 52
Nayt stood back, intending to continue his plan of slowing down the pace of their duel and forcing Ferrero into a more difficult guessing game. ''Sword fighting is a matter of statistics ¨C not legendary techniques,'' he confidently thought. ''If I can force the Puppet into repeated exchanges where his odds are poor, then in the end, I''ll win. I still know not what his sorcery is that allows him to wound me, but it won''t matter if¨C''
Ferrero leaped forward at him.
''You''re the one attacking?'' Nayt pondered. That didn''t make sense. The only way Ferrero had kept up despite his lacking speed was with counterattacks. Initiating a frontal assault was tantamount to suicide!
Which was exactly what the Duelist had wanted him to think.
''You think you have an overwhelming advantage,'' Ferrero thought. ''Because of that, you''ll instinctively go for the kill again. A Countersixte-Parry and riposte, aimed right at my chest. It''ll give me the chance to disengage and win the exchange.''
When they fought next, everything played out precisely as he''d thought it would.
Even moreso than seeing a weaker swordsman prevail, it was the sheer accuracy of Ferrero''s prediction that unnerved Ciro. How could the forsaken Puppet be so preternaturally skillful?
"That makes us even, we are tied once more!" the Duelist declared.
And more importantly...how was he able to bypass their Talents'' difference in Rank? That question burned Ciro more than anything else, yet it barely seemed to register in the Elf''s mind.
"A tie? You cannot be serious." Nayt retorted. "You''ve barely been hanging on. I am clearly your better in every way."
The elf''s voice was deadpan, but not in a manner of dismissal. No ¨C this was a purposeful, targeted slight.
This was trash talk.
''Don''t you dare, Puppet,'' Ciro seethed. ''It took years to mold Nayt''s heart into an empty tool, slaying and killing however I pleased! Don''t you dare corrupt him further!''
"Yet still, I hang; this lifeless Puppet lives!" Ferrero shouted, defiance in his voice and confidence in his smirk. "Kill me and prove me wrong, if you so dare!"
In actuality, he agreed with the Hangman''s take on their duel. Nayt was physically superior. Any prolonged exchange ¨C where they spent time feeling each other out and acquiring information about the other''s intentions ¨C would eventually end in his favor. But by quickly forcing them into repeated clashes, that advantage was lessened.
Just as Nayt had constructed his strategy to pave his path toward victory, so had Ferrero.
''Let me think.'' The Duelist considered his possibilities. ''How often does my opponent have the advantage?''
In his first assessment, he decided on a baseline. The two swordsmen were relatively close in skill and physical ability. Immediately going in for the kill would have odds of...about 5 out of 10 for either of them.
No. That wasn''t quite right.
Truthfully, Ferrero had a higher opinion of himself than that.
''If it comes down to a matter of out-predicting him in the critical moment, I''m confident that I''d win 7-times-out¨Cof-10.''
''The longer an exchange lasts, the more the gap in our physicality widens. At that point, after about ten seconds of testing our ground, I can only win about 5-times-out-of-10.
''Worse still...if he can drag an exchange out to twenty seconds or longer, then my chances of winning plummet to merely 1-time-out-of-ten.''
It wasn''t an exact science, but it was close enough. There were other factors to consider as well ¨C wounds, exhaustion, and the fact that the Hangman was more likely to land a fatal blow if he won an exchange, whereas Ferrero would probably only land a small cut.
Nevertheless, it made the Puppet''s next move quite simple.
He moved his grip on his blade up so that his hand was nearly touching the guard, as far away from the pommel as possible. This lessened his reach, yet also granted the blade a wider range of movement in a close-quarters combat.
''So that''s your plan,'' Nayt thought, as he witnessed Ferrero advance towards him with explosive speed. ''You''re going to force me into ''large'' decisions so that I can''t force you into numerous ''small'' decisions. And by engaging me at close range, where I barely have time to prepare my next move...you''re hoping that my decision-making faculties will be diminished.''
His eyes glistened with excitement. ''Very well, Puppet! I accept your challenge!''
And so they went. The two men continued this uneven, unfair gamble, with their very lives resting at the tip of each other''s blades. Again and again they clashed, exchanging attacks, blood, and pride.
Their unrelenting skirmish continued until a most curious occurrence. Both had landed superficial wounds upon each other at the same time...yet Ferrero''s injury bled far more profusely.
"Why is your shoulder so wounded?" Nayt asked, narrowing his eyes. "It doesn''t make sense. I''ve seen your body resist fiercer wounds than that, Duelist."
Ciro''s eyes widened. After minutes of searching through the Puppet''s mind, he had finally seized upon the answer he''d been looking for. His mouth fell open, and it took the Emperor of the World a moment of stuttering before he was able to voice his findings.
Knowing how this powerless Puppet could duel one of the mightiest Hangmen did not ease his mind in the slightest.
For the first time in his life, the same man who had killed his own brother for the sake of learning more about the Painted World, and then laughed at his decaying nightmare of a reality...felt horrified by the truth.
"Nayt!" the Emperor shouted. "That Puppet ¨C that insane Puppet isn''t using his Talent when he attacks!"
Ciro failed to keep a note of furious bafflement from sneaking into his voice. This wasn''t just absurd; it was an affront to the natural order of the universe. "He only activates his Talent to add momentum to his movements! Whenever he lands his actual attacks, he stops using it entirely!"
The elven Hangman''s mind raced through several thoughts in succession. ''That explains the odd interactions between our Talents.'' Dueling was a useful Talent, but it had obvious limitations. Raising one''s physical abilities in single combat was worth little if the user still couldn''t overcome a difference in Rank.
Ferrero''s solution had been to use his Talent as much as possible, then deliver the final blow as a completely normal person, without any magical abilities involved. Rather than a Clash of Talents, their exchanges became clashes of pure physicality.
''Talents fall to raw violence,'' Adam the Painter had often said.
It was a simple, elegant solution...yet there was a reason why no others had ever attempted it.
Using his Talent only at the most critical times meant he was relying on his swordsmanship and nothing else. During that single moment, Ferrero didn''t possess the enhanced strength, speed, and durability that came with his Dueling Talent.
Any injury he received ¨C even a minor one ¨C could be utterly lethal.
''The man is clearly mad...fortunately,'' Ciro thought, grinning with relief. ''I was concerned that he harbored a secret Puppet weapon, but this is nothing to worry over. They can hardly reproduce his particular brand of lunacy. Moreover, with Nayt''s newfound knowledge, he should overwhelm the Puppet in short order.''
That wasn''t all. Before even Nayt himself noticed, Ciro witnessed a change take place inside of his mind. The sheer respect he felt for the duelist had now evolved to the point where he no longer cared whether his opponent was human, elf, puppet or monster ¨C Ferrero was alive.
Which meant the elf''s Talent of Hanging was working again.
During their last exchange, the heat of battle had caused Nayt''s flames to unconsciously jump forth and touch the Puppet''s arms. They were larger and more uncontrolled than the stealthy flame from before, yet this too was a blessing of the Goddess of Luck.
''Changing what you consider to be ''alive'' is impressive,'' Ciro thought, grinning. ''Even I would have trouble doing something like that so quickly. Your flames of death might be weaker now than usual, but if they are already this large, then it should be more than enough to kill this damned Puppet!''
However...
Nayt was displeased.
His gaze was cast downward, and his fists shook with anger. "Dances such as ours were not meant to end like this, Puppet." The elf''s voice was filled with melancholy and regret. "But...this is the end. You''ve proven your worth ¨C and thus, as a Hangman, I must bring you death."
The Talent-conjured flames on Ferrero''s arm shrunk. When they vanished, his life would vanish with them. Bit by bit, they grew smaller, nearly dissipating...
Until suddenly, a strange liquid touched them. The substance had shot out from within his sword hilt. Nayt''s flames immediately ignited, burning wilder than ever before on the Puppet''s arm.
It took a moment for the Hangman to understand what that liquid was. When he did, the realization came as perhaps the greatest shock of the day yet.
"Oil," Nayt muttered in disbelief. "You...you had oil prepared to keep my flames alight."
The elf''s dumbstruck eyes were drawn to the roaring flames. "But if you''re turning off your Talent when attacking, that ¨C that has hurt an unbelievable amount!"
"Aye, it did, and it does, and it will still." Ferrero laughed through the pain nonetheless. "Yet losing this duel would feel far worse still."
Nayt regarded the Puppet with a silent, open-mouthed stare. He did not speak for some time.
Then, slowly, he managed a weak, "You''re insane."
"Guilty of that, and only that, no more."
Nayt felt both admiration and guilt at once. Admiration, because of the lengths the Puppet had gone to in order to defeat him.
Guilt, because of the lengths Nayt hadn''t gone to in order to defeat the Emperor.
"STOP!" Ciro shouted. "FOCUS ON THE FIGHT ¨C DON''T GET HUNG UP ON OLD MEMORIES! REMEMBER WHAT ACTUALLY MATTERS NOW!"
It was too late. Even in the heat of the battle, as Ferrero lunged at him with a body wreathed in fire...Nayt''s mind wandered to his second duel with the Emperor.
''I was his Hangman, but not his dog,'' the Elf thought, with an air of bitter nostalgia. ''I challenged him to a duel in order to stop the massacre of Greenisle. He swore to never harm my kind again, if only I bested him.''
Nayt bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. ''And I lost.''
It was his eternal shame, his greatest sin, and his reason for still living. Thousands of lives could have been saved ¨C if only he had won that singular duel.
''And...I lost.''
Despite his training, despite once yearning for the title of strongest...Nayt''s Talent was ranked lower than the Emperor''s. That cruel, unnatural difference had sealed the result of their match before it ever began.
Even the hope of simple revenge was beyond him. How was he to harm someone with a Talent of the 1st Rank? Only two people in the world had a Talent of that Rank. The Puppet Grandmaster, and the Emperor himself.
Nayt hadn''t expected to live after his failed challenge. Either Ciro would kill him for his insubordination, or the elf would kill himself out of shame.
He couldn''t have anticipated that the tyrant would make an offer.
"Few are blessed with the Talent of Hanging," the Emperor had told him back then. "It''d be a waste to lose you. Why not work for me?"
"I''d rather die."
"Of course," Ciro acknowledged. "But wouldn''t you rather kill me instead? If you keep working for me, I''ll pay you the Orbs to increase your Rank. And when you have grown strong enough...I''ll grant you another duel."
It was a ridiculous proposal that could only have come from the world''s most arrogant man. Ciro believed he could offer his life as bait to retain the loyalty of the third-strongest in the Empire. He believed it would take many decades of service before the issue ever manifested itself ¨C and thought himself capable of crushing Nayt even if the elf increased his Rank to the 1st.
Worst of all? He was likely correct.
But Nayt had felt like there was no choice. He accepted it all, committed the worst of crimes, one after the other. Under the Emperor''s command, he razed cities to the ground in his name, killed innocents, and damned his own soul for the coin the Kinslayer gave him.
Time and time again, he challenged Ciro for a rematch.
''And I always lost.''
Each loss made him feel more desperate, more certain that he must continue on this bloodstained path he had carved for himself. What other way was there to justify the innocent blood on his hands? If he continued, then one day...one day...he would be strong enough to kill the Emperor.
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On that day, it would all have been worth it.
His despair became his justification, his mantra. Ciro could not be allowed to live ¨C and this was the only way to kill him. While Nayt would protect anyone he hadn''t been ordered to kill, when tasked by the Emperor, he didn''t hesitate to trade lives for money. He would do anything he could to earn those bloodstained Orbs.
This was how the Hangman had lived until now.
Nayt marched on as the living ghost of that young, naive swordsman who had dreamed of being the strongest. He slept little and enjoyed life less. Often he tried to get in the way of the Emperor''s plans, but to his dismay it had become almost a game to Ciro. Even so, the elf marched on still, justifying every disgraceful murder as necessary.
It was the only way to stop Ciro from committing even more atrocities. Nayt had no choice. He needed to stain his canvas with sin after sin in order to avenge the elves he had failed, and to safeguard the few he could yet save. If he wanted to surpass their difference in Rank, so vast that it was like leaping over a canyon, then there was no other choice, had never been a choice.
How else was he supposed to approach the level of monsters like the Emperor and the Dark Captain?
And yet...
And yet before him now stood Ferrero Acerro, the Puppet Duelist.
He was unlike the divine fighters he opposed on the battlefield. In truth, he was closer to the citizens he protected.
His Talent was not among those rare few blessed by the First Painter, such as Lordship, Painting, or Hanging. Even his Rank was disgustingly low ¨C some of the richer citizens of Penumbria, who at that very moment were cowering from the invasion, may have had a higher Rank than the Puppet.
Yet his knees would only bend for a lunge.
Both men had the same dream, one of them was blessed with far more talent than the other, and yet...
It was the common man unblessed by fate who had refused to accept that something was impossible.
''Have...have I been taking the easy way out?'' Nayt''s eyes went wide, his heart racing. ''Was it my weakness that prevented me from killing the Emperor, and not the world itself? Did I really have other choices? If so...then I was just too weak to...''
Confusion, guilt, depression, adrenaline, despair ¨C his emotions became a maelstrom that nearly swallowed him whole.
And the Puppet Duelist took advantage of that hesitation, delivering a flurry of cuts to the Elven Hangman.
"KILL HIM NOW!" the Emperor shouted at Nayt in fury.
"KILL HIM NOW!" the Ravens shouted at Ferrero in unison.
The echoing screams from the birds, the harrowing orders from the Kinslayer, the chaotic sound of the giantslaying arrows felling Stained Beasts as they crawled up onto the city, his mounting regrets of the massacres he partook in...everything combined into an overwhelming, crushing sensation that slowed Nayt''s movements more and more.
''Should I let him kill me?'' Nayt eyed the Puppet longingly. ''A part of me wants you to win, you know? To prove me wrong. I think it would be a more satisfying death than I deserve. And the moment you start wishing for your opponent''s victory is the moment you no longer deserve to hold a sword. I should...just let him...win...''
The elf lowered both his sword and his gaze to the ground.
It was better this way.
As an incoming thrust came for his heart, the Hangman found no reason to parry. He fully accepted his death. Nayt closed his eyes, heaved a heavy sigh, and waited.
He waited for a long time ¨C for a blow that never came.
"FERRERO! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU FUCKING DOING?" The Ravens screamed in unison, all of their eerie implication replaced by absolute burning anger. "THERE''S A WAR GOING ON! PEOPLE MIGHT DIE! STOP PROLONGING THIS!"
At the same time, the Emperor screamed, "NAYT! GET YOUR SWORD BACK UP NOW! THE PUPPET ISN''T ATTACKING FOR SOME REASON! KILL HIM, THEN KILL TENVER!"
When the Hangman opened his eyes, he was met with the sight of the tired, bleeding Puppet, his sword also lowered ¨C but his gaze meeting Nayt''s high and proud. Like him, he saw the limitations of his love for the blade. Like him, his people had been slaughtered by the Emperor. Like him, he was being swallowed up by a chaotic battlefield.
Yet unlike him, he looked happy.
"You are the finest swordsman I have met," said the Puppet. "The world, your past, your duties ¨C burn them all." Ferrero curled his lips, and his grin was like a smoldering ember, radiating warmth and intensity. "Show me thy best, O Blade of Greenisle."
Selfishness had kept Nayt alive for many years. He''d wanted revenge, he''d wanted to help the surviving elves, and not once did he refuse his heart''s call. But now that he wanted death...that selfishness showed its first crack.
No. That would be a disservice to the Duelist standing before him.
Moreso than his mountain of regrets, speaking far louder than the Emperor''s orders or the chaotic battlefield, was Ferrero''s scorching gaze that melted away the elf''s frozen emotions. Something deep inside of him ¨C a slumbering beast that had been stirring throughout their match ¨C roared loudly.
And for the first time since the massacre of Greenisle, Nayt the Elven Swordsman flashed a genuine smile.
"Let''s have a fun match," he challenged, meeting the Puppet''s grin.
"KILL HIM¨C"
"WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING¨C"
The two swordsmen ignored the frantic calls from birds and emperors. At that moment, nothing else in the world mattered for them. They forgot who they chose to fight for, what they chose to protect, who they chose to kill, and even why they''d chosen to hold a weapon in the first place.
For the next two minutes, the Hangman vanished, replaced by that wide-eyed swordsman who''d once dreamed of the top. For those two minutes, the Puppet matched his energy ¨C and gave even more. Both men displayed every trick of swordsmanship they could think of, thinking little of consequences or reasons.
''I had almost forgotten,'' Nayt thought with a smile, ''how much I love fencing.''
''Never forget again,'' Ferrero''s blade answered, his thoughts burning in his sword. ''It''s what makes you who you are, isn''t it?''
''I swear it. I never will.''
The Emperor''s screaming came to a halt as he realized, frighteningly, that the two were having a conversation without words or magic. Through smirks and a shared passion, these two near-strangers understood each other at a level Ciro frankly could not comprehend.
''This...is quite worrying,'' he thought. Looking beyond this duel, even beyond the war itself, Ciro''s first real concern manifested. It was something much farther ahead. Not today, mayhaps not tomorrow ¨C yet visible on the horizon.
The Duelist''s steel had sparked an ember into a dying fire, setting the Hangman''s heart ablaze once more. Ciro had believed Nayt''s passion to be dead and buried, but now...without a doubt, however small, the malevolent energy known as pride was declaring its presence again.
With every fiery exchange, with every drop of blood he shed, Nayt was reforging himself into the man who had once challenged the Emperor of the World. A legendary swordsman stirred inside his heart, the ice encasing it cracking further and further.
And standing across from him was the one responsible for melting that icy fortress. If the two continued to duel for much longer¨C
Suddenly, both swordsmen lowered their swords, a bittersweet expression on their faces.
"Ah," Nayt said, smiling in spite of himself. "Seems like we have to stop here."
"Indeed," said Ferrero, now speaking far less theatrically. "It''s a pity."
It was so abrupt that despite being able to read their minds, Ciro still found himself bellowing out, "WHY DID YOU STOP?! NAYT!"
Almost unexpectedly, the Raven no longer shared his objections. Instead, the murder of crows and unkindness of ravens synchronized into a large, resigned sigh. "It would have been better if you''d killed him," said the biggest of the birds. "Yet this outcome is acceptable. You did well, Ferrero."
Nayt held his sword sheath up against the empty air...and had it violently torn away from his hand, as if repelled by an intangible force. "It seems that your Realm Walls are back up," he remarked. "You kept me from entering Penumbria''s territory."
"That I did," the Duelist acknowledged. The flames on his shoulders slowly dissipated within the safety of the Realm. He was not this Realm''s creator, but he knew of the Laws used to create it. "But it''s a pity we couldn''t finish our duel. Someday...?"
"I swear it," said the Hangman. "With the Elven Gods as my witness. I swear it on my life ¨C we will have our rematch."
The two held their gaze, hands half-extended in a handshake that Penumbria''s invisible Realm Walls would never allow. Both men were wounded, one of them still burned heavily on one shoulder, and yet neither of them seemed unhappy.
"How?" Ciro demanded. "HOW? The Little Painter is still fighting the Gryphon, and his Canvas is stained besides! He shouldn''t be capable of using Realm Reconstruction again, much less from such a great distance ¨C not when he hasn''t mastered the Lord Talent!"
Faster than Tenver''s arrows, the Emperor used the Lord Realm to shift his point of view to Adam. Though the image was faint, he confirmed that the Pretender was still engaged in battle with the Gryphon.
"The ¨C the Butcher then? Vasco? Is he the cause?" Ciro cursed, trying to feel the Realms around his continent. "But that would have left Gama without a Realm of its own!"
A quick check showed this to be untrue. Gama still had its Realm, and Vasco was similarly engaged in his own fierce battle, currently locking swords with Valente.
''Who then? His elven wench of a daughter? No, she shouldn''t inherit the Talent until his death...and even then she wouldn''t have the skill to use Realm Reconstruction at this distance. Who¨C''
A monstrous arrow, nearly as tall as the Emperor, himself came a breath away from killing him. It was only with a last-minute application of Gravity that he managed to evade the projectile, and even that did not prevent the ensuing cloud of dust and mud from dirtying his spotless white cape.
He glared in anger at Penumbria''s tallest tower. ''This Realm has new rules,'' Tenver thought, knowing his uncle would read his mind. ''Nothing may enter, but anything can leave ¨C my arrows included. Should you stay here, then I will kill you, dear uncle. So if you value your life...''
The Puppet Prince paused, then laughed, his voice so loud and maniacal that the Emperor could hear its faint echo from afar.
''GET OUT OF OUR CITY!''
Before the Emperor could think of a reply, Nayt walked back towards him, stretching his arms above his head. When he was done, he placed a consolatory hand on Ciro''s shoulder.
"Well, you heard your nephew ¨C we really should get out of here," the Hangman muttered, just as lazily as ever...but now with a faint ghost of a smile on his face. "With the Realm reconstructed, your monsters can''t get through to Penumbria. And if you destroy the Realm, it would be grounds for the entire Empire to rebel."
He couldn''t quite suppress a satisfied glint from sparking in his eyes. "With your infinite wisdom, surely you can see that we''ve lost this battle, Your Divine Highness."
"But who?!" Ciro protested angrily. "Who Reconstructed the Realm? It''s not Adam, it''s not Vasco, it''s not Tenver, and it''s certainly not the Puppets ¨C WHO?"
The elf shrugged. "Either way, we have a long walk ahead of us." He gestured at the shattered carriage. "Tenver fucked up our transportation."
Nayt paused for a moment. Without changing his expression or tone, he added, "I''m not carrying you back to the capital."
"WHO?" The Emperor demanded again. "WHO RECONS¨C"
Another giant arrow nearly hit him, this time collapsing the ground behind them, sending both Hangman and Emperor flying.
Nayt stood up, covered in dirt yet seemingly unbothered. "Sir. If you don''t mind, we should leave."
"Damn them all!" Ciro cursed. He shot the city one final look. "Fine. Let''s leave. This all ends once the Painter is dead, anyhow."
The largest raven flew directly at the Emperor, stopping its flight inches from his face. "Are you certain of that?" Its beady-eyed gaze looked somehow taunting. "It seems, your Oh-So-Divine-Highness, that you have learned nothing."
Ciro had to restrain himself from crushing the bird into atoms. "And why, pray tell, do you think that?"
The ravens and crows let loose synchronized, uproarious laughter, the sound echoing like an orchestra of mockery. "Because you still underestimate my Lord Adam''s plans."
Chapter 53
Vasco had many names, depending on the tongue that called for him. They all painted a different picture of the man...albeit with two commonalities.
His absolute strength ¨C and his aptitude for violence.
To his old rivals at the Academy, he was the Knightly Genius; a standoffish man who''d mastered the Talent of Lordship better than any aside from Aspreay. His peers thought of him as lacking in ambition or passion, and bereft of any interest in courtly matters.
Yet they too knew of his strength. One simply couldn''t witness his skill and not be awestruck. Many nobles had breathed sighs of relief upon learning that he would be stationed far away from their Realm. More than once during training, he had shattered a Lord''s Realm with his warhammer ¨C and no use of his Talent at all.
To his loved ones and citizens of his city, he was Vasco, Lord of Gama; the kind, gentle giant who would sooner experience his final breath than allow injustice to stand. It was common knowledge that he hardly partook in luxuries, and would (had, even!) given up on the few he did for the sake of preparing his citizens for the oncoming winter.
Yet they too knew of his strength. One simply couldn''t witness his slaughter of foolish would-be bandits, attempting to raid the port city, and not thank the heavens that he was a benevolent ruler. Merely banishing the invaders from the city would''ve been enough, but Vasco dealt with them personally to ensure their devilish feet never tread upon any of the Empire''s lands again.
To his enemies, he was the Butcher of Greenisle; the vicious madman that had stopped the massacre of the elves by slaughtering his very people ¨C even crossing the line of patricide to do so. Every Lord and noble in the Empire muttered curses with his name. They murmured how he''d nearly committed treason against the Holy Emperor himself, slaying his father and brother in order to protect the filthy elves.
Yet they too knew of his strength. One simply couldn''t curse a man for his murders...and not fear him for much the same. Within that ocean of battles and corpses, Vasco had single-handedly carved open a path, reaching his own father and promptly killing him in just one strike to end the slaughter of the last great elven city.
But, to Valente, the Dark Captain of the Hangmen? He was only known as ''Vasco''. No other titles were granted. Only friends and worthy opponents were deserving of that.
Vasco wasn''t so sinful as to be counted among the Hangman''s friends. And as for his prowess in battle...although Valente knew full well of the man''s achievements...
To the Dark Captain, that meager level of strength was irrelevant.
The Lord of Gama was nothing more than his next target ¨C and not for long.
''I could''ve ended this days ago,'' Valente thought, observing their clashing armies. ''Our difference in might is as clear as Ciro''s divinity. And yet...''
He glanced at his fist and found it shaking slightly. Visions of the capital city ¨C of collapsing buildings and crushed bodies ¨C flashed in his mind. The memory of the dozens of corpses his recklessness had wrought made him sick to his stomach.
''I was afraid. I feared that Vasco of Gama could be like the former Lord of Penumbria. That he would use common people as his shield to face me in battle.''
Ernanda had chastised him for his concern, cursing his weak heart. She''d accused him of wasting precious time in this so-called war ¨C the execution of a Pretender is a more honest description ¨C and she had been correct. Until now, Valente had wanted to settle the matter with as few casualties as possible, prioritizing caution over a quick victory.
But since that decision, two changes had occurred.
The first was that after engaging with Vasco in battle over the past few days, Valente became convinced of one thing: his opponent was an honorable one. He couldn''t figure out why such a man would associate himself with this rebellion, yet of his heart''s nobility, there was no doubt. At the end of each day, Vasco allowed the Dark Captain to recover his wounded soldiers from contested land, sometimes even returning them with basic medical care applied.
''He fights a gentleman''s war,'' Valente thought absently. ''Unlike any other General I have seen. Were it only that every opponent of mine possessed his grace.''
Vasco''s kindness had forged doubt into certainty. By now, Valente knew that this man would not use his soldiers as a shield, nor was he hiding some cowardly scheme to make the Dark Captain hesitate in striking.
Yet had this been the only change, mayhaps Valente would''ve held back the worst of it out of respect for his magnificent opponent. It was the second piece of news that forced him to reconsider his approach ¨C and it came in a distant shout that only he could hear.
''The assault on Penumbria failed.''
Ciro informed him through the Lord Talent. It was difficult to send messages to another so far away, even inside of his Realm, but Valente''s Rank allowed him to purposefully welcome the distant thought.
''I haven''t the slightest idea what our Little Painter is planning! Enough of this! Kill Vasco of Gama right now ¨C RIGHT NOW, you hear me? I don''t care how many of his men get in the way! I don''t care how many of OUR men get in the way! He cannot be allowed to live! Finish this before they pull any more absurd tricks!''
The Dark Captain closed his eyes and allowed himself a deep sigh. He was reminded of a sacred vow he''d sworn long ago...though at the time it was merely a peasant speaking to himself, with only the Gods as his witness.
Duty before his own life. The innocent before his duty.
''And the Emperor''s wishes above all else.''
His eyes snapped wide open. "All troops ¨C to Ernanda!" Valente declared, gesturing at his vice-captains. "Reinforce her flanks and carry this order to her: we must win as soon as possible. No matter the cost."
While Ernanda was amongst the strongest of Hangmen, unlike Valente, she was not so overwhelmingly strong as to be near-invulnerable. A stray arrow could''ve killed her under the right circumstances. As such, she was leading an uphill charge against the left flank, which the Undying Elf of Gama had been defending most fiercely.
Her resistance wouldn''t last much longer. With reinforcements at Ernanda''s side, the Hangwoman should be able to quickly break through and capture the rebels'' position.
There was a reason why they hadn''t enacted this plan until now...but the Emperor''s orders were absolute.
¨C
On the other side of the battlefield, Vasco of Gama noticed the change immediately.
''They''re retreating,'' he thought. ''And not just a few troops, either. This is a complete withdrawal. But...why? Even if they outnumber us, they must know we can smash their flank and rout many of their troops while they reposition. This isn''t just a reckless strategy ¨C it''s an impossible one.''
"My lord?" asked one of his men. "Should I give the order to pursue?"
Vasco cursed beneath his breath. Something was wrong. He felt it in his bones.
Yet not giving chase was a luxury they could scarcely afford. For one, they couldn''t let the Hangmen penetrate their defensive lines through the left flank. If Valente''s forces made their way to Adam before he learned the secret of countering Rot, then the war was over. Just like that.
And for another...Solara would die.
Vasco could not, would not, allow either to happen.
"On me," he declared, mounting his horse. "Draw up formations. We''re going to slaughter every single one of the Emperor''s mongrels." ''I can only hope I notice their trap before they unleash it ¨C and pray that I am making the right decision.''
''Twas a false choice and a vain hope.
A man of his Rank didn''t have the enhanced senses to hear the Dark Captain heralding the song of corpses.
Nor could he have prevented it regardless.
¨C
Valente stood alone, eyeing the charging rebel army from a distance. Hesitantly, he withdrew a few Orbs from his pocket.
''The last time I did this was in the Capital,'' he recalled, his thoughts filled with regret. ''And at that time...I held back. I tried to keep my attacks from destroying our city ¨C from harming innocents.''
For all the good that had done.
''But now...there is no city before me.'' He nodded, confidence surging as he tightened his grip around the Orbs. ''Our army is behind me ¨C my men are out of range. In an open field, there will be no casualties other than the enemy.''
Which was still a steep price to pay.
Those poor men in the rebel''s army were innocents as well. Mere pawns tricked by the Pretender and his allies, then sent to die in a sinful rebellion against their rightful Emperor. Commoners knew nothing of righteousness and duty; their only true quality was loyalty. Valente knew this better than anyone ¨C he''d been a commoner himself before Ciro bestowed the honor of a title upon him.
But cruel as it was, they had to die. Such was the way of things. The Emperor had declared it so.
Only because the rebels had held them as shields for too long, though. Their blood was on the Pretender''s paintbrush, not their Emperor''s orders.
''If artists are champions of imagination, Painter, then I pray that tales of this battle reach your ears and haunt your dreams until your dying day. My Emperor would not have wished for this.''
With an inevitable slowness, the Dark Captain held up two fingers and muttered two words.
''Ethereal Sonata.''
¨C
"Steady!" Vasco warned his men. "We cannot waste this chance! There must be a trick, but even so¨C"
He gestured at the distant Hangman. "¨CHe''s just as human as us! Doesn''t matter what ruse he''s got in store! If he fucks up ¨C we''ll FUCK HIM UP!"
His declaration was met with a chorus of roars from his men as they galloped forth. "STAND PROUD!" Vasco bellowed. "LET OUR NAMES BE REMEMBERED AS THE ONES WHO FELLED THE WORLD''S STRONGEST...THE...world''s..."
His voice faded and his horse came to a halt. A second later, his brain finally processed what lay before him.
The speed of the savagery he now witnessed surpassed the speed that sound touched his ears. ''Have...have my eardrums burst?'' was Vasco''s Lord-hastened thought. ''No...just...''
''The sound is yet to occur.''
The land around, behind, and before him had already been torn asunder.
Until now, the ground between the Hangman and themselves had been a nondescript plain. Of that he was certain ¨C yet his eyes challenged him to question that reality. Now stood a broken tapestry of chaos, marked by a series of massive interwoven holes, as though a giant had raked the land with an enormous shovel.
Chunks of earth and rock were strewn about, creating a jagged terrain that seemed almost alien. Smoke rose from the deep fissures, the ground still smoldering from the sheer intensity of the attack. It was as if the very essence of the earth had been torn apart and left to fester in its own ruin.
Vasco the Lord of Gama, Vasco the Butcher of Greenisle, Vasco the Knightly Genius, Vasco the one who remained unyielding before death itself...felt his will falter as he beheld the injuries left on the planet''s surface.
It was only then that he started to comprehend Valente''s attack.
A chorus of shooting stars had blasted out from the Hangman''s grip, flying violently in every direction and leaving behind a trailing red mist. The eyeball-sized meteors flew mostly straight, seeming as likely to soar upward as downward ¨C until they would bounce off each other, or even bounce off the air itself, changing directions abruptly and at random. One suddenly started moving in Vasco''s direction¨C
It was then, and only then, that the Lord of Gama''s distorted senses heard something. A faint whisper that had been muttered what felt like an eternity ago.
"Ethereal...Sonata..." Valente had declared, as he unleashed murder upon them.
And murder they had felt.
''Im...I''m alive,'' Vasco told himself. ''That means we can still kill him. Even if I don''t understand what''s going on. How many men did that attack¨C''
He turned to check on his army.
Horror flooded his senses.
Soldiers who ¨C just moments before ¨C had filled the battlefield with their cries were now wholly unrecognizable. Those whose misery stopped at death were the lucky few; many weren''t even whole. Their bodies had been grotesquely contorted by the Hangman''s meteoric Orbs, the ground now littered with remains torn from their corpses.
Others hadn''t been so lucky as that. Their families would be incapable of burying the unrecognizable heaps of flesh and bone they now blended into. Blood soaked the earth, creating streams of crimson that flowed into the deep craters left by the attack, as if a macabre river had just spawned into existence.
The air was filled with the metallic tang of blood and the sickening scent of seared flesh, a visceral reminder of the Hangman''s power. Shattered weapons and torn banners lay amongst the dead, silent witnesses to the massacre. Vasco''s heart pounded in his chest as he took in the overwhelming destruction, the weight of his losses crashing down upon him.
Vengeance and fury were the first emotions to return to him as he whirled to face the Hangman. "MONSTER! YOU SHALL PAY FOR¨C"
It was here he realized that his horse could not lead him on this march, as it, too, fell down headless. Vasco fell with it, collapsing onto the ground in a pile of tangled limbs. For just a second he felt ¨C imagined? ¨C those detached arms from his dead men holding onto him, begging him to stay down.
He hurriedly rose to his feet ¨C only to stumble again, his legs shaking. Instinctively, the Lord of Gama dragged his fingers across his chest.
His hand came back stained with blood.
''I...I didn''t avoid it completely,'' Vasco absently thought, as the Dark Captain stalked towards him. ''Even with my Lord Talent, even though he wasn''t aiming for me...I barely...''
A bloody cough stopped his trailing thoughts. The Butcher of Greenisle, named thus in one of the Empire''s worst massacres, sank to his knees in a state of shock. He couldn''t even muster up the appropriate fear he should rightfully be feeling as the Dark Captain approached him.
Vasco had led 371 men on the right flank. Out of those, 148 had participated in the charge against the Hangman.
239 had died just now.
¨C
''It''s...over.''
There were three men in existence whose Talents reached the peak of the Painted World''s logic. Only three men still living, and seven in total recorded history, who had managed to achieve the elusive glory of reaching the 1st Rank.
Those belonging to that elusive trio held illustrious titles of their own. There was the Emperor of the World, there was The Grandmaster of the Puppets¨C
¨CAnd there would always be the Dark Captain of the Hangmen.
Despite the clear line separating those three and the rest of the Painted World, within those three, the difference was far blurrier. Throughout the years, across virtually every Imperial tavern in the land, many a drunken debate had risen over whether the Hangman or the Emperor was truly deserving of the title of Strongest. Vasco himself had occasionally indulged in a cup of wine and partaken in that same argument.
Now, as he stood in the aftermath of the Dark Captain''s melodic massacre...he realized how foolish those arguments were.
There had never been a question.
Valente was the best there was, the best there is, and the best there would ever be. The Dark Captain of the Hangmen, slowly stalking toward the fallen Lord of Gama, was indisputably the Painted World''s Strongest.
And Vasco didn''t give a damn.
"Order your troops back!" he bellowed, with a confidence that his useless knees did not share. Vasco pressed his warhammer against the ground, attempting to forcefully push his way to uprightness. ''Be who you want to be ¨C I will not let my daughter die before my eyes!'' "I told you to ORDER THEM BACK!"
Valente didn''t respond, continuing his slow march towards the lord. His deadened gaze was enough to cause Vasco to feel as though he''d been attacked again. ''Steady, feet of mine! Do not fall!''
But for the first time...the lord found an order of his disobeyed. His knees trembled weakly, and he had to tighten his grip on his weapon in order to remain standing. ''Not yet! I have to kill him ¨C have to get to his troops! Now, now, NOW!''
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
The Dark Captain was just ten feet away now. Vasco''s hands started to twitch, and he desperately threw his shoulder over the weapon''s hilt to keep it from slipping out of his reach. ''I have to kill him! Move, move, mo¨C''
His mighty warhammer snapped in two, sending the lord tumbling down onto the mud. Whether it had been the Hangman''s previous attack that did it, or merely his own weight, he did not know, and did not care. There was but one thing on Vasco''s mind at that moment.
"My daughter!" He raised his voice, shouting at the approaching Hangman as if defying a specter of death, "She will die if I don''t kill you now!"
"Yes," Valente acknowledged, in a solemn tone. He paused for a moment, then said, "You have my sympathies...yet she must die. Our Emperor has decreed it so."
The Lord of Gama crawled toward him. "Take me as a prisoner," he barked out. "I''ll have Gama surrender, I''ll bend the knee to the Emperor, I''ll sell my fucking soul ¨C but KEEP HER ALIVE!"
Solara had suffered far too much to die here. She was too young, only now beginning to make genuine friends. The girl had barely interacted with others since...since Greenisle.
Vasco could live a thousand lives and still not be able to apologize for what his family had done to her kind.
''Just a normal child ¨C and she had to witness her family, her friends, and her neighbors all butchered like animals!'' Those nightmares haunted her every night. The girl rarely spoke of it aloud, yet it was plain from the way she''d flinch at open doors, or stutter upon seeing a ship she did not recognize arriving at Gama''s docks, or how she would look away while muttering something about her lack of sleep.
And it was Vasco''s family that had inflicted that suffering upon her. Her, and countless other elves ¨C the few ''lucky'' enough to have survived the butchery of Greenisle. The least he could do for her and them, the very least, was to keep Solara safe and give her the chance to grow up happy and strong.
Until the day she could shape Gama into a haven for her people.
"I''m sorry, Vasco," said the Dark Captain. He withdrew another Orb from his pocket, then promptly placed it between his closed index finger and his thumb. "I wanted to say this to you in person before killing you: I respect you for not using cowardly tactics. Thank you...and I''m sorry. I''ll make sure that your tombstone speaks of your valor, and not of your part in Greenisle."
Valente lowered his hand, aiming the sphere at him. "May you meet with your daughter in the life beyond this one."
''Gods...demons...anyone that can listen!'' Vasco''s thoughts surged with desperation. ''I deserve to die a thousand deaths, but not yet! I have to keep her alive! Please! Please!''
Valente angled his hand at him.
''Gods! Answer to this prayer of mine, and you may have my life!''
No such beings heeded his request.
''Dark Sorcerer! You may burn my very soul to ashes if it will save her life!''
Even the most malevolent of beings did not respond to him.
"Farewell," Valente said, quietly and sadly, "my dear gentleman General. I shall remember you for as long as I live."
''ANYONE! HELP ME ¨C HELP SOLARA!''
Vasco closed his eyes and thought of any deities, malicious, or otherwise, that he could offer his soul to. None responded.
''ANYONE! PLEASE...JUST THIS ONCE!''
But deep inside, he knew there would be no answer. There was no one to help him.
There never had been.
Ever since the day he went against his father, Vasco had been alone. For the sin of patricide, he was doomed to die in miserable solitude, without even a single gentle hand on his shoulder to help share the burden of life. He had accepted this ¨C so long as he could atone for what he''d done and save Solara.
But now...
"Please," he begged, his voice cracking. "Don''t...don''t do this..."
Valente closed his eyes and moved his finger to snap the¨C
"STOP!" proclaimed a new, familiar voice.
It wasn''t a Royal Order declared inside a Realm, yet it was spoken with the confidence and regalness of one. Mayhaps that was why even the Strongest Man in the Painted World found himself unconsciously obeying the command, slowly turning his neck as the color drained from his face.
"Are you...kidding...me?" Valente muttered. "That''s not ¨C you''re not real."
A lone horse galloped across the shattered battlefield, its rider''s long golden hair fluttering like a banner of defiance in the wind. In the midst of smoke and ruins, that indomitable presence made its way through a backdrop of death and destruction, each moment an eerie silence punctuated only by the rhythmic thudding of hooves on broken ground. His hair trailed behind the speeding animal like a ghost''s echo, catching the sunlight and casting an almost ethereal glow.
''Ah...I was wrong,'' Vasco thought weakly, his wounds nearly causing his conscience to fade. ''I was never really alone, was I? Even when I tried to push you away...you were always there, waiting for me to step closer to you again.''
Although the onslaught of death, carnage and pain had done little to crack the Lord of Gama''s stoic expression, he was now thrust into a losing fight against his own tears. "I''ve...I''ve missed you so much," he said. "More than my lips can say."
The gallant rider stopped before him. "Oh, I know," Aspreay remarked, a taunting smirk curving across his lips. Without waiting for a response, he dismounted from his horse, then approached Valente in that same motion.
Grimacing, the disgraced Lord examined the stunned Hangman from head to toe. Their eyes met, Aspreay''s gaze filling with disgust and derision. "You hurt Vasco," he said, as if in disbelief. "How dare you?"
"How are you ALIVE?!" Valente cried out. "When we fought in Penumbria, I¨CI might have...caused casualties...but I definitely killed you! I killed you!" The Hangman''s anguished cry was both an accusation and a question. "How could you survive with such wounds?"
Aspreay let out a haughty, imperious laugh. "Oh, rest assured that your memory does not fail you. Our showdown went as you recall ¨C it just so happens the strings of my fate have yet to be cut."
He slowly dusted off his clothes, like the movement was unfamiliar to him. "Nonetheless, you most definitely killed me."
"Yet here you stand."
"Yet here I stand," Aspreay acknowledged, his grin growing wider and more mocking. "What do you intend to do about it?"
The Hangman stammered back as if he''d been struck. "Are you mad?" Valente wildly gestured around at the broken battlefield. Even the walls leading into the ruined Santuario das Chamas had been shattered by his earlier attack. There was a harrowing silence in the air, and corpses littered the red-stained dirt.
"Have you not witnessed what I am truly capable of?" There was a brief stutter to Valente''s tone...and although Vasco could scarcely believe it, a hint of nervousness in there somewhere. "At the capital, I held back for fear of collateral damage." His voice trembled with fury. "Though you still forced me to kill many innocents that day."
Aspreay laughed again. "Oh my, you''re still dodging your responsibility?" He tilted his head and frowned in concentration. "Or are you simply so idiotic that you''re incapable of recognizing your own sins?"
Valente rapidly shook his head. "You won''t trick me this time, cretin!" He stepped forward, a nervous satisfaction punctuating his heavy breaths. "Do you not see how strong I am when I care not for holding back?"
The Lord made a show of looking around before facing the Dark Captain with a raised eyebrow. "Yes, what of it?"
"And what say you to it?" Valente insisted. "Tell me you''re scared¨Cdrop your knees¨Cbeg for forgiveness¨Cadmit to your sins in our duel!"
Aspreay took a step forward toward the Hangman, now so close that either man could have reached out and touched the other. A smirk adorned his features. "This is what I say to it."
Then he slapped Valente.
He slapped the Strongest Man in the Painted World.
Slowly, like a rusted wheel, Valente turned his head back in disbelief. "What did you just...do you not see how easily I could kill¨C"
Aspreay slapped him again.
This time Valente said nothing, and when he stared, it was in more than mere disbelief. The nervousness from earlier had morphed into outright fear, surpassing his manic confidence in his powers.
"Silence, mongrel." Aspreay tone was utterly derisive, as if disgusted by the Hangman''s very existence. "Filthy flesh, mothered by the basest of alley whores. That tongue of yours is not fit to speak to a trueborn lord. You and the Emperor have sinned most gravely ¨C and you will restitute my city, as well as Gama, for this baseless war."
Vasco watched in astonishment as Valente reflexively drew a step back. There was still no question in his mind that the Dark Captain was the strongest being in the world, one of the only three living beings to bear a Talent of the 1st Rank, and that Aspreay''s own Talent was barely of the 9th.
Yet the malevolent, dark arrogance of the former Lord instilled terror in the Hangman''s heart.
"Baseless...baseless?" Valente almost seemed at a loss for words. "This is a sacred war against a thief who dared to steal lands from the Empire. Worse than a Pretender, he is guilty of treason, of sacrilege against his Holy Emper¨C"
"He is not." Aspreay''s voice was cold and firm. "Adam Arcanjo is my bastard son. I willingly stepped away from ruling the city of Penumbria. Thus, the basis for this war is unlawful."
His glare hardened. "Withdraw your troops. Now."
"What does that even mean?" Valente hissed. "He isn''t your son! We both know this!" The Hangman jabbed an accusing finger in Vasco''s direction. "It''s clear as day that you couldn''t have fathered¨C"
Aspreay slapped him again. "Still your tongue, or I shall have it served on a platter. Your stupidity knows no bounds ¨C do you not comprehend how this changes matters? Think, or you will have even more innocent blood on your hands."
Valente gaped at him blankly, confusion and distrust coloring his expression.
In contrast, Vasco caught his meaning immediately. ''The Emperor''s true reason for wishing Adam dead is his Talent,'' the Lord of Gama thought. ''Specifically that he can help cities survive the Rot without Imperial protection. But that isn''t enough for the Emperor to declare war ¨C to obtain support from his vassals.''
His eyes widened. ''Even if Ciro could crush whichever vassals oppose him, their subjects would be dissatisfied, and dissatisfaction leads to a poor yield of taxes. The Emperor''s goals might be mysterious...but his need for Orbs is not. Without a proper reason for declaring war, his vassals would grow very, very discontent. They might start to wonder if they could be next, and then purposefully bleed the Empire''s coffers dry.''
It was, at its core, the same reason why the Empire had only sent a limited army ¨C consisting of frontier lords and their personal retinues ¨C rather than send their own soldiers through desolate lands.
Money.
Everything came down to Orbs in the end.
A sense of realization gradually dawned on the Hangman''s face. "And what...what would stop me from killing you right here?" Valente spoke slowly and hesitantly, seeming to lack confidence in his own threat, like he knew there would be a counterargument. "That way, no city lord could hear your lies of the Painter''s parentage. There would be no revolt."
Aspreay laughed maniacally. He opened his arms wide, as if that macabre stage of death and destruction belonged to him rather than the Hangman, as if he were the one welcoming him. With a deliberate slowness followed by a swift movement, similar to conducting an orchestra, his arms rose and fell along with his voice.
"Ask your Emperor," he said, evil in his eyes and derision in his tone. "Be a good little mongrel and wag your little tail at your master ¨C beg him for guidance. I know he can hear you."
Many things happened at once. First, a murder of crows suddenly made their presence known across the battlefield, appearing so suddenly it was like they had approached beneath the cover of battle-strewn dust. But surely crows could not be trained for stealth, could they?
And second, the Emperor''s voice entered all of their minds.
''You play a dangerous game, Aspreay,'' Ciro stated angrily. ''Yet I must admit...you play it well. Valente, have Ernanda withdraw her troops.''
"But, Your Highness, I¨C"
''¨CAnd Aspreay?'' Ciro''s voice was colder and more piercing than an ice pick stabbing at their brains. ''You will regret this.''
Aspreay took a bow at the unseen Emperor. "I am nothing but a collection of my regrets, Your Royal Highness." His eyes twinkled with confidence. "As are you."
''Careful now,'' Ciro warned him. ''And know that my orders cannot reach the Hangman inside the city. If my Gryphon happens to hunt the Little Painter before he can hear otherwise...oh, that will not be my fault now, will it?''
"Of course!" Aspreay approved, in a regal tone. Then, in that same tone, he went on to say, "No one can be blamed for what happens in such chaotic areas, where neither your powers ¨C nor even those pesky little crows ¨C can reach."
His eyes were sharp with a glinting taunt, and there was the ghost of a chuckle in the air. "Which is why you won''t object should my oh-so-real heir slay your Hangman."
There was a pause. ''Naturally.''
"Well then, I believe you have an army to stop and a Hangman to recall." With eyebrows raised, Aspreay turned to face Valente. "Ernanda is still attacking Solara, is she not?" The Lord patted at his legs, then pointed at the army, as if directing a dog. "Come now ¨C hurry along, little mongrel! You must make haste!"
Valente hesitated, a barely-suppressed fury apparent in his every moment, before finally turning away with a quiet nod. He moved out at a rigid, deliberate pace, like every step was an affront to his pride.
Then, just as he''d started to put distance between them...he cast one last furious, anguished look at Aspreay, his face twisting with a storm of venom, hatred and fear. "Out of every monster I''ve ever met, you''re the worst of them all," he muttered. "I shall rid the world of your stain. This, I swear ¨C on my honor."
Before the Hangman had fully left their vision, Aspreay glanced at Vasco, then spoke loudly enough so that Valente could still hear. "He swears on nothing then, the whoreson." said the Lord, laughing once again.
Aspreay waited until the Hangman had disappeared before continuing further. "And now...this brings us to you." The former Lord stared directly at Vasco. "What say you in your defense?"
Vasco, nearly unconscious from blood loss, and still crawling in the mud, peered up in confusion. "Defense for...what? Surely you will not blame me for being unable to stop that...that monster by myself. Can''t believe you said all that to him. You know he could lay waste to the entire Empire by himself if he wanted, rig¨C"
"¨CI blame you for not protecting the one thing I left you in charge of," Aspreay whispered, his words filled with a cold poison. He stepped toward the fallen lord and crossed his arms, an air of annoyance about him. Annoyance and...hurt, somehow? "Don''t think I didn''t see it. You offered your own life back there, just before I arrived."
"It was my duty," Vasco said, grumbling through his pain. "As Lord of Gama...and as Solara''s father. A man''s life is nothing if he forsakes the titles that shape him."
"On that we agree. Yet you forgot another duty and another title." Aspreay knelt down so his face was mere inches away from Vasco. "Your most important ones. You forgot what else you were, aside from a father and a lord. There is something else you are ¨C and you''re not allowed to forget it, bastard."
Vasco stared blankly. Confusion, exhaustion, disbelief, and pain all blended into a feeling of mystified silence. "And what is that duty?" He looked up at him. "What else am I, that I forgot?"
Aspreay lifted up the lord''s chin with two fingers and gazed deep in his eyes. "You''re mine," he growled.
Chapter 54
The Emperor of the World shook his fist in anger as he stomped through the woods like a half-feral barbarian.
Victory had been so close as to be an absolute certainty, and yet it still eluded him. It hadn''t even been an equal contest! Not only did his Empire possess superior forces to the Little Painter''s ragtag group of upstarts, Ciro had needed to win just one of four separate battlegrounds to ensure that the rebels tasted bitter defeat.
The fact that they''d yet to crush them was more than a mere annoyance ¨C it was an insult. One that Adam the Painter had thrust upon him.
The 1st front, the assault on Penumbria, ended in failure. Tenver and the Puppet Duelist held us off until Aspreay rebuilt the city''s Realm Walls.
The 2nd front, the left flank assault, fell short as well. Aspreay interfered again and forced us to call off the attack.
Twice the damned lord had gotten in his way ¨C and the second time was an even more grievous wound than the first. Acknowledging Adam as his trueborn son had forced the Empire into retreat, albeit temporarily. They would be able to find another reason to declare war in less than a year''s time.
Knowing that did little to dull the sting of failure from aggravating Ciro as he advanced. It was somehow less stinging than the thorny vines harassing him with every step.
At least the 3rd and 4th fronts were still active, however barely. For the final front, its continuance was a matter of simple logistics. Deep within the Santuario das Chamas, where ancient magic of the Dragons of Old roamed, it was nearly impossible for even the Emperor''s words to reach there. In those antediluvian walls, the order to retreat couldn''t have been heard by his youngest Hangman.
Which meant none should complain if his Gryphon were to slay the Painter.
As for Ernanda''s assault...after Valente ordered her to retreat, that one should have resulted in a loss as well. But she''d disobeyed orders and gone on what seemed like a suicide mission, throwing herself far behind enemy lines.
Nayt crossed his arms, his frown deepening. "Didn''t seem like you tried too hard to stop her."
"And it doesn''t seem likely you cared either way." Ciro cursed as pushed through the vines, their prickling thorns only half as painful as the indignity of being forced to endure this commoner way of traveling. How dare his nephew destroy his carriage? "There were witnesses who saw that I ordered her to return ¨C meaning no one will be able to blame me if she cuts her way through to the Painter and kills him."
Granted, that was assuming an errant arrow didn''t kill her sooner. She wasn''t near-invulnerable to physical harm like Valente or Ciro himself. Hangwoman or not, Ernanda could be slain as easily as anyone else...provided they didn''t use a Talent, where her superior Rank ought to protect her.
Ciro was done underestimating the Painter. Chances are they accounted for her weakness in their strategies. While some of the rebel soldiers will be using Talents to empower their arrows, it wouldn''t be strange if they mixed in a few regular, unpowered arrows with them. Even if they didn''t do that, the fact that they could was what had kept Ernanda prudently standing behind her army''s front lines, rather than recklessly charging ahead.
Until now.
Prudency was a luxury Ciro could no longer afford. The notion burned him like hot pokers stabbing at his soul. I am Emperor of the World, he fumed. There should be nothing I cannot afford.
And yet there was. "She might die, but her fanaticism should at least impel her to erase most of the rebels'' left flank," Ciro noted dryly. "Even if she fails to reach the Painter, she should help reduce their fighting strength ¨C which Valente already did, despite his setbacks ¨C and further weaken their negotiating position when we later come to peace terms."
Not to mention how it would make invading again with a fresh excuse much easier, and far cheaper. "Whatever the outcome, they cannot hold me accountable if she dies."
The elf let out a sound of acknowledgement, but after a thoughtful pause, shook his head. "No. They absolutely will be able to blame you. A sheath is to blame for what its blade cuts. The Pretender and your vassals will both see it as a failing of yours...and demand satisfaction."
Ciro turned to look at Nayt. "And satisfaction I shall give them," he said, lifting an eyebrow. "Her head would be a fair trade."
Nayt''s expression twisted in shock, his body tensing as the reality of Ciro''s words hit him.
"So she will die regardless of whether it''s by the Pretender''s hand or yours." The elf appeared annoyed at the notion. "What a waste of Hangmen. Wouldn''t negotiating with the Pretender be better?"
"What are you Hangmen for, if not war?" Ciro asked, sneering. "Are you the kind of person who keeps a special bottle of wine in the cupboard, refusing to drink it year after year, telling yourself that you''re saving it for a special occasion that never comes?"
Nayt stiffened, the remark hitting closer to home than he cared to admit. His mouth opened as if to retort, but he stopped himself, the truth of Ciro''s point settling in. The Elf was exactly that kind of person, and his silence spoke volumes, the slight flush in his cheeks betraying his irritation.
"There you have it," the Emperor affirmed. "I''d much rather sacrifice my pieces for a perfect victory rather than lose because I wouldn''t give them up."
"Costly sacrifice, that one."
"We have a total of twelve Hangmen in the Empire and usually find a new one born every two or three years. Losing one is affordable ¨C if not downright prudent."
He stared directly at Nayt, as if assessing the man''s worth. "Leaving a caste with that much power to grow in size is most unwise, anyhow. Sometimes you have to prune a tree to keep it healthy."
"You''re letting her disobey your orders on purpose, so you can claim no responsibility for her actions, and then execute her to prove your point?" Nayt''s voice neared disbelief, but stopped just short, instead arriving perfectly at a quiet sort of disgust. "What a reward for loyalty."
"She''ll be glad to die. Have you not met her? Not everyone is like you, Elf. Some truly know their purpose."
"Like I said...what a reward for loyalty."
¨C
I died, Solara absently thought.
She watched as soldiers burst through the door and grabbed ahold of her few friends who''d yet to turn into corpses. And that''s when I...
The child Solara arose from death anew, her Talent awoken, and used a knife to stab a soldier in the neck. Neither the scream bursting from his mouth nor the warm blood running onto her hand stopped her from stabbing again.
Surrounded by bodies, knowing that my friend was going to die right after I did...I remember thinking I wanted to come back and save her.
That''s the first time I used Resurrection.
She had thought of herself as a hero then, possessed by the childlike notion that you could overcome any evil by clinging to your beliefs and simply deciding to win. It was a foolish notion that she now knew only belonged in the minds of children. For adults to succeed, strategy, effort, and hard work was needed.
But why am I thinking of the Greenisle massacre right¨C
WAKE UP!
The Ghost of Flames screamed inside her mind, jolting her awake. It took Solara a mere moment to fully comprehend the situation, having grown used to abrupt awakenings after dozens of deaths.
She had just died again ¨C and the Hangwoman had devastated the battlefield around her. Solara studied the faded corpses beside her, seeing dozens of men turned to ash. Her ears were ringing, her head was pounding...
And those were the least of her concerns. "I appear to be missing a leg," Solara noted, almost as if it were someone else''s problem. "How did that happen?"
You used Partial Resurrection to survive and still retain a full charge, the Ghost told her. There was anger, but also a measure of concern in its ¨C his? ¨C voice. Were she to die while haunted, there was no telling what would happen to the ghost. The Hangwoman...Ernanda, the Lady of Ash...she changed tactics. All of a sudden she moved up, caution be damned, and started leading a charge through the battlefield.
The Elf nodded slowly, her heavily-concussed mind still reeling from her most recent death. Solara''s recollection of the last few hours was patchwork at best. Normally she would''ve returned to life fully aware of what had just transpired, ready and healed up for another round...but normally she wouldn''t have been forced to use her Talent every day over the course of a week.
My Canvas must be stained to hell and back. Guess that''s why my memory is full of holes. She could ponder on the whys and hows later ¨C survival took precedence over curiosity. "How did I respond? What was my strategy? Actually, before that, how dangerous is the Hangwoman?"
With her Talent of Hanging, death manifests in the form of aging. Anything that she or her weapon touches crumbles to dust.
"Guess I must have cut off my leg to keep the rest of my body from fading away..." Solara recalled, faintly, Adam doing the same when he and Tenver had fought against the Lady of Ash in the Capital. "How did I respond to her charge? What did I tell my soldiers to do?"
You ordered them to fall back to the walls, then try to use arrows to kill the Hangwoman while you held her back.
"Did they succeed in killing her?"
Look and see.
Solara peered through the cloud of dust...and saw a figure stalking toward her. The Hangwoman advanced with a grim determination and an even grimmer weapon slung over her shoulder. Her massive scythe was taller than the woman herself, and it was so stained with blood that Solara could barely make out the original silver on its bladed side.
That weapon is new. I think the moment she used it was when she started risking her life in the fight.
"Shame. Guess they didn''t get her." Solara sighed, sounding mildly annoyed by the matter, as if death was such a certainty that further panic was unwarranted. At least I prevented my soldiers from dying unnecessary deaths. They might still manage to kill her if they have the height advantage as she approaches.
"What rotten luck, though," she mused. "Aiming at a moving target is difficult, but I was hoping one arrow would''ve hit her. We had good odds, too."
The Lady of Ash stepped through the dusty veil, appearing before her. "Do not wail and whine over the whims of fate," Ernanda said, with a voice of partial amusement and total disgust. "Let the dice roll ¨C then accept the result. That is how you should live your life, Elf."
Ernanda made her race feel like an insult in and of itself. However, Solara''s mind had been weakened by numerous, consecutive deaths over the past week. She knew it would be remiss to waste her few precious thoughts on mere anger.
If the Lady of Gama was even remotely deserving of her title...then her fading consciousness should be spent coming up with a plan to survive.
A plan to win.
"You look fucking stupid," Solara told the Hangwoman, gesturing at her Imperial Robes. "Ever considered wearing armor? You could''ve died to a random arrow dressed like that."
"But I didn''t," Ernanda replied, steady and unbothered. "And that itself is proof of the divine favor I was bestowed. What you call luck is the will of the gods, Elf. Your lack of it is proof of your evil."
Solara sighed deeply as she attempted to gather her thoughts. Lovely. She''s a fucking zealot. Don''t think I can reason with her like I almost did with Nayt.
Yes, the Ghost replied, in her mind. The Lady of Ash is famed even among Stained creatures for her devotion to her cause.
Meaning that I¨C
Should escape. Now.
¨CCan get information out of her if I question her beliefs. "And what blessings did your God bestow upon you, Lady of Ash?" Solara tauntingly asked. "Should I expect you to have one of those Genius Realms as well?"
The Hangwoman''s face tightened briefly. "The Realm of Geniuses is beyond me," Ernanda coldly stated. "The Empire tests all of its citizens for the gift, and very few are capable of it; less than ten in the entirety of our Empire. Within the ranks of the Hangman, only two of us can...and I am not one of them."
"That must be difficult." As she spoke, Solara covertly tested her remaining leg for strength ¨C and found it lacking. Can''t stand. "To live knowing that your limitations were decided by the whims of fate and chance...it must be torture, is it not?"
"We are all obligated to embrace our roles," the Lady of Ash told her immediately. "It is the one true way to live. Anything else is an affront to nature, to the Gods, to His Holy Emperor Ciro himself!"
Solara grinned. "Tell me more," she managed to say, through ragged breaths. "Why should I live according to my supposed role?"
She had no interest in the answer, but the Hangwoman would waste much time in replying. A deranged zealot such as yourself can''t help but gloat about your beliefs before delivering the killing blow.
Figures that the only way you can get someone to talk to you is if they''re incapable of walking away.
Unfortunately, Solara''s efforts to refocus and think of her next step were rather rudely interrupted by the Ghost of Flames. It shrieked within her mind, so loud and insistent that its voice burned, its desperate pleas searing words onto her brain.
WE HAVE TO ESCAPE. NOW. NOW! YOU CANNOT FIGHT A HANGMAN! NOT EVEN AT YOUR BEST! CERTAINLY NOT AS YOU ARE NOW!
"Maybe I can''t fight her," Solara quietly muttered. She forced herself not to think of the corpses she''d climbed on top of. There was no time to mourn or even fear; not when the Hangwoman was just inches away. "But Adam definitely can''t fight two Hangmen at once, so escaping isn''t an option."
NEITHER IS WINNING!
Solara willed the creature to stop distracting her. Her heartbeat pounded like a war drum in her ears, loud enough to silence even the Ghost that had once haunted her life.
It still wasn''t enough to silence Ernanda, the Lady of Ashes. "Your soldiers lack as much honor as you lack luck," she noted, smirking. Her lecture was finished...and so too was her patience, it seemed. "They were quick to abandon you."
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Solara tried and failed to stand up, wincing as a sharp pain reminded her of her missing leg ¨C and of the trail of blood leaking out of her stump. "I ordered them to retreat back to the walls. They obeyed me."
"And they would have disobeyed your father and died to protect him," Ernanda remarked, with a note of twisted pleasure. "Do not mistake compliance for loyalty."
This was a truth that hurt far more than the missing limb. Managing the left wing had been an arduous task...and the Hangwoman''s massive power was only part of it. Her soldiers could be generously described as reluctant to follow a young woman yet to partake in battle ¨C and an elf at that.
Solara had often tried focusing on the former to avoid acknowledging the latter. She couldn''t blame the soldiers for hesitating to entrust their lives to someone with little experience in war. She could and would blame them if the source of their troubles was her elven nature.
"Oh well," Solara said, with a casual laugh. "Life is sometimes unpleasant. It won''t do me any good to dwell on it."
RUN! RUN NOW! The Ghost screamed. YOU''RE NEARLY OUT OF RESURRECTIONS ¨C YOU''RE GOING TO DIE! PERMANENTLY! WE SHALL BREATHE OUR FINAL BREATH! RUN!
With what leg, Ghost? Hearing sheer desperation in the creature that had haunted her for so long was a delight to her ears. It was almost enough to make Solara forget her impending demise.
Almost.
"Had you been blessed with more honorable soldiers," Ernanda lectured, "you might have retreated with your life, if only for now. And had you been blessed with more luck, mayhap you''d have fought someone whose Talent was a better matchup for yours."
Possibly. Nayt the Elf''s power had proven to be a remarkably poor matchup against both Solara''s pain tolerance and her Talent of Resurrection. Not to mention that if Adam had been slightly luckier, Eric would be dead...but because he didn''t manage to win early on in their fight, the Gryphon will be much harder to kill now
Solara clawed at the dust, her body trembling as she tried to stand on one leg. Pain flared within, but she grit through it and looked at her grim reaper with a smirk. "Mighty proud you are," the Elf said, "of your life being saved by random chance."
"Chance!" The Lady of Ash laughed with disbelief. "You think it mere chance? Nay! It is the very will of the heavens manifest ¨C proof that Our Holy Emperor is among the righteous! Do you not understand? Every single time your side could have benefited from luck...you didn''t."
Solara nodded, her gaze dropping to the ground as she tightened her grip on the hilt of her broken sword. There was enough truth in Ernanda''s words to argue this particular point. "True enough. If Adam had killed Eric, if Aspreay had woken from his rebirth sooner, if Eric hadn''t been the one to investigate Belmordo''s letter..."
The elf chuckled bitterly. "If the Goddess of Chance had been ever so kinder, this war could''ve been over by now."
But if, if, if...''if'' doesn''t exist. Banish the thought from your mind.
Pondering over hypotheticals was an insipid, treacherous poison that could not be allowed to taint her thoughts. No good ever came from an unacademic study of the past.
Solara smiled, however faintly. "I must warn you." Her tone was dry and superior ¨C an ill match for her wounds. "You should really stop talking about luck. I''m the luckiest woman in the entire world, don''t you know? If you try to paint this duel as some sort of showdown between a roll of the dice..."
Despite her fading consciousness, and in defiance of the river of blood flowing from her stump, she laughed loudly and without fear. "...Then I''ll win."
Ernanda''s eyebrow twitched, but she gave no other visible sign of the anger she likely felt. She started to circle around Solara, closing the distance with methodical, spiraling footwork. "Your ill fortune has brought you to this point, elf," the Lady of Ash stated. "You now lay near death because of it."
"Yet I stand alive ¨C because I am lucky."
"You stand alive because of your Talent," Ernanda snapped. "Which you earned by the misfortune of having your people slaughtered."
"Aye," Solara acknowledged. "And by awakening to Resurrection, I survived long enough for my Father to save me. I was quite lucky compared to most others at Greenisle."
"Compared to the others? You lose your home, watch as your wretched kin are put down, barely survive a culling ¨C and consider yourself blessed for it?"
"Everything is relative. For example, those born with the Talent of Hanging are very lucky, aren''t you? The shining stars chosen by fate itself..."
Solara shook her head sadly. "But compared to someone like the Dark Captain, I''d say you''re quite unfortunate yourself. How does it feel, I wonder, to be a star outshone by an even brighter constellation?"
Ernanda brought down her scythe. The massive weapon cleaved through Solara''s remaining leg in a single, brutal second. Her severed limb accelerated through time, aging until it crumbled into ash before it even hit the ground. Only dust was left, dispersing into the wind.
The Ghost of Flames roared to life. WE HAVE TO ESCAPE! Even as it begged and warned the Elf to escape, it used its powers to ignite the dust on her wound, preventing the decay from spreading. Its flames licked at Solara''s body, burning away the affected area at her leg''s stump.
"You aren''t like the Pretender and the others," Ernanda muttered. Her voice was quiet and filled with understanding ¨C as if she hadn''t just almost burnt Solara to nothingness. "I sense you are smarter than them. Deep inside...you know it too, don''t you?"
"I don''t know what you''re talking about."
"Oh, but you do. There''s a reason why you didn''t try fighting me in the Capital. Why you helped the other traitors escape instead."
The Hangwoman, regrettably, was correct.
It was among the rare pains that hurt Solara worse than her missing limbs.
Adam would be the first to admit that he was no genius. He made up for it with hard work, clever plans, and a borderline suicidal attitude. He had no delusions of being the strongest, yet he still challenged the strongest, intending to win regardless.
Yet sometimes? Sometimes Solara didn''t know if she shared that belief ¨C that frame of mind ¨C when it came to life. Despite wishing otherwise, despite desperately wishing it wasn''t so, the Elf would occasionally bite her lip and try not to admit to herself what she truly believed. That she didn''t think she could valiantly embrace the role of a gallant, everyday hero; a mere mortal battering down the gates of gods.
In truth...she didn''t think she could fight like Adam.
She didn''t think she could live like him.
Doing so would be just lying to herself.
Maybe...Ernanda is right. I should embrace my role and stop acting out this farce. But this farce was how leaders should act in times of need! She knew that, and yet...
"I''m not like Adam," Solara mumbled. "Nor am I like my father. Even Tenver is completely different from me. They know this world doesn''t belong to them. That it belongs to monsters like the Hangmen, like the Dark Captain...like the Emperor."
Her voice dropped lower. "You know what''s so fantastic about them, though? Adam, my father, and Tenver all know that they weren''t born under the auspices of fate. They were never destined to be the greatest in the world. Yet in spite of everything, they try their damndest to fight ¨C to prevail. There''s something beautiful about that, don''t you think?"
"There is no beauty in attempting to violate the natural laws of this universe," Ernanda retorted, her voice low and her gaze sharp. "It is no more respectable than a mongrel trying to survive by stealing coin. When the Gods push you toward death, be they in the sky above or sitting upon the Imperial Throne, it is your duty to open your arms wide and fall into the abyss."
Her tone was harsh, and she spat out every word with a sincere venom ¨C yet at the end, she held back the worst of her disdain, curiosity taking over. "And you say you are not like them, Elf?"
"Aye," Solara acknowledged, in a resigned voice. "Try as I might, I can''t be like them." Her laughter was hollow. "Although I greatly admire their dispositions. Bravery, modesty...those are qualities a ruler should have. Qualities I wish I could have."
She threw out the admission like a curse. It felt good to say it aloud, for once. Too often she had locked the thought away, afraid her loved ones would judge her for the thought. "But I simply...I simply don''t. I cannot be like Adam, who started out alone and without significant power, and now declares himself against the Empire. I cannot be like Tenver, who lacks the Talent of a Lord, yet aspires to reclaim the title of Emperor. I just...can''t be like them."
There was a long, painful silence.
"Take pride in your destiny, Elf," the Hangwoman said. "Accepting your role is what makes you more than a mere child."
"Yes. For that, I thank you."
Ernanda''s features softened, though her grip on her scythe tightened, if anything. "It is no trouble at all." She readied her blade, preparing to bring it down for the last time.
"I can''t be like them," Solara repeated once more, with a touch of bitterness ¨C suppressed by a wave of acceptance. She sat up and looked at the Hangwoman''s scythe, her gaze impassive. "I can''t stand as one of the unchosen ones, take up a sword against those handpicked by the Gods, and claim that I will surpass everyone with tenacity and hard work. Thank you for reminding me of that."
The Lady of Ash nodded. "Farewell, Elf. May you find peace with your kin in the life after this one." Her blade began its descent.
And then stopped when she noticed the fire blazing in Solara''s eyes.
Lightning bolts of terror raced up the Hangwoman''s spine. A primal, animalistic fear screamed at her to leap back, to protect herself.
Yet nothing could have prepared her for what was about to come.
"I can''t fight like a noble underdog¨C" Solara brought her hands together as though in a prayer "¨Cbecause deep inside, I BELIEVE I AM ONE OF THE CHOSEN ONES!"
She hadn''t sought the Dark Sorcerer for a new Talent out of ignorance as to its risks. Nor had she chosen to side with Adam out of a noble, dreamlike notion that she could triumph over a stronger evil due to the goodness of her ambition.
No. It was a bright fire, one far more destructive, that burned within her.
The Survivor of Greenisle had grown to understand that only madmen clung to childish notions of valor. She couldn''t be an invincible warrior that never lost ¨C a figure that exceeded the bounds of reason and logic. A more pragmatic, practical person would have chosen to be like Adam, focusing their efforts towards devising clever plans that mitigated their weaknesses. Perhaps they would''ve even heeded the Ghost of Flames'' warnings and retreated for now.
Solara of Gama didn''t wish for that. She did not wish to be pragmatic, practical, or even clever.
Solara of Gama wished to be a hero.
The kind that could overcome any obstacle while wielding only a manic smile. Someone who fought with the unwavering belief that the universe itself should bend to their whims. A hero that would leap headfirst into an impossible situation, wager their life, and always figure out a solution within seconds.
HANGMEN, EMPERORS, GODS, EVEN THE DARK SORCERER ¨C I KNOW I''M FUCKING BETTER THAN THEM!
WOMAN¨CKID¨C The Ghost''s desperation was halted by a sudden note of hesitation. Solara, it said, hoarsely. You have no weapons. No hope. What can you¨C
She didn''t waste her time answering. Her mind had already narrowed onto a single solution, a single ray of hope that her father had told her of a while back.
One that the Hangwoman herself had uttered earlier.
"The Realm of Geniuses is beyond me," Ernanda had coldly stated. "The Empire tests all of its citizens for the gift, and very few are capable of it; less than ten in the entirety of our Empire. Within the ranks of the Hangman, only two of us can...and I am not one of them."
Solara laughed maniacally, her hands clasping together as she searched for a new way to channel her Talent ¨C a new path to tread upon. "Can you guess where the Empire neglected to test its citizens for latent abilities?" Visible sparks jolted from between her fingertips, her Talent seemingly trying to separate her trembling hands. "Greenisle. The place the Emperor massacred."
Ernanda gaped at the elf with outrage, shock, and anger. Partially at the declaration itself...but moreso at the fact that it wasn''t wrong. Solara''s words were true. The Empire hadn''t tested the elves for potential Genius Realms.
However, Solara had also neglected to mention the sheer improbability that she would be blessed with it. Only one out of a hundred thousand people would have the chance to foster a Genius Realm. The chance that one elf from Greenisle would have it ¨C let alone her specifically ¨C was astronomically low.
And even in that unlikely case, the idea that she could awaken it in the middle of a battle was downright absurd. Solara of Gama knew all this. She was well-aware of the odds.
Yet she never doubted for a second that she would succeed.
I am the hero ¨C the one who will always triumph, no matter what obstacle stands in my path.
"Stop this! Stop making a mockery out of the divine!" Ernanda lunged at the elf, her scythe descending with lethal intent. "How dare you¨C"
Solara grinned from ear-to-ear, licking her lips with mad amusement. "Ah, do not wail and whine over the whims of fate," the Elf parrotted, in a tone of delighted amusement. "Let the dice roll, then accept the result. That is how you should live your life, Hangwoman."
This situation...being surrounded by death, knowing more is to come if I fail...it''s just like when my Resurrection Talent awoke during Greenisle.
It''s perfect.
The Lady of Gama guided her thoughts with an unfounded confidence that came from the very depths of her soul. She declared her next words with a gravitas, with a nobility to it that challenged the world itself to prove her wrong.
"Genius Realm ¨C Palace of the Eternal Horizon."
It was here, as a crackling white sphere enveloped the ladies of Ash and Gama, that the Painted World bent the knee to its newest monster.
Chapter 55
The Lady of Ash didn''t allow herself to feel the anger that echoed in her soul. Witnessing an elf call upon the power she so desperately craved stirred a powerful fury within her ¨C but also an even stronger fear.
"When you''re caught within a Genius Realm," Ciro had once told her, "you become subject to their rules." The Emperor kindly helped her to her feet, flashing her a friendly smile that she was undeserving off. "Do not give your opponent the opportunity to entrap you. Otherwise, you may as well have strolled into a Lord''s Realm like a fool."
"I will never," Ernanda promised. "But if I am facing a Genius in combat, how can I prevent the worst from coming to pass?"
Ciro''s response came in the form of a wicked grin and two short words.
¨CKILL THEM! thought the Lady of Ash, BEFORE THEY FINISH CONSTRUCTING THEIR REALM!
She readied her scythe, taking just a moment to analyze Solara of Gama.
It was immediately clear that the elf''s Genius Realm was unlike any that Ernanda had witnessed before. Most others of its kind were translucent, near-invisible spheres. Instead, this Realm was hued with a cannibalistic white that seemed to devour the colors around it, refusing to be shaded darker by even the sun. Every one of its exposed sides was comprised of equally blinding white, as if the very shadows could not touch it.
It isn''t complete, Ernanda observed. The half-sphere has started emerging from the ground, but she''s too slow ¨C it''s not fully closed. Her Realm shouldn''t be active yet¨C!
There was a blur of motion.
In one single move, the Lady of Ash decapitated the elf.
Ernanda''s heart soared with joy as the head of a so-called Genius was separated from its neck. How dare you act so arrogantly towards your superiors, criminal!
Arrogance was a sin the Hangwoman could not forgive, as it and modesty were both guilty of the same evil ¨C lying about one''s place in the world. She knew hers, and so should everyone else.
Which was why she didn''t assume the fight was over just yet.
By my count, Solara of Gama should have one more Resurrection use, Ernanda thought. And she can delay her return for nearly a minute. Can''t let her catch me off-guard with it. Even if she comes back, it shall be a fruitless endeavor. Rising from the dead won''t mean a thing if her Canvas remains as Stained as it was before...and it will.
Although the wretched creature could heal from any injury upon returning to life, the same could not be said of her Canvas ¨C else she would have no limit to using her Talent. And now that she''s failed at constructing her Genius Realm...she has nothing left.
So fast were the Hangwoman''s thoughts, and so swift her scythe, that she considered all of this before Solara''s head had even touched the ground.
It was precisely because of this speed that Ernanda failed to react when the white Genius sphere continued to envelop them both. She figured that the Elf''s Canvas hadn''t realized its own body was dead yet. Surely, it would stop expanding within a second or two.
But it didn''t.
HAVE TO ESCAPE¨C Ernanda managed to think, though that was all she managed to think. In spite of its dead Genius, the white Sphere''s expansion suddenly picked up speed, enveloping the two in a white void of nothing.
Solara''s Realm was now fully constructed.
Ernanda was only fast enough to uselessly slice at the Realm''s Walls, cursing as her struggles came up empty. "Are you proud of yourself, baseborn whore?" With a screaming fury, The Lady of Ash turned to face Solara''s corpse. "You''ll still die no matter what ability your Talent¨C"
It was here that she realized that there was no sign of the elf. In that featureless white void, the Lady of Ash was alone. Completely alone.
She didn''t let it lull her into a false sense of security. Ernanda gripped her scythe ever tighter, ready for the trap to spring.
This is your Genius Realm ¨C even if it''s smaller than a Lord''s Realm, the rules are different. It''s like your own twisted universe where you make the laws. Can''t assume that you''re really gone just because I can''t see you. You''re hiding somewhere. I know it. I can feel it.
"You think I''ll let my guard down?" Ernanda barked out. "Attack me if you must, but do not insult me, knife-eared wench spawned from the gutters! I know that you''re waiting for me to show an opening before unleashing your Talent!"
Her scythe decisively cut through the air. "And that will not happen. I can wait for as long as you want."
Ernanda had been trained as a soldier and awoken as a Hangwoman. She had the discipline to remain still and the power to force her body to obey. Her attention would not wander, no matter how much time passed.
The Hangwoman readied herself, anticipating the attack that was to come. She was already devising dozens of possible countermeasures, standing patiently as she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
It was only when fifteen minutes had passed ¨C and a voice rang in the void ¨C that she started to suspect that something was wrong..
THE UNIVERSE BEGINS NOW.
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. It bounced off the Sphere''s walls, it echoed at her, it emerged from within her gut, it exploded from inside her skull and outside her ears.
It sounded like a man. It sounded like a woman.
It sounded young. It sounded old.
It sounded like every voice there was. It sounded like every voice there had been. It sounded like every voice that there would be.
What...is this? Ernanda lowered her Scythe hesitantly. Could it be that she''s not waiting to attack me?
First, she dismissed the notion. It would be an inconceivable act of cowardice to wield a power like the Genius Realm yet refuse to engage in battle.
Second, she accepted it as the truth . Solara was a blasphemer who questioned the Emperor''s divinity. Bravery was not a quality their kind was known for.
"So that''s your plan?" Ernanda laughed in disbelief. "You realized you couldn''t beat me, so you ensnared me in this little Realm of yours?"
Without so much as a breath in-between, her laughter switched from amused to disgusted. "Pathetic. You think you''ve got me trapped, elf? As if these Walls can hold me!"
The Lady of Ash cleared her Canvas and painted it on her weapon. A strong enough Talent can shatter a Realm. There''s a reason why even Lords fear the Emperor. Valente himself destroyed a Puppet''s Realm in order to vanquish their mountain heretics.
And in the improbable case that Solara''s Talent was Ranked higher than her own, Ernanda still possessed a unique ability. Her Talent of Hanging manifested as the passage of time. That which she touched grew old and turned to ashes within seconds.
Even a Realm''s Walls would eventually collapse before her power.
It was because of this peculiarity that she was among Ciro''s favorites. This was the foundational core of her pride ¨C the full extent of her abilities, without modesty or exaggeration.
And it was exactly why she felt so unsettled when the Genius Realm failed to shatter.
"Die!" Ernanda screeched. "Fall apart! Begone!"
She attempted to collapse it with her Talent ¨C nothing. The sands of time appeared unable to harm the Sphere enveloping her.
Next, like any other high ranking Hangman would, she tried breaking through with pure violence. Ernada swung her scythe desperately, imagining that each strike was decapitating the elf all over again.
Which seemed to show more results...on the surface. Although at times it felt like the white walls had nearly cracked, Ernanda was too experienced a warrior to fall for that illusion. The threat of breaking meant her Rank was close to being high enough, but not quite.
Solara was likely one or two Ranks below her, but shattering a fully-constructed Realm generally required being several Ranks above it.
I probably just need one more Rank, Ernanda thought, with no small measure of annoyance. How many Orbs do I have?
3,940,781.89. The amount needed for her next Rank was¡
3,940,781.93.
I''m...four Orbs short. She cursed the misfortune. Are you seriously going to keep me out of this fight because I am only four miserable Orbs short? That''s the price of a goddamn loaf of bread!
Ernanda sat down and sank her head into her hands, the depth of her mistakes gradually dawning on her. She had ignored directed orders and gotten herself trapped in the enemy''s Realm ¨C behind enemy lines.
Valente would never let her hear the end of it. Ugh. I can already hear his lecture.
The thought of having to face him after this, the shame and disgrace of being caught by such an inferior opponent...well, it was enough that she was almost thankful the Realm was still up. It gave her time to collect herself.
"I can''t believe I screwed up this badly," she muttered to herself. "So be it, then. Once I''m out of here, I''ll kill the Elf, and His Holy Highness will forgive me."
A touch of sudden fear ran through her. What if Ciro didn''t forgive her?
"He, he forgave Valente," she argued. "And his mistake was far worse than mine. Valente killed innocents, allowed the Pretender to escape ¨C started this damned war, if you think about it! And Emperor Ciro showed his magnanimity by granting mercy. He won''t hold this small mistake against me."
But Valente is his favorite, a treacherous voice said in her head. You know he''ll never care for you as much as he cares for him. He has far less use for you...in many different ways.
"His Highness will come!" Ernanda shouted aloud. Shame filled her as she realized the treacherous, faithless thoughts that she''d let sneak into her mind. "I will not doubt His Highness! No, not ever!"
And so, five hours passed.
The Hangwoman was beyond panic ¨C she was baffled. Even if the Emperor was furious with her, he''d want to execute her himself, wouldn''t he?
And of course, even that was impossible. He would never abandon her, let alone want to kill her, just...well, just that he would do the latter before the former.
The fact he hadn''t shown at all started to fill her with concern for a possibility. A possibility that she tried and failed not to think of.
What...what if the Pretender won the war, and I''m a prisoner?
Ernanda didn''t want to believe it, but her present circumstances were difficult to interpret otherwise.. If the Pretender had won, he could have ordered the elf to keep her entrapped in the Genius Realm. It was the only prison that could keep her, after all, and even that would only last until she freed herself.
"The first thing I''ll do when I''ve escaped is find four miserable Orbs and increase my Rank," she grunted, "so that this Elf can never waste my time like this again!"
Her freedom would come soon, naturally. The Emperor would pay any price to retrieve one of his Hangmen. And...and even if he wouldn''t...though of course, of course he would...the Elf will have to undo her Realm at some point. She surely must be near her limit.
Maybe, the Hangwoman thought, there would be a chance to kill the Elf as soon as her Realm was undone. Ernanda could claim that she didn''t know of any peace negotiations ¨C it should be a sufficient enough excuse.
The thought was comforting. It brought a smile to her face.
Just you wait, Solara of Gama.
And so, three days passed.
How?
How could it be that no one had rescued her yet?
"LET ME GO!" Her screams were meant for no one, she knew, but they came out regardless. "I SURRENDER! I AM YOUR PRISONER!"
After many desperate pleas and just as many useless attacks against the Realm that would never fucking shatter, Ernanda made a grievous lapse of judgement. During her experimentations with the Realm, she stumbled upon a truth that she''d wished to avoid.
She wasn''t hungry.
Nor was she thirsty.
Even sleep felt unnecessary. She only knew how much time had passed because her sharpened Hangman senses kept track ¨C regardless of her wishes.
It was also the reason why her Talent hadn''t succeeded in turning the Genius Realm''s Sphere to ash.
"Time...time doesn''t flow here," she realized. Somewhat. That was true to an extent, but the essence of the Elf''s Genius Realm lay elsewhere.
The Palace of Eternal Life, the Elf had called it.
Death did not exist here.
This was a universe before death, before life, before time.
"I''ll never get hungry. I''ll never get thirsty. And my Talent, that which accelerates death...cannot accelerate zero. A thousand times nothing will not ever reach ''one'', no matter how many times I try it."
This thought inspired her with hope rather than despair.
If this deathless land flowed without time, there were two options. Either time flowed so differently outside that the battle against the Pretender was still ongoing, or time flowed exactly the same.
One option meant her Emperor hadn''t given up on her. The other meant that even if His Highness was having difficulty reaching her, she wouldn''t die of starvation or thirst.
I can wait and show him my loyalty, the Lady of Ash thought, a nervous smile touching her face. This horrible experience will be a lesson not to be so careless in the future. Nothing more. And His Highness will be oh-so-delighted when he realizes that ¨C even after days inside here ¨C my loyalty never once faltered!
And so, three months passed.
Ernanda cried, blaming herself.
It must''ve been because of the time she offered herself up as a prisoner to the Pretender. His Highness was justifiably furious at her for it. This was her punishment.
"Forgive me," she cried. "Forgive me, and grant me freedom, please! His Highness! Ciro! Save me!"
There was no answer. No soothing voice of absolution. No furious scream of condemnation.
Only the stark whiteness of the void reflected back at her.
And so, five months passed.
The Lady of Ash was now intimately familiar with the 91.3 square feet that comprised the Genius Realm. Enough so to be absolutely certain of those measurements.
No inch of that featureless, shadowless, and unshaded white void looked different from any other. Yet she had designated each corner with a specific purpose regardless, marking them with torn cloth from her robes ¨C because what did she need that for now?
Ernanda even went so far as to name them according to how far they were from the center of the room. It was easy enough when she knew the Realm''s radius was 5.37, and had all the time in the world.
One corner she designated as her sleeping space. Routine is important. It will keep me sane. To the left of that, at 12.5 to 40.2, was the exercise corner. Continuing clockwise was the largest area, the living room, where she engaged in the highlight of her day:
Friendly discussions with her roommate.
Scythe, of course, had his own room ¨C albeit smaller than hers.
Ernada had started it as a self-deprecating joke. At first she''d needed to imagine its responses, the exercise serving to occupy her thoughts when little else would.
But the human mind adapts quite well to its own madness. She soon found great comfort in speaking to Scythe. Envisioning its responses became easier with every passing week.
Until its voice no longer came from her.
"Food''s burnt," Scythe said to her over dinner one day. "I''m cooking tomorrow."
"Ah well, I suppose I can wait," she remarked. They didn''t actually have food, nor did they get hungry, but Scythe had convinced her that mimicking the act would bring her peace. And bless him for it. "Ciro will rescue us soon. What''s the first thing you want to do when we''re out of here, my friend?"
"Kill the Elf," he grunted, in a metallic voice. Scythe had always been taller than her, but now that she sat across from him ¨C while he was forced to stand ¨C he practically towered over her. "But you have to know...Ciro isn''t going to rescue us. No one is, mind you, but especially not him."
"Don''t say that!" Ernanda shouted, looking around as if afraid that someone had heard him. "We''re loyal to him, and he''s loyal to us. It''s...it''s how it is. That''s our place in the world!"
Scythe said nothing this time, merely staring at her with open judgment and pity. It nearly drove her to apologize right then and there.
She hated when he stayed quiet.
And so, seven months passed.
Ernanda was inconsolable. She was crying, and Scythe couldn''t make her feel better. His warnings that tears were beneath her ¨C that they stripped her of her dignity as a Hangwoman ¨C were unable to keep her from breaking down.
"Anyone...I beg you...Elf, Pretender, Ciro...help me. Help me."
When her tears were the loudest, she couldn''t even hear Scythe''s voice anymore.
Hell, not even her own.
And so, two years and five months passed.
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Ernanda had fallen smoothly into her daily routine. Now her smiles were frequent and bright.
She''d started sleeping on a pillow made of her leftover clothes, which was comfortable compared to how the white void felt against her neck. Well, she couldn''t really sleep, but she pretended to.
Having time to wind down and relax...that''s just sleep, isn''t it?
She also made sure to exercise regularly. It kept her active and prevented her muscles from atrophying. If she were ever to be freed, she wanted to be in good condition for her celebration or punishment.
But her favorite part of the day came at what she deemed nighttime. Until recently, her mind had been skirting the cliff of madness, her boredom infecting her like a fungus. There was hardly anything to do, anything to think about ¨C not even so much as a book to read!
Fortunately, that was when Scythe proved to be a fantastic storyteller.
"I can spin a new tale for you every day," he promised. "I''ll keep you happy, entertained...and sane. That''s what friends do for each other."
He told her many, many stories, each better than the last.
One of her favorites was of a young girl. The girl''s entire family had been unfairly jailed by a town lord, condemned to hang for treason.
Scythe spoke vividly of what happened thereafter: the dashing young prince who rescued her from the gallows, cutting ropes with his own blade and promising her, "You will suffer alone no longer. Rather, you shall inflict suffering upon those knaves alongside me."
The Prince extended a gentle hand to the hesitant girl, smiling handsomely as he pulled her up to her feet and close to his chest. "Let us exact revenge together."
The girl awoke to powers she could never have dreamed of. Her Prince guided her hand and steadied her nerves, until at least she had achieved vengeance for her fallen family.
Shortly thereafter, the woman left for the capital city with the handsome Prince, pledging her life to her savior. She sharpened her skills and began attending church for the first time since childhood ¨C this time praying not to invisible, silent gods, but instead to the divine being that had actually answered her prayers.
It was a familiar story to her, somehow, though she could not recall quite where she''d heard it.
Another thing that made it her favorite story was that Scythe often changed up the ending. Sometimes the woman would marry her savior and rule as Empress by his side. Sometimes she would be content to quietly watch over his divine rule.
Occasionally she even suffered a tragic yet noble death. Her sacrifice would inspire people across the Empire for generations to follow, the woman always remembered for her unyielding strength and unflinching loyalty.
Very rarely, however, her friend would offer a...different sort of ending.
"...And then she was trapped for the rest of eternity, abandoned and forgotten even by her fellow Hangmen. Even by her savior."
"No!" Ernanda stood up in protest. "You ¨C stop! Her Handsome Prince would never do that! He saved her! He saved so many others! The day he became Emperor was when hope shone brightest for the world, it was...it was..."
She decided not to speak with Scythe for a bit after that.
She didn''t speak to anyone for months after.
And so, seven years passed.
I...I''m sorry.
Ernanda came to the conclusion she had hoped to avoid. It was both a betrayal of the Emperor''s trust and an admittance of her weakness. Doing so would rob her of the dignity she had earned by serving His Imperial Highness.
But she''d reached a point where she didn''t care about that anymore.
Pride, honor, dignity, strength, weakness, righteousness, evil...they all felt like distant thoughts. I am nearing the end of my sanity. I...I don''t even know how I endured this long. Is it my Talent? Is it this place? Don''t know...don''t know...
Ernanda studied her precious corners of the void, bidding them one last farewell. She remembered the thousands of dinners she''d had with Scythe ¨C the incredible meals he could prepare.
Although they couldn''t compare to the stories he wove, those riveting tales of good and evil, right and wrong, love and loss...even if the two of them sometimes forgot important details such as characters, or what they were doing at any given time.
And of course, had it not been for her precious exercise corner, surely she would lack the physical strength to do what needed to be done now.
"You''re sure?" Scythe asked, in a hesitant, almost pleading tone. "Maybe we should wait one more day. Perhaps Ciro will come."
She shook her head with a somber air about her. "We''ve been delaying this for at least a year now. I...I can''t do this anymore."
Her outstretched arm trembled. "But I can''t do it alone. Please...help me escape."
There was a silence.
"As you wish," said Scythe, extending its wooden handle toward her.
"Thank you," she stuttered out. "For always being there for me...not just here. Even before Ciro. You were the only one who was there for me from the very beginning. Thank you."
"I will always be with you," Scythe promised. "Always."
Despite herself, Ernanda hesitated. "But...won''t you be lonely? I can''t just abandon you here. You''ll¨C"
"Don''t worry about me," he insisted. "It will be fine."
She watched his sharp metal end reflect her smile. Until the two of them were truly happy.
Then she cut off her own head in one stroke.
Less than a second later, it was attached to her body again.
"Huh?" Ernanda touched her neck. She was unharmed. "I...did I feel fear and hesitate at the last second?"
Once more she tried, and once more she was met with the same result. A terrifying thought started creeping into her mind. No. No. It can''t be. That ¨C that would be too cruel!
Slowly, she used Scythe to slice an artery rather than cut off her neck entirely. I''m bleeding, she observed, watching as the red flowed freely. I''m dying.
And then she wasn''t.
There wasn''t even a sign of the blood anymore.
"NO! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!" Ernanda fell to her knees and cried out to the encompassing white void. "PLEASE LET ME DIE!"
But no matter what prayers she offered ¨C no matter to whom ¨C she was only met with silence.
The Palace of Eternal Life would never let her go.
"Everything will be fine," Scythe tried to console her. "I''ll be with you. Always."
And so, 70 years passed.
The Woman had achieved a measure of peace within chaos.
Ernanda ¨C was that her name? It felt alien, now ¨C didn''t even dare to stand up anymore. It had been eight years since she''d last exercised, and around two since she''d spoken aloud.
The rare times she wanted company, she would speak to Scythe telepathically...although she didn''t know why she could hear his thoughts. Rather odd, that.
It took an unexplained sound to force her to move.
"What was that? Who ¨C who was that?" The Woman slowly looked around, her head turning like a creaky gate that hadn''t been opened in ages. "I wasn''t expecting anyone today!"
She did have visitors on occasion. Not often, but sometimes Valen(was that his name?) would show up to mock her for something she didn''t understand. Other times someone she thought to be herself (she couldn''t be certain) would be the mocking visitor.
This time, to her horror, the source of the sound hadn''t come from inside her mind.
It was Scythe.
"S-Scythe, no! Please, no!" The Woman stumbled towards him, her body as fit and healthy as the day the void first greeted her, but her mind unaccustomed to the simple motion of walking. "You ¨C you can''t!"
"I''m fine," he grunted back. "Didn''t want you to worry. This is nothing."
But she knew he was just playing tough.
His wooden handle had snapped in two. Even in the dryness of the void, Scythe was deteriorating. Wood decayed, and metal turned to rust.
I can''t die...time won''t affect me. But everything else...
The Woman bitterly thought back to the day she discovered her immortality ¨C and to what Scythe had told her then. You liar. You...you won''t be with me forever.
You''ll leave me too.
And so, one hundred and eleven years passed.
There were days where she was more lucid than others. She hated those days.
Her only comfort was that they grew rarer and rarer each time.
On this particular day, she was lucid enough to tell that her scythe''s handle had completely fallen apart, but not lucid enough to feel too emotional about it. Glad it happened today. At least this way I can shield myself from my imaginary losses.
What else was there to spend her sanity on? Reflecting on her miserable life she''d lost?
The funny thing is that, right now...I''m not even angry at the...was it an elf? Woman? Man? Whichever. I can''t even be mad at them anymore. Can''t even feel sorry that I disappointed...
Who was it again?
Everything just seems so...minor.
So pointless.
With every day that went by, a tiny piece of her memories vanished into the emptiness.
And so, 249 years passed.
There was no sign of Scythe''s wooden handle anymore. Just rusted, brittle steel that threatened to break if she touched it.
Her own clothes ¨C that she''d used as a pillow, and to divide her house into sections ¨C had long since dissolved. Eventually, inevitably, so would Scythe.
"Please," she begged, in a voice hoarse from disuse. "Stay a little longer."
Each year his metal didn''t shatter was a small victory, like nursing a dying man. It was almost enough to delude herself into thinking that he would remain by her side forever.
But time was a crueler reaper than she had ever been.
And so, 1398 years passed.
Scythe died that day.
She couldn''t even muster the sentiment to cry for it. The other friends that her mind had created already perished long ago, using up all her tears then.
Even so...this loss managed to draw upon the last of her emotion, scraping moisture from a dry well.
Goodbye, my friend, my mentor, my protector, my everything.
Goodbye, myself.
And so, 50 thousand years passed.
Every few thousand years, she would remember that she was still alive, feeling a deep sense of dread that refused to leave.
She wanted to scream, but her throat had long forgotten how.
And so,
1 billion years passed.
She hadn''t been conscious for some time now, only aware of things as the haziest of dreams.
But somehow, from within that magical cruel void, and from the corpses of her fallen friends, a microscopic newcomer had come into existence.
Not an invader.
Not a visitor.
Something new born from the old. An infinitesimal form of life.
For the first time in thousands of years, a new thought came to her.
Curious.
And so, three and a half billion years passed.
The microscopic life evolved, but not into what she was accustomed to. Stick figures that were tiny and two-dimensional ¨C yet somehow as alive as any animal ¨C grew from her unmoving leg.
And so, three billion, eight hundred thousand years passed.
Slowly, the stick figures evolved further, though she could not tell into what. The creatures looked thinner than coins and smaller than pebbles, appearing to multiply asexually. They were faceless, some bipedal, and some not.
Eventually they constructed trembling temples on her left knee. Absent of competition, the stick figures flourished.
This continued until another settlement of two-dimensional beings attacked. It seems they had been living behind her back, which she hadn''t known at the time.
The two settlements warred, killed, and grieved. She could not understand their language ¨C did not even know if they had one ¨C but she felt their grief nonetheless.
And so, five billion years passed.
The evolving civilization had discovered the secret to three-dimensional travel. Alas, their bodies weren''t suited to it. Still they tried and tried, determined to navigate the third dimension, driven by an unfathomable motive to achieve an unknowable goal.
One day, they succeeded.
She watched with curiosity as a pair of stick figures climbed up her torso. They traveled for weeks, their journey taking them across inches of flesh. At long last they stopped in view of her face, speaking to her in a language she did not understand ¨C a language she could not hear.
But from their fragile fear, she understood what they saw her as.
They''re worshiping me.
And so, 7.3 billion years passed
She had nearly grown used to their visits by now. The stick creatures would often take pilgrimages to see her.
More often, many of them would die in three-dimensional space.
No matter how much time passed, or what technological advancements they devised, it seemed that their bodies could not survive there for long.
And so, 9 billion years passed
This pilgrimage came with a mild surprise.
The Stick Creatures, more distorted and two-dimensional than ever, approached her once more as they always had. But this time, they approached her with a strange device in hand...and they spoke her language.
That wasn''t to say she could understand them. The specifics of language had fled mind her many eons past.
It took millenia of digging through buried memories to remember the words. And when the Stick Creatures at last attempted contact again...she answered.
Hello.
Their group bustled with activity and excitement. Holding up the odd little device, their leader''s voice trembled as he spoke.
"Great Being! Oh, Great Being! We speak to you now through a translator. Our people seek your help!"
What do you want?
She still wasn''t sure if she''d remembered the words correctly, but their device seemed to compensate. "A time of great crisis is coming. We have evolved greatly over the years, but..."
The leader hesitated. "But our technology has reached its limit."
"We foresee the end," another creature interjected, his voice close to a whisper.
The end?
"This universe...darkness will befall it soon. It will run out of energy. The Death of Heat approaches."
Oh.
Silence reigned. When it became apparent that she had nothing more to say, the leader spoke up again, his tone filling with encroaching dread. "We...we hoped you would know how to stop it."
I do not.
And so, 9 billion and one years passed.
Upon returning to their civilization with ill tidings, the creatures also brought back war and despair.
Soon enough, one by one, the fantastical empires and cities she had witnessed grow...all fell to ash.
With time, a new civilization rose.
It too fell.
Another rose.
I''m so tired.
And another.
It''s so dark now.
And another.
I can''t even see the white of the void anymore.
More died. More grieved.
Make...it...end...
Then.
The voice that was, the voice that had been, the voice that would be ¨C echoed once again.
LET THIS UNIVERSE DIE!
¨C
Solara watched with uneasy fear as her Genius Realm shattered, revealing the Lady of Ash inside.
Hurry! the Ghost of Flames told her. Quick, while she''s...disoriented...what is...
Words failed them both. They hadn''t known what to expect when the Genius Realm ended, but whatever it was...it hadn''t been this.
The Lady of Ash was laying still on the ground. Her scythe was gone, as were her clothes, for that matter. Despite that, the woman seemed unconcerned by her state of undress ¨C or by anything else at all. She remained completely motionless, not even bothering to turn her head.
Solara recoiled as she spotted what appeared to be a milky residue growing on the Hangwoman''s skin. A kernel of ambiguous terror started forming in the elf''s stomach, but she shoved it down, reminding herself that this was war. If whatever happened had sapped Ernanda''s will to fight, then that was a good thing.
"Lady of Ash!" she called out. "Do you surrender?"
Nothing.
No response. The Hangwoman didn''t even blink.
Her eerie gaze lay thousands of miles ¨C no, billions of years elsewhere.
What...what the hell did your Genius Realm do? The Ghost sounded uncertain if he even wanted his question answered. What was wrong with her?
"I...am unsure. I activated it, she killed me, and I came back a few seconds later. As to what happened inside of my Realm during those few seconds..."
Solara felt a chill go down her spine. "Not even I know."
Neither she nor the Ghost spoke further.
They merely watched as Solara''s soldiers carried off a woman with eyes more lifeless than any corpse.
Chapter 56
What a beautiful waste, Adam thought of Eric''s Canvas.
He was hiding in the ruined battlefield when Solara''s Ghost of Flames caught up to him. The new information that the specter returned with was of vital importance, yet even it had to wait for now. There was a different fire that he needed to put out first.
The fire Eric had spawned when unleashing his Hangman Talent.
They were located at an elevated part of Santuario das Chamas. It was high up enough for air to feel thinner, and close enough to the top of the mountain for the dread of the Ancient Dragons to feel most ominous.
Before their duel began, these sacred ruins had already been mere remnants of a once-grand city. Buildings fit for Dragons used to stand tall and proud. Now even those broken stone houses were lit aflame, hardened rock burning as if it was a matchstick covered in gasoline.
Adam had escaped being consumed by the inferno ¨C barely. It was a temporary reprieve. Either the flames would spread and catch him, or Eric''s indiscriminate firebombing would.
Have to focus. Can''t let him know where I''m hiding. Painting his soul is my best option...maybe my only option.
The one other plan he''d devised was to wait until Eric exhausted himself. But with how the Hangman was furiously rampaging around, that didn''t seem to be a reliable course of action. His flames would engulf the entire city long before then.
No. Painting him was a much, much better option ¨C provided that Adam could.
I have to figure out what I''m missing.
What was it that he didn''t understand about Eric?
The two of them knew each other extremely well. Better than most people, certainly. Yet if Adam''s previous paintings had failed, there had to be something he was missing.
Worst of all, he couldn''t even talk to him. Adam was so much weaker than the Hangman that the moment he tried to ask any sort of deep, piercing question...he would die. It wasn''t like Eric had the best of tempers to begin with, and near-unlimited power had done little to curb that habit of his.
"WHERE ARE YOU, ADAM?!" Eric shouted. His voice sounded maniacal, deranged, close to inhuman. "C''MON! QUIT BEING A FUCKING COWARD! YOU WANT ME DEAD, DON''T YOU? YOU THINK I''M A BASTARD WHO STOLE YOUR SHIT, DOOON''T YOOOU?!"
The battlefield had become a ruin within a ruin. Eric had destroyed much of the already-broken stone houses with his Talent, as well as killing most of the honor guard Adam brought along, with the few survivors writhing in pain and despairing over missing limbs.
Have to stay hidden until I come up with a plan. It was the best course of action. He knew that. He and Eric had engaged in a Realm Clash earlier that shattered both their Realms and stained their Canvases ¨C neither man would be able to use Realm Laws to achieve an easy, automatic victory.
And without the backing of a Realm...Adam needed to think very carefully about how to fight someone with an absurd Talent like Eric.
Although knowing might be the easy part. Actually doing it is a different story.
"COME ON, ADAM!" The Hangman kicked the wall of a ruined house, sending its foundation tumbling sideways. "Why are you running away now? Weren''t you prancing around and agonizing over how you couldn''t trust me? Whining about how you didn''t want to believe I stole your shit?"
His former best friend laughed and bellowed out, "I FUCKING DID! I STOLE YOUR PAINTING BACK THEN ¨C JUST LIKE NOW!"
Why?
Despite his intense focus, Adam couldn''t help but flash back to the many years the two spent together. Was all of it an act? If so, for what purpose? Why would you¨C
LISTEN TO ME! The Ghost of Flames suddenly shouted in his mind. IF YOU DIE, THEN I WILL DIE TOO, SO LISTEN WELL, HUMAN!
Adam and Solara couldn''t communicate freely, distant as they were, but the Ghost of Flames served as an unwilling ¨C if limited ¨C communication method that was faster than even the Grandmaster''s crows.
It was Solara who''d come up with the idea. The Painting Talent allowed those bound by ''tattooed'' paintings to share their magic with one another, but only until the ink on the person''s back vanished.
And since the Ghost of Flames was a package deal with the Talent of Haunting Flames, why not take advantage of that? Once Solara finished her battle, she could simply scrub away the ink and her Talent would revert to Adam ¨C carrying with it a most unhappy messenger.
As for the Ghost''s obedience...the Elf and Painter had both agreed on a very simple solution.
Tell me everything now, Adam demanded of the Ghost in his mind. Or else I''ll trap you within a dying soldier and let you disappear forever.
The Ghost of Flames didn''t need to be told twice. Sola...the Elf has won, it stuttered. Penumbria went as you hoped. Aspreay has declared for you. The Emperor''s army has stalled.
Meaning that Eric would be recalled as soon as the Emperor had the chance to order him so. Retreat was no longer an option.
This was the Plagiarist''s last chance to kill Adam.
Stay hidden, the Ghost cautioned. The Hangman''s Canvas grows more stained by the moment. He wastes much of his Blank trying to find you, destroying buildings indiscriminately. Allow him to tire himself out. He''ll weaken.
That was already my plan. I''m not going to run out and risk my life if standing still works fine. I''ll win even if I can''t trap his soul. Just have to think of a new painting, let Eric exhaust himself, wait for his emotions to get the better of¨C
Eric lifted up the body of a mangled soldier.
"ARE YOU SEEING THIS, ADAM?!" The soldier was so bloody, and so maimed, that at first the Painter thought it to be a corpse. A moment later he recognized the man to be Diego ¨C the young captain of his honor guard. "IF YOU DON''T COME OUT, I''LL KILL HIM!"
A poor bluff, the Ghost grunted. The soldier is near death anyway; he''s missing a leg and bleeding out as we speak. He''ll perish no matter what you do.
Yeah. Adam''s thoughts slowed as he watched Diego cry out in agony. It would be meaningless to get myself killed trying to save a dead man.
Exposed bone poked out from where the young captain''s leg had been, twisted and shattered. I''m weaker and less talented than Eric. When his mind is burning hot, I need to freeze mine cold.
Diego''s tormented screams pierced the sky. Being cruel and calculating is my only chance of winning here. I can''t afford to get emotional.
Adam was aware of all that.
He honestly, truly was. He had long since prepared himself for the sacrifices he would need to make.
"I''m right here."
Yet when he saw the suffering in the Captain''s eyes...the words were already leaving his mouth. He pushed the rubble off from his hiding spot, standing proudly.
"I''m right here...Eric." Every word Adam spoke dripped with a fury that melted away the ice of his plans. He silenced the Ghost before it could even object. "Put him down."
Fire crackled around the two men, their eyes locked in a silent eulogy to their shattered past. Only smoldering shards of their once-precious bond were left now, and all it invoked was motivation to kill the other.
With a careless flick of his wrist, Eric let the Captain''s mangled body slip from his grip. Diego''s unmoving form hit the ground with a sickening thud. The Hangman''s eyes locked onto Adam throughout it all, daring him to react, to break.
"You came here with eleven men," Eric sneered. "And you still failed to fucking beat me. I''d say all twelve of you would leave here in caskets but..."
He gestured to the carnage around him. "Don''t think you can find all of your men anymore. Ah, well. Maybe their families will settle for pieces? I think I see a leg over there."
Adam''s fist tightened.
Are you insane? The Ghost desperately barked out. He''ll kill you ¨C kill us! And for what? The man is dead already!
I might be insane, the Painter thought, but I''m not inhuman. Not yet.
"Your Talent of Hanging is of the Fourth Rank," Adam noted, in a tone dryer than the flame-wreathed air. "And your Talent of Flight..." He gestured at the beautiful featherly wings sprouting from the sides of Eric''s boots. "...Is also quite high ranked. Fifth Rank, I believe?"
Eric nodded. "You always were the type to do your homework." His nod turned into a shake. "Just one of the many things about you that annoyed the shit out of me."
"And you never did yours." Adam smiled wryly. "Always preferred to leave it to the end and ask me for the answers."
"Heh. Then answer me this as well ¨C what''s your highest-Ranked Talent?"
"Third Rank. Two under yours."
The Hangman nodded again. "And since neither of us can use our Realms, you have no way of bypassing our difference in Rank. Well, no way except Painting, and we both know how much worse you are than me in that regard."
"Yeah, guess that''s true," Adam acknowledged with a shrug. "I have no way of killing you outside of somehow managing to paint your soul. My Talents are all weaker than yours, and you can probably kill me within a few seconds. That''s all true ¨C I don''t dispute any of it."
He took a step forward.
"So I hope you''re ready," the Painter told the Plagiarist, in a nonchalant voice. "I hope you''re to watch this talentless fuck, the one you stole everything from...take your fucking soul."
In response, Eric also took a step forward.
"Watching you fail is the most entertaining thing in the world," the Gryphon said, a wicked grin on his face. "Come on. Show me what you got. Give me something fun to remember you by, old fella."
Both men slowly walked towards one another, the light taps of their footsteps the only sound to herald their impending collision.
I''m really just too greedy, Adam thought to himself. I know I don''t have the talent or genius to match someone like him. Neither Earth nor the Painted World want me as one of the chosen geniuses that can rule over reality itself. But...even recognizing that...
Adam''s eyes narrowed as his soul filled with resolve.
I still want everything. I want to win ¨C to save everyone.
Eric''s wings fluttered in the wind, flapping harshly and creating a gust of wind, fueling his abrupt flight toward the Painter. Adam''s Stained Ink swirled around his arms, wrapping around broken columns and catapulting him forward.
Their collision was set.
"ADAM¨C!"
"ERIC¨C!"
And when the two erstwhile friends collided with the strongest of their attacks¨C
"H¨CHUH?" Eric screamed as he tumbled down through empty air. The momentum of his flying lunge had sent him rolling onto the mud. "What the fuck just happened?"
Haunted Flames!
¨CAdam used the Ghost''s Talent to hide within the very flames Eric''s last attack had carelessly created.
He didn''t waste any time answering the Hangman. Instead, Adam leapt from flame to flame, collecting his wounded soldiers and moving them to a facsimile of safety. His body repeatedly dissolved into embers, reappearing elsewhere amidst the burning wreckage.
Each time he appeared, he scooped up a fallen soldier before vanishing again. The heat scorched his skin, but he moved with desperate speed and greater need, valuing expedience over his own safety.
After the last of his men had been moved, Captain Diego''s bloodstained hand shot upward. He closed a set of weak, trembling fingers around Adam''s sleeve.
"Run," Diego begged. "My lord, our j-job is to guard y¨Cyour life. If you escape now¨C"
Adam shook his head. "Stay alive until I''m done." He grasped the Captain''s hand firmly. "That''s an order."
Their eyes met through smoke and haze. Diego''s body was broken ¨C but his resolve was not. Adam gave him a single, firm nod.
Then, with a deep breath, he hurled himself back into the flames, his vengeance calling him to fight...and his duty calling him to win.
Escaping Eric and waiting until he tired himself out would''ve been relatively easy. They would lose out on the Grandmaster''s Talent for dealing with the Rot, but the Hangman wouldn''t be allowed to chase after them now that Aspreay had earned them a reprieve from the war itself.
Diego and the other soldiers would die, as well as many who were taken by the Rot when winter came. However, their cause, their resistance against the Emperor would endure. It would be a victory, albeit a costly one to pay.
To hell with that. I''m done paying for things. I refuse to accept that everything in life has to cost so damn much. I''ll get what I want ¨C what we deserve!
To do that, Adam needed to interrogate Eric, figure out the missing piece of his portrait...and not get charred to a crisp. The Gryphon may speak more truthfully when his heart was boiling, but enduring that boiling rage was something else entirely.
How was he to survive something like this?
Doesn''t matter. I''ll do it anyway. Because...that''s the only way I''ll be at peace with this. I think I understand myself a bit better now.
You always had that effect on me, Eric.
He emerged from within a burning pyre ¨C and behind the Hangman. "Missed me?" Adam asked, before he delivered a punch to the back of Eric''s head.
"YOU BASTA¨C" he started to scream, but Adam had already hidden himself within the flames long before the Hangman even started to turn around.
I''m not a genius. I can acknowledge that. But...what of it? I''m still self-deluded enough to think that I can get everything I want while sacrificing nothing.
Adam leapt from flame to flame, taking full advantage of the chaotic conflagration Eric had summoned. Time and again he appeared from nowhere, delivering another crushing strike before retreating into the blood-shaded inferno once more.
I gambled Penumbria''s safety more times than I can count, because deep inside, I thought I could do a better job than Aspreay. Even today, I risked all of their lives because I was certain my plan would keep them safe.
And you know what the worst part is?
"You''re back to hiding?" Eric screamed in disgust. "Fight me like a man, you piece of shit!"
Adam rose skyward from a lone ember burning on the Hangman''s jacket. He rocked his chin with a violent uppercut before retreating to yet another flame. His Rank may have been weaker than Eric''s, but he wasn''t using a Talent to attack ¨C he was simply punching him.
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The worst part is that I was right.
My plan worked. Despite how I''ve continuously risked their lives, Penumbria is safe right now.
This world is keen on making sure I know my place isn''t at the top...but it also fails to punish me whenever I construct a ladder up there.
"You know that you''re fucking dead as soon as you fuck up once, right?" Eric shouted, his tone incredulous. "I''m a fucking Hangman! One hit from me and you''re dead! When I catch you¨C"
"If."
The word was Adam''s entire objection, punctuated by him delivering another strike and disappearing in the fire yet again.
"If," he repeated, his voice a ghostly echo that simultaneously resounded from every open flame.
Eric looked about ready to rip the hair out of his head. "Stop wasting my goddamn time! You know a failure like you can''t beat me, so what the hell are you doing this for?! Either run away or let me kill you ¨C there''s no third option!"
If I haven''t been punished for reaching above my place in the world...then maybe there is no inherent place in the world. Perhaps ''genius'' and ''talent'' don''t truly mean anything.
...Nah. I don''t believe that. Some people learn things faster than others, and some people have a higher ceiling than others. Much as I hate it, I have to accept that as the truth.
But...even so...
Adam considered the state of their respective Canvases. Eric''s was far more Stained than his own, but it was a much larger space to begin with. Despite the Painter''s taunts, this hit-and-run strategy wouldn''t work forever.
Luckily, it wouldn''t have to.
Just because I wasn''t meant to reach the top, doesn''t mean I never planned on reaching it anyway. It''s the type of attitude that makes you fly too close to the sun. Then again, I''ve always been the kind of guy who thought Icarus was admirable.
A faint smile spread across his face. Well...mostly admirable. I also think I could have done better than Icarus.
If Daedalus'' wings had melted, then I would''ve just created my own and basked in the sun''s glory.
That malevolent arrogance deep within his soul guided Adam''s movements and thoughts. What came next felt as natural as breathing.
214,375 Orbs Spent!
Talent of Painting upgraded from Craftsman to Lord!
He took the Orbs he had assigned for Penumbria''s survival...and used them to increase his Painting Talent.
It would be fine. They''d obtain more Orbs as recompense from the Emperor for his ''false'' war.
All he needed to do was to win.
It''s strange, isn''t it? I have this fatalism that humans are born with an inherent talent that I lack...and an unwavering belief that I can overcome that regardless. That contradiction doesn''t matter to me most of the time. I can push it down, lock it in, focus on the here and now.
But sometimes I can''t quite reconcile those beliefs in my heart. Sometimes...sometimes I think this stubbornness is just a little rebellion. My last self-destructive challenge against the overwhelming fear of my own limitations that rules over my soul.
And it gets worse when you''re standing before me, Eric.
Adam withdrew his tablet from his jacket. He started painting within the flames, adding lines of color in-between his attacks. His assault against Eric didn''t waver; he couldn''t allow the Hangman to realize that he was preparing something.
Because when I see your talent, I want to slap your back and tell you how cool you are. I want to stand by your side and bask in a view only you can create. I want to see how far my best friend can go, supporting him all the way.
Most of all, I want to see you put in actual effort. Not just running away and protecting your ego by telling yourself that you don''t even want to bother trying.
Because when I see your laziness, I want to grab your shoulders and shake you until you wake up from your self-inflicted coma. I want to tell you not to give up simply because things have gotten hard. I want you to stop laughing at the idea of working hard at something, and instead dedicate yourself to whatever passion spurs you onward.
Most of all...I really want to surpass you.
Adam had never wished to rely on improving his Rank. The Orb cost was, in a word, steep. But as he hadn''t been able to settle things within the Realm Clash earlier, he was left with no choice but to rely on this.
The depths of his soul answered his hunger.
Multiple evolutions triggered within him at the same time, each derived from a different source. Talent from his Rank, abilities from his experience...and strength from his desire.
The Shape of the Self
Ah, dear Adam...you are now a Lord of Painting! Shape your own Canvas as you have shaped many others in the past. Decorate the emptiness! Unleash what is imprisoned! Show him¨Cshow the First¨Cshow ME¨CTHE COLOR OF YOUR SOUL!
He spawned out of the flames, striking Eric with a hatred that burned far hotter than the inferno blazing around them both.
"When I''m around you...I understand myself better, you know?" Adam said aloud. Even now, he couldn''t help but try to open up and extend a hand to his former friends.
He wasn''t surprised to see that hand slapped away. "Why the fuck are you yapping?" Eric spat out blood, his featherly wings fluttering with mounting irritation. "This isn''t the time to talk!"
He wasn''t surprised...although it did sadden him, a little.
But not as much as it motivated him.
Adam dodged an attack of near-instant death by vanishing into the very flames that had once almost killed him in Gama. "Probably not," he admitted, his voice an inhuman echo that rang out from everywhere on the battlefield. "But it''s our last chance to talk."
Do you know why I feel this burning desire to surpass you, Eric?
It''s not because I want to encourage you to be better. It''s not because of how upsetting it is that you''re wasting your talents. It''s not because I want you to be proud of me.
It''s because while I don''t have much in the way of talent...I refuse to lose to someone who won''t even TRY. Someone who''s too much of a COWARD to risk defeat. Someone like that ¨C someone like YOU ¨C doesn''t deserve to stand on the same stage as me.
I guess that''s the source of my ego. This small fire that I call pride.
Today isn''t the day where I can call myself the greatest in the world. Not yet. But there will never, NEVER be a day where I call myself weaker than a genius who cares so little for his blessing.
The Lord of Penumbria barely dodged Eric''s counterattack. The Plagiarist was reckless, cocky, and lacking in strategy...but his Talent was still far stronger.
As things stood now, Adam saw no possible path forward. Not as he currently was, at any rate. The best he could manage was an incomplete win where he failed to steal the Rot-absorbing Talent from Eric.
And with the way his heart burned in that very moment...Adam wouldn''t settle for anything less than a perfect, all-encompassing victory.
Which meant there was still one more portrait he needed to finish before painting Eric''s soul.
Inside the roaring flames, Adam set his focus onto his art. He couldn''t take too long, or else Eric would start impatiently attacking everything around him again ¨C including the wounded Penumbrian soldiers that were already knocking at death''s door.
Fortunately, the image that came to his mind wouldn''t take too long. If anything, it felt like cheating.
Barely painting at all ¨C more like highlighting.
You know, I...I remember when I fought against the Ghost of Waters. More specifically, I remember when he visited my dreams. Visited my Canvas. Back then, he commented on how ''unpainted'' my Canvas looked. At the time, I didn''t understand.
Now, though? I think I''ve come to see what he meant.
For the longest time, I didn''t have any real dreams of my own. No desires, no aspirations...no sense of self. Even my love of art was something I stole from you. Which I suppose is why I didn''t actually mind that you stole my painting.
I minded that you betrayed me.
If you had just asked, man...I''d have given you anything. Everything.
But you didn''t.
It left me more hollow than ever before. Just like that, I''d regressed to that unloved kid with no desires or passions. My soul was a white nothing ¨C a blank, empty canvas.
And slowly...
Adam smiled as he dragged his tablet''s paintings onto one another.
His mind wandered to the day he''d first arrived in this world. When a Stained Creature attacked him ¨C and with no knowledge of his new Painting Talent ¨C he had manically put his full focus into what he thought would be his final portrait.
Only a few hours later, he nearly died because he decided to sketch the city he''d come to know as Penumbria rather than find food.
Shortly thereafter, when meeting Solara for the first time, he took the time to paint her rather than prepare for their imminent deathmatch.
Slowly...I remembered that I really do love art.
It''s not just something I did to stay close with you. Even if nobody is watching me, the person I am in the dark ¨C more than anything else ¨C is someone who truly loves art.
But that''s not all.
Adam thought of himself and Tenver standing before a cliff, the knight holding his blade in a clumsy grip, begging for the Painter to surrender for his own sake. ''I don''t want that to happen to my very best friend,'' Tenver had shouted, through a haze of tears.
I''ll add a gold outline to this part. While it didn''t really match the shading of the rest of the painting, that was fine. It fit Tenver.
Adam thought of himself and Solara speaking of their past, and how to move past from it. He remembered her gently picking up his tablet, then laying it across his lap. ''Do not throw away that which is already part of you. Take what you can. Embrace what you need. And let go of what you must.''
Green...she should be green. This too made a mess out of the painting''s color scheme, and this too was just fine with him. He would rather it be incompetent than lifeless. Solara would''ve agreed ¨C green was her favorite color.
Dozens of other thoughts flashed through his mind. The days he spent drinking with Tenver, the sleepless nights he''d spent painting Espada-de-Guerra figures with Solara, their group game session that ended with Tenver outraged and Solara laughing...
That unpainted hollow of mine that I called my soul...my canvas...
I never managed to really give it life. It stayed as a blank painting that only let me see the world through a faint blue filter. Never could pick those colors myself.
Think that was my mistake all along. I have things I love, things I want to do, things that make me who I am...
But I needed other people to give me the colors to paint the full picture.
I don''t know exactly how this portrait is going to end up, Eric. But I''m having a lot of fun painting it. A bit more gets added each and every day. I wish you were part of it ¨C yet I also know it''s better for me that you''re not.
This is who I am. In this picture, that is what I''ve tried to convey.
I wonder. Will you be able to pick up on all of that, just from this single painting of myself?
Of course you can. You''re a genius. If you bother to put in the effort, you''re able to understand anything in no time flat. Then again...
Guess that means you won''t get it at all, huh?
Adam leapt out from the flames. He unfurled his tablet as if it were a hidden knife ¨C one that he''d pointed at himself.
And for perhaps the first time in his life, he felt proud of what he''d made. Not because he thought others would find it beautiful, or that it would improve his life in some material fashion.
But because it meant something for him and him alone.
This painting was the king of all arrogance, by and large the least professional, yet without fail the most intimate work he had ever crafted. On one side was an empty white rectangle, and on the other, it displayed a hastily colored-collage of his previous works ¨C of the paintings he''d created of Solara, Tenver, and many others.
The Unpainted Journey
"WHAT IS IT NOW YOU¨C"
Eric''s curses were cut short. A dazed, befuddled expression was plain on his face as he soared through the air. It took him a moment to parse what had transpired.
He''d been sent flying by a Talent''s ability.
Crackling blue sparks of hostile, barely-visible electricity surrounded the Lord of Penumbria. Both painters immediately recognized what that meant.
Adam''s painting had been a success.
Eric, naturally, was aware of this. His Talent of Painting was high-ranked enough to have access to this ability as well. However, he''d never possessed the level of self-introspection necessary to look inside his own soul and paint a picture of who he was as a person.
And thus, Adam alone was blessed by art.
He had come to terms with the shape of his soul and committed it to Ink. In return, this world had granted him physical abilities on par with a Hangman...
To an extent. Even if he could match their speed and power, Adam instinctively knew that his Talent was still weaker.
"You ¨C you still can''t kill me," Eric threw out like a shield. "The fuck does this matter? Oooh you can run away faster now! I''m so, so scared! Whatever shall I fucking do?"
He laughed and spat on the ground, sounding more like a hyena than a person. "Nothing has changed! So long as my Rank is higher than yours, you can''t¨C"
"Easy there with the numbers. Math was never your strong suit." Adam cracked his neck. "Or learning, for that matter. But class is in session ¨C so for once in your life, shut up and pay attention."
Despite their difference in Rank, the Hangman''s Canvas was far more Stained, and shaded with a lesser number of washed-out, solitary colors. He had dirtied it too much during his rampage, then worsened it when trying to chase the Painter out of the flames.
In this state, Eric was weaker. The disparity in their speed and power had shrunk considerably.
Adam smiled. "I needed to become strong enough that you couldn''t kill me in an instant." His Stained Ink swirled around his sleeves, holding up his tablet for him as he stood with his back straight and a pensive hand on his chin. "This way, I can stand here and talk to you. So that I can understand you better...for the last time."
He wielded his Stained Ink with such precision that a tendril of Ink held his pen against the tablet. "So that I can finally do what I promised, and take your soul, Eric."
Chapter 57
Both painters set their fists onto each other in a vicious clash. The sound of Adam''s fists against Eric''s flesh echoed across the desolate field, every strike singing a song of desperation and defiance. Adam pressed forward, delivering blows that tore skin off his knuckles and sent Eric''s head whirling backward ¨C yet while his own blood was pouring down from his hands, the Hangman''s face was bruised at best.
We''re closer in Talent now. I can keep him at bay!
Keeping him at bay was all he could do. The Painter''s carefully-channeled fury was but a whisper compared to the Hangman''s reckless indifference. Each exchange was met with the dull crack of bone, the wet splatter of blood hitting the ground, and the acrid taste of death filling the air.
Yet regardless of how hard the Painter struck, no matter how finely he perfected the art of violence...Eric shrugged it off. The Gryphon''s body absorbed his blows like a canvas took to ink.
Every punch he threw made Adam feel less steady, draining the last dwindling reserves of his strength. Gradually, his vision darkened and his knees began to wobble. The outcome of their clash had already been decided; inked into the very reality of the Painted World.
But strangely enough, Adam couldn''t quite bring himself to panic.
Wonder what''s wrong with me, he mused. I should be despairing right about now. Bitterly accepting my own limitations. For some reason, though...even though it''s absurd...I really feel like I can do this.
I feel like I can push myself just one step further.
Repeated usage of one''s Talent would stain their Soul Canvas. Only the passage of time could wipe it clean. Were someone to forcibly activate their Talent before it was ready, the fortunate result would be abject failure. More likely, their rationality would be utterly torn to shreds, dooming them to a painful death before their soul crumbled to pieces.
Overusing a Talent felt as unnatural as stepping off a cliff, knowing death awaited below. Even if there were safety nets installed, that would do little to quell the primal urge commanding your body to back off.
Adam was no different. The mere thought of courting death in such a manner was like staring at a truck about to run him over. His survival instincts screamed at him, telling him to stop, to step away from that ghastly cliff.
And yet...in his mind''s eye, he could still picture his friends encouraging him onward.
''Don''t worry,'' he imagined Tenver saying, the knight grinning as he attached bungee gear on him. ''You''ll be fine.''
''We''ll be right there if anything goes wrong,'' Solara promised him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. ''So just go for it.''
It was just wishful thinking on his part. Closer to a hallucination, really. Tenver and Solara couldn''t communicate with him at the moment.
But if they could...
Adam drew his arm back for another punch, his fist bruised, bleeding ¨C and resolute.
That''s what both of them would tell me.
With a powerful jump, the Gryphon took to the sky. His winged boots flapped once to fly, then twice to empower his Talent of Hanging. Eric positioned himself above Adam before his leg fell downward like a shooting star, his foot extended and aimed at the Painter''s neck.
His thunderbolt of a kick threatened murder ¨C but when Adam whispered "Realm Reconstruction!", the air immediately shimmered with an eerie, blinding glow. For a single heartbeat, Eric''s foot halted midair, as if banished by time itself.
Even that incomplete Realm had enough strength to evaporate the leather of the Plagiarist''s winged boots, giving hope to a sudden thought. He won''t be able to fly anymore!
Adam''s hopes shattered the moment hawk-like talons sank into his shoulder. With a ghostly screech, the claws dug into him, tearing through muscle and bone. Red, human blood poured out ¨C too much for him to convert to Stained Ink.
In the wake of Eric''s attack, three separate, near-simultaneous thoughts arose within Adam''s mind.
First: He, he can still fly. His wings are growing out of his feet, not the boots!
Second: My Canvas is too Stained right now. If I can convert my blood to Stained Ink, I can keep myself from bleeding out, but I won''t last long if I continue losing blood like this.
Either of those two thoughts ¨C just by themselves ¨C would''ve been enough to bring anyone to their knees. Yet Adam''s focus landed not on unbridled panic, but instead on the third, final thought. One that came to him with a sort of surreal tranquility.
Now...what''s my next step?
"Did you think that shitty Realm was gonna stop me?" Eric taunted, sinking his monstrous feet deeper into soft flesh. "Don''t you dare underestimate me, Adam!"
Haven''t been. The Painter had never entertained any delusions about stopping Eric with a desperate Reconstruction. Even with Adam''s abrupt burst of strength, all he''d managed was an incomplete, barely-functional Realm.
He was no genius, after all, and his Canvas was at its limit even before attempting such a thing. The fact that he could use Reconstruction at all was miracle enough. Producing a Realm without Walls was already more than he''d dared expect.
Unfortunately, his construction was as defenseless as it was small ¨C even Eric''s Genius Realm had been much larger. Adam''s makeshift world protected no citizens and kept away no enemies. As such, it had almost no reach, severely impeding its power and preventing him from issuing Royal Orders.
This was a lawless, desolate kingdom he''d created.
"You should''ve known better!" Eric taunted. He flapped his wings low to squat down on the Painter''s shoulder, landing on it as if he were a friendly sparrow. The weight nearly crushed Adam, his legs trembling and his knees threatening to bend. "Stop trying to pretend you''re worth anything, will ya? Shitstains like you gotta know their place and like it."
"Then why are you acting so high and mighty?" Adam barked out.
"Wha¨C"
Adam called upon his Noble Guard.
The regenerative force within his Realm was functional, albeit delayed. It rapidly refilled the missing chunks within his bloodied shoulder, pulsing with such force that it pushed off the flying Hangman.
Eric, his face blank in confusion, needed to take a moment to compose himself. He alternated his gaze between the writhing flesh still captured by his talons ¨C and the lordly blue light surrounding Adam.
New life beat within the Painter. It was in no way a perfect heal; too much blood couldn''t be replaced, and the process left behind an inflamed, uneasy scar.
But it had worked. His arm''s movement wasn''t compromised.
He could still paint.
And if I can paint...all I need is to keep you busy long enough to finish this.
Purpose and desperation fueled Adam''s swift punch, his shoulder whipping forward with his awakened Talent of Painting ¨C only to halt its usage so that just raw force met the Gryphon''s face.
The punch landed hard, breaking Eric''s nose with a satisfying crack. The Hangman flew back, blood pouring down his face as flapping wings struggled to keep him airborne, barely managing to stop him from crashing into the burning ruins that he himself had devastated.
"Geniuses are surprisingly fragile, aren''t they?" Adam remarked.
He allowed himself a sliver of gratification. Between his abstract self-portrait, the boost imparted on him by his shaky Realm, and pure, unyielding willpower, Adam had just the strength to inflict a minor injury on the higher-Ranked Hangman.
Which wouldn''t be sufficient to win ¨C a factor the Painter was well-aware of. Even this miraculous last-ditch Realm would only flicker for a few more moments. That wasn''t nearly long enough for Adam to kill the living incarnation of death known as a Hangman.
And it wouldn''t have to be. What the Lord of Penumbria had hoped for with this gambit wasn''t for the Realm Laws, or even for the Royal Guard''s immortality.
To paint your soul...I have to learn more about you. The things you would never tell me.
I need DIVINE KNOWLEDGE!
"Eric," Adam started, his voice taunting. "You''re such a pathetic waste of Talent."
"Shut up!" Eric roared in response. He pushed the rubble off his body, more furious than wounded. "You don''t get to say that!"
The Gryphon''s mind wandered for only a second. Just one, single second. Yet this drop in the ocean, this barely-audible thought heard in a shattering Realm...it revealed more than the many years they''d spent together.
''YOU THINK I DON''T KNOW THAT?''
Perhaps more accurately, it was those many years that allowed for that lone sentence to command such authority. Sudden understanding sparked in Adam''s soul, shining a light that dispelled the shadows of doubt obscuring the Hangman.
Eric...you...
Adam''s hand inched towards the tablet in his pocket.
"DON''T YOU DARE!" Eric cried out. Amidst fiery ruins, he surged forward with an even more fiery rage, his once-white wings now a soot-drenched gray.
The Hangman''s talons snapped in a blur of motion as he lunged at Adam. Bladed edges cut first through the air, and then through the Painter''s body, nearly slicing off his arm entirely.
NOBLE GUARD!
The incomplete Realm was just enough to keep Adam alive, though he felt none of the all-powerful invincibility that usually came with being inside his Lord''s Realm. If Eric''s strike had hit his heart, rather than his shoulder, then the small delay before healing could have proven permanently fatal. Two seconds passed until Adam''s arm was whole again, this time with another set of scars, as if the Painted World had forcibly stitched the limb back onto his body.
Won''t let you distract me. He fixed the Hangman with a piercing glare. I can see it now ¨C I can see your soul, Eric!
And through that shaky Pillar of Divine Knowledge, Adam caught the slightest glimpse of what the Plagiarist had tried most to keep hidden.
It was shocking...for a brief moment. The road behind the two painters was so long and storied that the Hangman believed his next thought truly, even more than Adam himself:
''IF I LET HIM FINISH THAT PAINTING ¨C I''M FUCKING DEAD! ADAM WON''T FUCK THIS UP!''
And so he continued to strike at the Painter, attempting to keep him from reaching his tablet by any means necessary.
It was that very desperation that gave Adam the confidence to turn his faint spark into a blazing confidence. He wasn''t wrong. This is what lay at Eric''s core.
"Tell me more!" The Painter demanded with his fists, knocking the Hangman aside. "What is it, genius? Scared I might be more talented than you?"
''If you were, I wouldn''t hate you so much.'' Eric thought internally. Externally, he shouted, "SHUT UP, ADAM! DIE! DIE SO THAT YOU NEVER HAUNT ME AGAIN!"
Adam refused to take even one step back. There were no tricks left. His crumbling Realm would shatter in less than a minute, and with it, so would his chances of surviving the Hangman''s onslaught.
But with every strike he endured, the Painter''s certainty was crystallized. Though Eric said no more, his frantic, deranged behavior spoke volumes. It was the answer Adam had been looking for.
An answer to the question he should have been asking all along.
The Gryphon lunged, his wings flapping ¨C but the Painter caught his arm and drove his knee into Eric''s stomach. Gasping for breath, concentration wavering, the Hangman''s mental defenses lowered once again.
''Why did you have to be so greedy, Adam? I really loved you, man.''
The Painter narrowly blocked Eric''s winged kick, countering with a wild punch to the ribs. He felt his own bones crunch under his fist, breaking faster than his Realm could heal.
''You just HAD to go and fuck everything up. Average wasn''t good enough for you. Oh, no, no, no ¨C you wanted to sit at the top.''
''Why, Adam? Did you want me to suffer?''
''Were you looking down on me?''
Adam''s body screamed with pain, yet his art screamed with grief. His fanatical focus blazed with a singular thought ¨C This is it.
Eric''s body swayed, blood dripping from his mouth. His wings twitched, and for a passing second, the Hangman faltered. Adam''s relentless assault had shaken him, striking fear beyond what a half-dead man should have been capable of.
And as doubt briefly flickered in the Gryphon''s eyes, an intrusive thought crept inside his head.
''Am I...going to lose?''
''You already have,'' Adam thought. ''You lost the moment you allowed yourself to think that. You lost the moment you allowed me to paint.''
The Painter''s burning passion was half of what had brought him this far. The other half ¨C the final key to victory ¨C was Eric''s hesitation. His long-practiced procrastination. His childish unhappiness when needing to suffer in order to complete a task. His vague wishing that his problems would disappear if he ignored them for long enough.
Adam knew those bad habits would flare up. He''d known that the Hangman would flinch.
This unusual pairing of obstination and laziness had birthed an unnatural opening. One no self-respecting Hangman should''ve ever given to any opponent; much less a weaker one.
And Adam had no intention of letting that chance be wasted. His resolve burned brighter than his wounds, higher than his Rank, hotter than the flames erupting around the battlefield.
NOW¨C!
Adam''s broken fingers scrambled for the tablet within his pocket, redness dripping from his hands as they etched the Gryphon''s soul. His vision blurred from the blood loss, but his pen danced across the screen with a precision he''d never felt before.
Eric''s survival instincts flared up, his momentary indecision overwhelmed by a primal desire to live. Delayed as he was, the Gryphon launched into a frenzied, panicked flight forward. "I WON''T LET YOU, ADAM!"
The Painter and The Hangman''s fated confrontation now came to an end. All strategy was abandoned, their Canvases too Stained to matter, as their Ranks mattered little. Whoever finished their last move would win here. Once more, as it had been so during their Realm Clash, the Goddess of Luck would decide the winner.
And in that desperate, fierce explosion of wills, the one she chose to smile down upon¨C
¨Cwas Eric, yet again.
His talons swiped at the tablet in the nick of time, flinging it into the distance, beyond the bounds of Adam''s miniscule Realm. In that same motion, the Gryphon slammed his shoulder against the Painter. He was sent crashing down onto cold, gritty mud, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs and reviving the bleeding agony in his wounds.
Adam''s Realm began to shatter. His Talent''s departure was heralded by his wounds tearing wider, blood soaking the ground beneath him, his body failing under its own crushing weight.
"Oh man, that''s gotta sting!" Eric crowed. "That''s twice now you almost had me. Did everything right. But this fucking world just loves me too much! I beat you because of luck. Even the universe itself knows I deserve this more."
The Hangman leaned down, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. "C''mon, tell me ¨C how does it feel? Is it worse than if you''d had no chance at all?"
This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
This...this is bad, Adam thought. He wouldn''t be able to heal his injuries without a Realm. And with his Canvas this stained, he also couldn''t convert his blood to Stained Ink anymore to keep himself from bleeding out.
Face down, elbows sinking into the flame-baked mud, Adam started to crawl, using his head to stay upright. His knees had touched the ground ¨C but even so, he refused to bow. The Painter''s chest trembled as it seemed to hover off the ground, fighting against gravity''s weight and Eric''s taunts alike.
No matter if the rest of him was dirtied, he needed to keep himself from collapsing onto the mud. There was something there that couldn''t be touched.
The final thing he needed to protect.
I can''t...fall down... He crawled onward, the Hangman''s manic laughter ringing in his ears. Not completely...can''t give him the satisfac¨C
Adam froze. No. The hell am I thinking with that loser shit? The Painter grit his teeth. Have I forgotten already? I''m done worrying about just ''surviving''.
He summoned the last fading embers of his will.
I want to live.
In an instant, they had swelled to a roaring inferno.
I¨Cwant¨Cto¨CWIN!
"Eric...think I owe you an apology." Adam peered up at the person standing before him, rather than the image burnt into his mind. "You...I never looked at you properly, did I?"
His voice was weak, and his body felt even weaker. Remember my original goal. Focus on that for now.
Dying can wait.
The Gryphon watched over in silence as Adam coughed up blood, choking through agonized words. "I think my biggest mistake was that...I respected you too much. Loved you too much. Admired you too much."
"About time you said that," Eric muttered, in a low, raspy voice. "If you''d realized this shit earlier, things wouldn''t have gotten to this point. It''s all because you never stopped to think about it ¨C not for one fucking second."
Through the blood collecting inside his throat, Adam managed a gargled laugh. "Could''ve told me yourself, you baby. This was a choice you made."
"Choice?" Eric spat on the floor, disgust plain on his face. "Yeah, I could''ve told you...and looked like a miserable fucking loser. I had one thing I was proud of, Adam. Say I threw that away ¨C the fuck would I have had left?"
"Me," Adam said weakly. "You''d have had me."
Silence ruled.
"You still don''t get it," Eric began, shaking his head. "Not at all. I¨C"
"¨CThought it wouldn''t mean anything? Yeah." Adam cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. He cursed Eric for not talking to him sooner.
But most of all, he cursed the Hangman for caring about it at all.
"Eric, I should''ve thought of it...but you were just as friendless and miserable as I was when we met, weren''t you?" Adam slowly asked.
"Shut your mouth," Eric snapped, in a low, angry voice. "Don''t you dare."
Adam would have shrugged, were his shoulders still capable of the motion. He was too close to death for the threat to have any real bite to it. "You didn''t think you had a place in the world. Just like me."
"¨CI was nothing like you," Eric hissed.
"I would''ve agreed with you until recently, you know?" Adam smirked, finding some dark humor in it. "But that''s the thing. I assumed that because you had a nice home life, you were...happy. That I was the only one who found a sense of...I guess a sense of ''being human'' in drawing. Practicing art made me feel like a person. It was something that gave my days meaning.
Eric''s bird-like claws stepped onto Adam''s back. They sank deep holes as he pressed down. Even so, the Painter refused to drop to the ground completely.
If my chest touches the ground...that''s it. That''s when this ¨C when I ¨C am finished.
"Come on, Eric!" Adam shouted, in a joyful tone that was ill-fitting for his mutilated body. "I''m dying right now. You already knocked my tablet way, way too far away for it to matter. If our friendship ever meant anything to you...let me talk, at least. I need to get this out of me before...before..."
Silence ruled once more, followed thereafter by the wet sound of the talons leaving his back.
"That''s all you were ever good for anyway," Eric mumbled. "Fine. Yap to your death, if you want."
Adam took him up on his offer. "Years ago, when you insisted that you didn''t want to be a fantastic artist ¨C just an average artist who could make a living ¨C I should''ve known what you really meant. Eric...for all your talent, you were deathly afraid of failing, weren''t you?"
He said nothing.
"You were happy to ride your innate talent as far as it would take you, slowly cruising to a mediocre life. You never aimed for the moon, because your ego just couldn''t handle missing it. So you aimed for the ground at your feet instead. Back when I saw you as a genius artist...you merely thought of yourself as an antisocial, friendless fuckhead who happened to be good at drawing."
This time, Eric didn''t wait in silence. "Stop projecting," he growled. "I''m nothing like you."
"That''s true ¨C to a point. You never valued art the way I did. Not until you met me."
Adam paused there, his dark humor fading slightly as he confronted his old, uncomfortable reality anew. "You only started caring about it after I started following you around...telling you how great you were."
"That''s..." Eric''s gleeful taunting came to a sudden stop. When the Gryphon spoke again, it was in an even, almost human tone. "It was hard not to enjoy that."
"I see." Adam nodded internally at the thought, although his head was still unable to move, pressed firmly against the mud to keep his torso from touching the ground. "Things start to make sense when I look at it from that perspective. Despite your natural genius, you were terribly afraid of failure. You had self-esteem issues just like I did. After we met, you started basing your self-esteem around your art ¨C but the fear of failure was still there."
Adam wondered why he''d never thought of that, why it had never occurred to him that he was having an effect on Eric too. Perhaps...I didn''t want to be so conceited as to think I could.
"Then you had to go and fuck everything up." Eric''s tone was disdainful, his voice as low as a whisper. "Why, Adam? Why did you have to try and get better than me?"
That was just the issue, wasn''t it?
Eric had truly been friends with Adam, once upon a time. There was no trickery there ¨C and that just made it all the worse. It meant that he had genuinely valued him as a person. He had sincerely liked him when they were younger. Throughout it all, he had appreciated Adam.
Yet while there was much about the road behind them to mourn, the road ahead of them looked so frighteningly short. Because no matter how much Eric had cared for Adam...his fears were far stronger than his love.
He had long since resigned himself to mediocrity, soothing his ego by avoiding putting in effort, telling himself he was all the more clever for not doing so. He could simply enjoy his genius and live with the satisfying notion of: ''No, I could''ve achieved much more if I''d bothered. I just didn''t feel like it.''
For a lonely young boy, that would''ve been a fine future to imagine, wouldn''t it? And it would have only gotten easier when he met Adam, who cheerfully reinforced his self-image of a genius. At that point, Eric had started to solidify how he thought of himself ¨C how he believed his life held value.
"A large part of your self-worth came from viewing me as inferior, didn''t it?" Adam said hoarsely, and not just due to the injuries.
Eric didn''t reply. He didn''t need to.
He''d already said everything back in the Imperial Capital, after the Emperor first killed Adam, and when Eric had eulogized the Painter''s supposed corpse.
''Adam...I don''t need to have everything. I just need you to have nothing.''
Adam knew that now. Maybe on some level, he had always known. You wanted me to be worse than you...so you could look down on me.
So you could feel better about yourself.
Things took a turn for the worse when Adam eventually caught up to him. Eric had started having more problems in art school than he cared to admit. He was much happier to pretend his laziness was at fault than confess that he was having trouble. Again he fell into his habits of diving headfirst into mediocrity, rather than attempting to climb to the stars.
When Adam arrived at art school, a year later, and suffered even worse setbacks...it was like a gift delivered from on high. While Eric might be struggling, at least he wasn''t drowning. Had the situation stayed that way, everything probably would''ve been fine.
Except Adam refused to stay down.
He barely had the money to live, and his late start caused him to fall behind in every class. Time and time again, his circumstances brought him suffering ¨C the kind that would have broken most others.
Yet whenever he sat down and began to paint, no one could deny the pure, uninhibited joy that shone through every stroke of his brush.
Oh, Eric...you hated that I still loved art at that point, didn''t you? That I still dedicated every second of my free time to getting better, no matter how stupid I looked. That I was still aiming for the same top you spurned.
Although that alone wouldn''t have been enough to earn the Gryphon''s ire. Ambition is the most common trait shared by artists ¨C second only to debt. Determination was hardly Adam''s greatest sin.
His greatest sin, of course, was that he was far, far less talented than Eric.
"If I were a genius, the kind of guy that always looks cool even when it''s his first time trying something...maybe you wouldn''t have cared as much. But you also knew that I didn''t have any talent to speak of. It would''ve fucking sucked if I of all people ended up being more successful than you, right?"
Eric was more than just afraid ¨C he was terrified of failure. His genius could have invented mankind''s first fire, yet his ego feared being burned too much to attempt it. Rather than bathe in glory, he preferred to sip at what-ifs. Why risk that rejection, that feeling of defeat, when he could settle for mediocrity and claim that he totally would''ve enshrined himself in the annals of history if he had just bothered to try?
But then...
But then Adam dared to reach past him.
Adam, whose inferiority had fed Eric''s sense of self for so long. Adam, whose home life barely allowed him the opportunity to try in the first place. Adam, with his paltry talent, who was now working desperately and more capably by the day.
Eric had been born with a ladder that stretched to the heavens of victory. Climbing it would''ve been risky, but he still had the chance to do so. Adam was born with no such tool. Instead, he slowly, painfully constructed his path by piling up his mistakes one atop the other.
That was just the problem, wasn''t it?
Eric was fine with staying where he was. But if Adam were to reach past, well...then he would have to give chase.
He couldn''t justify his fragile ego if the person who he''d looked down on ¨C the person who they both knew was much less talented than him ¨C ended up standing taller in the end.
"You didn''t give a shit about the prize," Adam muttered. "You stole my painting because you didn''t want me to win."
There was another long, harrowing silence.
"It''s all your goddamn fault," Eric grunted, his fists trembling. "If you had just stayed in your fucking lane, then¨C"
"I couldn''t...I could never¨C"
Adam''s protest was cut short by a violent spasming inside of his chest. He was on death''s door now, the agony in his body surging up, pushing him to take a long, long rest.
NO. I WILL SEE THIS THROUGH! "I could never have done that," Adam declared. "Talent, genius ¨C all that bullshit can go to hell for all I care!"
There wasn''t an ounce of hesitation in his voice as he locked eyes with Eric. "I REFUSE TO SETTLE FOR BEING ANYTHING LESS THAN THE BEST!"
Eric spat on him. "Why? You a masochist?" he cried out. "Is this shit really worth it, man? Even if you have to suffer ¨C even if you have to look like that?"
A faint, broken, mocking laugh escaped past Adam''s bloodied lips. "Yes. Even if I end up like this." His torn muscles and failing organs burned. "Even if I lose to you a thousand times..." Every contest, from their childhood art to their recent Realm Clash, flashed through his mind. "Even if I...have to crawl in the mud..." He felt his body convulsing, his knees and elbows sinking deeper into the dirt¨C
Before rising once more. "I''ll still come back and beat you."
"There''s no coming back from this," Eric promised him, in a solemn tone. "Only one of us is walking away today."
"Yeah," Adam whispered. "On that, we agree."
Memories, souls, hopes ¨C they all mixed into one dying surge of energy, empowering Adam''s final attack...if it could be called as such. He threw his weight to the side and allowed his body to collapse in earnest, laying down right next to where he''d been crawling.
Right next to what he''d been protecting underneath.
"Adam, did you¨C" Eric''s last words started.
Adam wished that his drawings were sharper. He wished that he could''ve inked the aching in his chest with greater finesse, that he could''ve done more justice to his tears and anger. But art ¨C he had once heard, and now knew ¨C was more than just a product of skill.
Art was about conveying emotions. And in this moment, he was both baring the canvas of his soul...and using it as a weapon.
It began within his mind, when the words came to him¨C
You cared for me in days gone by,
Yet fear was in your every sigh.
You helped me when I stood alone,
Without you, I''d have never grown.
I loved you once, I hate you now,
I wish that time would shift somehow.
But lines you crossed, they stay the same,
I''ll think of you without your name.
Though never shall I grant you grace,
You''re but a shadow, not a face.
¨CAnd it ended on the ground, where his words took form.
Beneath where Adam had previously been holding himself up, where the blood from his injuries had pooled and gathered...was a trail of Stained Ink. Adam''s Canvas was already stained; he couldn''t summon Realms, heal his wounds, or convert much blood. Instead, he had focused on using the space hidden under his body for one purpose:
To paint the ground in his own Inked blood.
And on that near-abstract portrait were two joint lines that shot upward, side by side...until one of them stopped suddenly, and the other continued on down its unknown path.
His eyes were gazing deep into Eric''s the exact moment it all ended. Everything seemed to happen so quickly. In the blink of an eye, a now-familiar flickering line of blue, electric light had formed between the art and the Gryphon.
There was so much more Adam wanted to say. So many things stuck in his throat.
Even so, he managed to force out two short sentences. Two sentences that encapsulated the sum of his feelings ¨C and at the same time, couldn''t come close to expressing everything in his heart.
They were the title of his painting.
"Thank you, my best friend.
Farewell, my worst enemy."
Chapter 58
The wind howled, carrying with it the smell of burnt flesh and sundered dreams.
Adam felt nothing as he stared at the soulless body in front of him. It didn''t seem real. At any moment, he half-expected Eric to pop up, taunting and sneering like before.
Yet no matter how long he watched, the Gryphon did not move.
Oh.
It''s over.
The thought drained what little adrenaline remained within his body. Blood seeping out of numerous open wounds, Adam collapsed into a heap on the ground, his eyes shutting against his will.
They did not open again.
¨C
To his surprise, Adam wasn''t dead.
Of course he wasn''t. The dead were allowed to rest.
And it doesn''t seem like I''ll be allowed to do that just yet.
Instead of the darkness of oblivion, he found himself staring at an all-encompassing white sphere that dominated his surroundings. Its colorless purity was broken up by the now-familiar sight of Rot, a creeping stain on the canvas.
Adam stood up, carefully studying his body. He was uninjured, but not in the sense that his wounds had been healed. It was more like his injuries had never been there in the first place.
His clothes were untorn as well, although it wasn''t the same attire he''d worn when fighting Eric. The raiments of a Lord going to battle had been replaced by clothes from Earth. Something about it seemed oddly familiar and bitterly reminiscent.
Two seconds later, realization struck ¨C this was the outfit he''d had on when first coming to the Painted World.
"Nothing about this is real," Adam muttered. I''ve been here before, back when the Ghost of Waters entered my dreams. This is...
His Canvas.
The last time he''d been here was when the Ghost of Waters invaded his dreams. And just like that last time, the souls trapped within his paintings were twitching in agony before him.
With an important newcomer added to their ranks.
Eric...
There was a pitiful, quivering figure, covered in ink and breathing weakly ¨C so much so that Adam couldn''t tell whether its soul was truly dead or not. His face was a darkened, inhuman blob, unrecognizable to most of humanity.
I knew this is what would happen to you. It''s not like I regret painting your soul, or that I think you deserved anything less, but...
It still doesn''t feel great to see you like this.
Instinctively, as though the knowledge had always been a part of him, Adam knew that Eric''s soul had been damaged during their fight. Between the overuse of his Canvas and his soul being captured, the Gryphon''s existence had been stretched so thin that he was unlikely to survive even if he returned to his body.
Not that Adam had any intention of testing that. Even if he did, there were other matters to focus on now ¨C such as why he was inside his own Canvas again.
It looked different from the blank void of last time, and not just because of the Stains splattered from overusing his Realm. Moreso than the scars of black or the emptiness of white, it was the countless other colors which now gave this space shape.
Eric was woven into his Canvas, destined to remain so. And as a consequence of his own actions and decisions, he would now be an unsightly blemish, rather than part of the painting that was Adam''s life. Soon, he would become someone Adam would recall without thinking of his name. Yet it was also because of him that those other, better details now shone with so much vibrance.
The Stains would disappear in time ¨C the colors Adam had brought into his soul would not.
They were more than just decorations of his imagination. They were real. More real than this place, anyhow.
Oh, but your Canvas is the most real thing there is.
Adam tensed as he felt words broadcast directly into his psyche. It was the familiar voice of a stranger he''d never met, the nostalgic song of a melody he''d never heard, the comforting memory of an event that never was.
This was the man who had brought Adam to this world, pulling him through a painting in the old man''s shop.
It is a pleasure to meet you for the first time, my dear Third Painter.
"Pleasure to meet you again, ''Second Painter.''" Adam said, greeting the hidden figure. "Though I can''t shake your hand if you insist on being a disembodied voice. Why not reveal yourself and look me in the eye?"
The ability to invade your Soul Canvas is not beyond me, but it is beneath me. You have yet to invite, and I shall never trespass.
"Then feel free to come visit," Adam said dryly. "It is reassuring to see that you think so lowly of intruding on someone''s privacy, yet apparently take no issue with straight-up kidnapping."
Silence ensued. It lasted just long enough for the Painter to intuit that the voice hadn''t fully expected this sort of reply.
Ah¨C! You believe that I took you here?
"So I know," Adam nodded. "Despite your best attempts to keep me from knowing."
Every time the ''Voice'' had met with Adam, it''d spoken with him rapidly, instilled a vague sense of terror in him, and then disappeared ¨C not only from his mind, but from his memories as well. All Adam had been left with was an instinctual fear he couldn''t place, warning him against going down certain roads.
Or rather, that was what the Voice intended.
Adam''s memories had been erased. His tablet was not. Before his memories faded entirely, the Painter had furiously written down notes after each meeting with the godlike voice. While he couldn''t shield himself from the Voice''s oppressive, forced amnesia, he could still leave physical evidence of its transgressions.
And between his growing list of notes, sporadic flashes of memories returning to him, and a dash of deducting reasoning...he had managed to piece together a most disconcerting picture.
"I heard from the Puppet Grandmaster that Lawrence, the First Painter, created everything in this world. But I also heard, from you, back when Eric first showed up...that you aren''t the First Painter."
Quite correct ¨C but why bother with all these deductions? I can tell you everything you wish to know. You are strong enough to communicate with me now.
Adam scuffed at the idea. He wasn''t especially eager to trust the word of a man who''d attempted to erase the memories of their every meeting. "You''re the Second Painter," he spat, as if addressing festering roadkill on the side of the street. "The one that is known in this world as the Dark Sorcerer."
There was a pause. And what if I am? You accuse with a tongue that spits venom, yet what hatred have you for a name that cursed you not? Dark Sorcerer ¨C what darkness am I guilty of?
"You made the Ghosts," Adam said, recalling the Ghosts of Flames and Waters. "But more than that..." He curled his fingers into a fist. "You gave Solara a cursed Talent. Tortured her inside that tower for years."
Like a pointed dagger, his shaking fist rose up. "And you''ll pay for that."
I only gave her a Talent that she found herself unable to handle. She knew the risks.
"No one knows what you know! This was never a fair exchange ¨C she was desperate and had no idea what could''ve happened!"
Ignorance is the world''s sin, not mine.
"And yet you haven''t once said I was wrong," Adam grunted. "Maybe the world knows more than you think."
My silence was a product of politeness, and nothing more. You, Third Painter, were wrong when you falsely credited Lawrence for the creation of everything.
Adam hoped that his eagerness didn''t show on his face. "By all means ¨C correct me."
Lawrence did not create death.
No wind could have existed inside the Canvas. Yet in that moment, Adam felt a chilly gust twirl through his spine. "What do you mean he didn''t...create death?"
This question in particular appeared to catch the Second Painter''s interest. First there was a slight, understated harrumph. Thereafter, the boundless voice began to coil inward, its vastness shrinking until it was but a whisper, intimate and unsettling.
With that change, a strange mist began unfurling across the room. It seeped in as if through cracks in the Canvas, swirling with slow, deliberate spirals. The mist condensed, drawing itself together¨C
Until it formed the outline of a figure. Not solid, not entirely real, but a suggestion of a person. Like the mist had been dreaming of human form.
"Don''t look so shocked," said the Second. "You gave me permission earlier. It would be sinful of you to take exception now."
"Wouldn''t dream of it." Adam watched the man ¨C if he could be called such ¨C with the utmost of caution. While the mist had taken the shape of a person, it wore no face. There were only holes where its mouth should be.
If he''s trying to intimidate me, make me forget to question him, then he''s in for a surprise. "You said the First Painter didn''t create death," the Painter insisted. "Explain what that means, will you?"
The Mist Person shrugged, a hazy aftersmoke trailing behind his ¨Cits?¨C shoulders. "Lawrence was from the very same Earth as us. Unlike us, however, he misliked humanity very much. Thought he could do better ¨C even though he earned the chance to shape a world after his will, and wasted it fully. He carved the mountains, painted the oceans, shaded the skies..."
The silence that followed was not empty; it was charged with an unspoken highlight, a declaration of importance. This, Adam knew, would matter a great deal in the future.
When the Mist Person continued, it was with a more weary voice than before. A voice that carried the raspiness of a thousand winters. "And Lawrence colored the same lifeless gray across it all.
"This was a land before life, before death. Where time flowed like still water, and only the Ancient Dragons lived.
"Nay, ''lived'' paints a false picture of it ¨C they existed. Closer to a single painting than a film.
"Lawrence painted a static world without any distinction between life and death. None lived, but then, neither did they die. It was a universe of silence...
"Yet that word too is a lie. The Painted World was an existence before sound. No silence could be truly called such, for there cannot have been the absence of that which did not exist.
"Can you imagine this world he created? He wanted it not to evolve, not to grow, but to remain as a perfect frozen picture. To waste the chance to hold dominion over a world ¨C to deny its beings the chance of life. Criminal, sinful, and worst yet, undutiful!"
Each new puzzle piece held the weight of a giant stone. Adam''s shoulders trembled as they piled up. Can''t be frozen in indecision ¨C I want to know more! I''ve been stumbling blindly through this world for too damn long already!
"When you say that Lawrence denied its beings the chance of life," he began, "do you mean...humans? Animals?"
Adam had often pondered this question. If the Painted World was truly crafted at one point, how had life originated here? Was it spawned through magic? Created with the stroke of a paintbrush?
The Second Painter laughed. While his voice no longer echoed, it felt as if he were standing mere inches away.
"Why, they were stolen, of course. Life from our world was needed to create the Ink to decorate this one. Make no mistake, the empty void we call the Painted World always existed, as did the Dragons. But the world as we know it? The oceans, the hills, the caverns ¨C these were all crafted by one man who considered it his magnum opus. And he did so with ink forged from the life of Earth humans, long ago."
"What about you?" Adam''s question shot out, before he could think it over. "What role do you play in all this?"
"I too had earned the right to craft a world according to my will." The Second sounded almost modest, if falsely so. "But when presented with the empty worlds I could choose...I took note of what my fellows had done. Upon witnessing Lawrence''s work, I gasped in disgust. How dare he doom the lives he''d used to an eternal purgatory? I simply couldn''t stand to watch him reduce his own creation to such a stifling existence."
The humanoid fog shimmered with glee. "So I gave it death."
A horrifying understanding crept up on Adam. "The Rot," he whispered. "You brought Rot into this world."
"I did ¨C and would do so again. At the time, it was no larger than a small infection, unnoticed for an unimaginable amount of years. But on that day...the clock''s hands began to move. Death and imperfection were brought unto this perfect world, and life started anew."
Adam thought back to what the Grandmaster had told him. "The Dragons. Were they sentient?"
"More than you and I, frankly."
"Did the First Painter contact them for anything?"
The Second''s voice lit up. "Quite clever of you, dear Third Painter! He did. Upon noticing the Rot, Lawrence gave them the knowledge they so desperately craved."
"Which was?"
"The Rules of this world. You see, we were granted dominion ¨C not omniscience."
That much Adam had been able to infer. He wouldn''t have managed to keep notes of their meetings if the second Painter was omniscient. "Let''s not pretend you needed to be all-seeing when you could just decide what rules the world lives by. Arbitrary ones that bend the reality around us. Literal goddamn magic."
"Indeed! And good old Lawrence shared that knowledge with the Ancient Dragons, hoping that they would use it to combat the Rot. Not that they wouldn''t have figured it out on their own, those brilliant things, but it did speed up the process."
Adam anticipated what was to come next. "The Puppets!" he exclaimed. "That''s how they created the Puppets!"
"Right as well! Though we must also give credit to their fascinating technology." The Second''s amused laugh danced across the Canvas. "Do you want me to elaborate further?"
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"Of course I do," Adam fired back. "What kind of lunatic wouldn''t want to know more about the world they were magically abducted to? But I imagine you''re not gonna make it that easy."
The Mist Painter laughed. It was like watching someone puffing on a cigar, exhaling smoke in rapid bursts.
No, thinking of him like that doesn''t feel right. The way he shaped the smoke into a person was still art, but not painting. It was closer to sculpting.
"I might be accused of lacking kindness, Third, but not fairness," said the god Adam christened as the Mist Sculptor. "You disposed of my assassin ¨C a reward is in order! Ask away! I will answer anything you wish."
"Your assassin?" Adam asked sharply. "Let''s start with that. The hell do you mean assassin?"
"Lawrence has been trying to kill me ever since I invaded his world," explained the Second. "It''s proved to be a rather complicated task."
Adam scoffed. "You''re both borderline godlike creatures, and you had to resort to goddamn Eric to murder someone?"
"Yes," came the answer, without irony. "Time flows differently inside Painted worlds. Understand that long ago, when Lawrence and I became the First and the Second, we only had a vague concept of the limitations of our powers. We weren''t...briefed, exactly, before being granted stewardship of this land."
The silence that followed was charged with something else, a subtlety Adam almost missed entirely. The Second''s voice contained the smallest of hints of a different emotion: annoyance.
"Soon enough, we enacted a number of Divine Rules that effectively prevented direct murder of each other," the Mist Sculptor continued. "Which then forced us to engage in a game of loopholes. Divine Rules, once declared, cannot be revoked by any other being ¨C not even those who granted us our powers. This also meant that existing loopholes could not be closed easily."
At his own words, the Mist Sculptor gave a sudden start, laughing. "No, I suppose such a matter would have changed little. Had we been able to close those loopholes...we wouldn''t. Because then neither would have the opportunity to kill the other."
"And both of you want full control of the world," Adam added.
"He wants it to be a land without death or life. My desire is to allow life to take its natural course."
Meaning you''re fine if the Rot overtakes the Painted World decays it to nothing. Adam swallowed his outrage. He couldn''t waste this rare shot at gaining much-needed knowledge by raising his voice and accusing the Second of being a madman with a god complex.
He would''ve likely admitted to the charge, anyhow.
"What''s the loophole you two left open?" Adam inquired.
The Second Painter lifted his misty index finger and pointed at the white nothingness behind him. Slowly, the smoky haze of his hand dissolved, traveling toward its empty target. At first it reshaped into a single letter, and then into an entire set of complete sentences.
1st Divine Law of the Painted World: Talent is Absolute
No other magic can overcome the laws of Talent.
Moreover, Talents cannot ignore other Talents ¨C a Talent is the same as one''s soul, and all souls are equal. No one is immune to a Talent. Every being of this world has the ability to acquire a single Talent.
"Any questions?" The Mist Sculptor watched with amusement as Adam keenly studied the words. "Don''t be shy!"
"I have many," Adam began. "First, when it says ''beings of this world''¨C"
The Second Painter didn''t let him finish. "Ah, of course! Here."
Definition ¨C A ''being of this world'' is either a person who was born in this Painted World, or someone who is later declared as a being of the Painted World by Lawrence.
"Do you know what''s most amusing of all?" the Mist Sculptor remarked, in a deadpan tone of voice. "This definition didn''t exist for some time ¨C not until after I entered this world, obtained a Talent myself, and scared poor old Lawrence half to death."
"You have a Talent?" Adam uneasily asked.
"Why, of course. I play by the same rules as everyone else. Well, now I do, in any case."
The hazy fog widened the opening where its mouth should have been, splitting into what looked like a wide grin. "Upon entering this land, my own first Divine Rule was that offworlders should be granted the right to choose their Talent. Naturally, this led to good Lawrence enacting a second rule in response."
The words made of mist rearranged themselves.
2nd Divine Law of the Painted World: Only those allowed by Lawrence may enter this reality.
"Can you see the loophole at play, dear Third Painter?"
Adam nodded. "He couldn''t undo your law letting offworlders choose their Talent, but he could stop offworlders from entering at all."
"Not only that, Lawrence also accounted for scenarios where offworlders somehow did manage to enter. My poor phrasing is to blame ¨C I was young, forgive me ¨C as I stated that their Talents could be chosen after awakening. By Lawrence''s Definition, only beings of this world can awaken Talents, and by his 2nd Law, he alone has jurisdiction to grant an offworlder ''citizenship''. Even if one managed to arrive here, they would never be granted a Talent."
Wait. Then why did I¨C
Adam shook his head. He was sorta putting the cart before the horse with that one. First he had to ask, "How did I get inside this world, then? It''s not like I was invited here."
"Oh, but you were."
Frowning, Adam shifted his gaze to the pathetic, crumbling figure of Eric''s soul. "No. I definitely wasn''t. Eric ¨C it was Eric. I didn''t win the contest."
"Remember what was discussed earlier, Third? We are not omniscient."
"What does that¨C"
"But," the Second Painter went on, "the Divine Rules are. When you enact something that lacks a definition or embodies a contradiction...let us be simple and say this: the letter of the law is prioritized over its spirit. They will be interpreted in any possible way so as to not fatally contradict another law."
Wonder what happens if you push that. I imagine he doesn''t have the slightest clue either. "You gonna tell me how that relates here?"
"Only this ¨C to bring your friend, Lawrence said the following: I grant the creator of this painting, Eric, the right to enter my world."
The Second Painter let out a derisive chuckle. "See, the First truly had no idea Eric was not the author of your work. To avoid an impossibility, the Divine Rule was forced to interpret itself thusly: ''I grant the creator of this painting, and Eric...'' do you follow?"
Follow he did, although he still wasn''t privy to the destination. "Based on how you know Lawrence''s exact wording, I''d wager that as a...god-like person thing, you know immediately whenever a Divine Rule is implemented." So you can''t surprise each other with Laws.
"Correct!"
"Guess that explains all the information you gave me through my tablet..." Adam took a brief pause, gradually processing all that he''d learned, before returning to his main point. "So the First brought Eric here to try to kill you ¨C so he could stop the Rot?"
"Aye, my friend!"
And now that the cart was firmly prepared, it was time to grab the horse.
"How did I get a Talent?" Adam asked, his eyes burning with intensity. "I''m not a being of the Painted World, nor was I explicitly declared as one, even in the most charitable interpretation of the Divine Law you just mentioned. What are you not telling me?"
He''s contradicting himself. I''m not letting this shit go.
A baleful grin spread across the Mist Sculptor''s facsimile of a face, his false body convulsing with perverse delight. The foggy smoke that made up his form wriggled and churned in unsettling patterns, each movement more disorienting than the last, as if he found some sick pleasure in the question''s implications.
"THAT MY DEARR¨C" His voice nearly returned to its otherworldly nature before fading back into a pale imitation of humanity. "That, my dear Third, is what makes the First so weary of confronting me. My Talent."
"Which is?"
"History," he said. "My Talent, my dear Adam ¨C is HISTORY!"
The air grew thick with an unnatural chill, as if the room itself were holding its breath. Shadows distorted in ways they shouldn''t, elongating and curling. A faint sound of whispering, just at the limit of hearing, seemed to emanate from the white nothingness of Adam''s Canvas. Only the colors painted by his experiences kept him from shivering.
"Do you recall accusing us of having met before? Remember that I denied that charge."
"Yes...you lied," Adam muttered.
"I did no such thing. You surmised I stole your memories ¨C a fair assumption, but an assumption nonetheless. Those meetings never happened."
Adam shook his head angrily. "My notes¨C"
"¨CAre from a history when those encounters did happen," the Second said. "Yet I made it so that they never had."
Adam''s thoughts spun wildly, like a leaf caught in a whirlwind. The Second''s words were a riddle wreathed in chaos, and the more he tried to unravel it, the more tangled his mind became. Horror bubbled up inside him, battling with a confusion so deep it felt physical, a cold metallic sensation approaching his spine.
"What the hell does that mean?" Adam insisted. "Those meetings happened. I don''t care what your Talent is ¨C you didn''t go back in time or any bullshit. If you had, my notes wouldn''t exist."
"My Talent is to change your history. Not the Painted World''s." The Second''s voice carried an unsettling calm, like a whisper from the edge of nightmares. "Think of it like this. Imagine yourself as having come from a different reality, and then being transplanted into another world, taking the place of the version of you who already existed there. This isn''t quite accurate, as there are no alternate realities, but...you should understand the concept this way."
Adam forced himself to try.
If I take what he''s saying at face value...it means he can essentially change my past. He, he could change my whole life, even before I came to the Painted World. But he still can''t change the outcome of the things I''ve done.
Had he wished so, the Mist Sculptor could have altered Adam''s past so that he never got involved with art at all ¨C and it would be true. Because he couldn''t change the world''s past, though, the paintings he''d created would still exist.
It would be like the world and I have different histories...but both are still real.
Wrapping his mind around this was nearly impossible, and accepting it as the truth even less so. However, Talents were magic. He''d seen them warp reality many times over. Still, if this is true...
"You used it on me?" Adam asked, a pit forming in his gut. "When I entered this world?"
"Correct!" the Second said. "I changed your history so that you had always been from here."
"But...my memories are from Earth. I still remember everything there."
"It wouldn''t do for you to have forgotten your life there. I needed your emotion ¨C your hatred, so that you could rid me of my assassin. Thus, I shaped your history accordingly: you were born in the Painted World, then moved to Earth."
Joy was writ across its featureless face. "All to ensure that you gained a Talent."
''Every being of this world has the ability to acquire a single Talent''. The words of the 1st Law echoed in Adam''s mind.
He shook his head. "No. I had a family. A father¨C"
"Oh?" The Second laughed. "And were you his son?"
"I was," he muttered, in a low breath. "God knows he wished I wasn''t, but I WAS!"
Adam''s heart pounded as the creeping realization took hold. His past had been twisted, manipulated by the Second''s whims. What else about himself was now false? If he ever returned to Earth, would his father even recognize his face? Would anyone? Were his memories of meeting with them real, or was this past something the Mist Sculptor had forged? Panic surged¨C
Before a spark of clarity broke through.
Eric... The thought steadied him, his breath catching. Eric remembered me. And if the Second was able to alter his History, there''d be no need for this charade ¨C he could''ve killed him from the start. Eric''s memories of me are authentic and untouchable.
Adam''s eyes softened ¨C if only for a moment ¨C when they shifted away from the Mist Sculptor and over towards the suffering soul inside his Canvas.
Eric''s soul writhed, unaware of its surroundings, its agony nearly a danse macabre. The ethereal form contorted, flickering like a candle in a storm, its suffering a silent scream that echoed through the void.
Despite everything...it almost feels ''right'' that you kept me from losing my mind, Adam mused. Despite his wishes, a smile crept across his face despite his wishes. You¨C
The Mist Sculptor surged forth and engulfed Eric''s soul in one fluid motion.
There was no warning, no chance to react. One moment, Eric''s soul writhed; the next, it was consumed, leaving only a faint, darkened wisp behind.
Adam''s breath stopped, his heart plunging into icy dread as his blood ran cold. He stared, unable to comprehend what he''d just witnessed. The shock rooted him to the spot, his mind racing yet finding no refuge.
Gone, he thought, the word reverberating in the hollow void Eric''s soul left behind. Like he was never here...just like that.
"Worry not," the Mist Sculptor said, dusting nonexistent dirt off his ethereal body. "I merely wanted to ensure my assassin would not return to life as Aspreay once did. This should not affect the Talents you stole from him. Let us proceed with our discussion, yes?"
Chapter 59
It was as if Eric had never been there, and as if nothing had happened at all. The Second Painter had...consumed Eric''s body in the most grotesque, disgusting way Adam''s brain could comprehend ¨C then acted like nothing was particularly out of the ordinary.
"Well?" The Second perked up its mist like an eyebrow. "Surely you have more questions, yes?"
For a single moment, Adam felt his hand twitch. That was all the emotion he allowed himself. No matter how despairing or abhorrent the sight had been, letting it get in the way of finding out more about the Painted World would''ve been unforgivable.
"I do have a few more questions," he said, with a shrug and an uneasy smile. Need...need to stay calm. There''s too much to lose. Getting emotional right now won''t help. And over what ¨C Eric? "Mind if I ask?"
Outwardly, he appeared undisturbed.
"Of course," the Second replied. "What would you like to know?"
Inwardly, he was boiling.
A fever burned, pulsed from head to toe. His heartbeat raced so fast it might as well have been frozen still. Adam felt overrun with an anger so bright that his mind was reduced to a passive observer in his body.
"I..."
He may have accepted all of Eric''s sins in his mind, but the wounds would take a long time to heal, if ever at all. His decade of friendship with the monster was still imprinted on his heart.
"I wanted..." Adam began, with a false smile he desperately tried to embrace. Don''t give in. Don''t...this guy is a near-omniscient God. You can''t hurt him. "Wanted to know if..."
And it was his heart that drove him, his instincts faster than any objections his mind could devise. Adam conjured up the Stains inside his Canvas, wrapping them around his hand.
"I WANTED TO KNOW IF YOU CAN BLEED!"
The Second and Third Painters clashed inside Adam''s Canvas.
It was brief. The Painter Lord of Penumbria took his Stained Ink ¨C the very curse that the Second Painter of Rot had wrought upon this world ¨C and wielded it as a sharpened knife. He lunged forward, his emotions propelling his advance.
The attack didn''t land, of course.
Adam had half-expected it to end exactly as it did: with his furious blow falling just short of the Sculptor, an invisible magnetic force slowing his momentum until it stopped completely.
That didn''t make it any less frustrating.
Contrasting his fury was the Second Painter''s pure joy. "I had not expected your blood to run so hot," said the monster, with an air of amused interest.
"To be honest..." Adam trailed off, a sudden exhaustion driving him to his knees. "I''m surprised too. Thought I could control my emotions just a little better than this."
He looked up with a defiant smirk. "Can''t say I dislike it, though."
The Sculptor harrumphed. "Surely this outcome does not come as a surprise. You''ve already witnessed this Divine Law on numerous occasions, have you not?"
His mist shimmered, rearranging itself until it formed clearly-defined letters and words.
7th Divine Law: Talents cannot be used to inflict harm upon someone with a stronger Talent.
It was information that Adam was already aware of. Many times, including just now, and when he''d faced off against Eric, his Talents of weaker Rank had been supernaturally prevented from harming his opponent.
But...there was something else here. Something that didn''t seem right.
The 1st Law ¨C it doesn''t quite match up.
Adam recalled the definition from earlier.
1st Divine Law of the Painted World: Talent is Absolute
No other magic can overcome the laws of Talent.
Moreover, Talents cannot ignore other Talents ¨C a Talent is the same as one''s soul, and all souls are equal. No one is immune to a Talent. Every being of this world has the ability to acquire a single Talent.
If Talents were equivalent to one''s souls, and all souls were equal, then that should mean no one was truly stronger than anyone else. In fact, that very much seemed to be both the letter and the spirit of the Divine Law.
Moreover, the gap between the Laws...the 1st and the 7th...it suggested that some time had passed between them. The idea that stronger Talents were immune to weaker Talents was implemented later.
But when? By whom?
And did it imply what Adam thought it did?
I might as well gamble on it. Should try to make the best out of losing my shit. He''s less likely to be on guard after overpowering me like this.
Even now, Adam was still on his knees, breathing hard before the Sculptor of Mist. If I''m wrong, no harm done. But I''m right...
He called upon an arrogance he did not feel, a frustration he could not conceive, all the emotions he needed to look as desperate as possible ¨C and that the Second would delight himself in witnessing. "Swear to me," Adam shouted at him. "Swear to me that we will meet again, and that you will answer all my questions."
"Of course," the Second Painter said, in a transparent lie. "I swear that when you summon me next, I will tell you everything you wish to know about this world."
A comforting yet annoying thought dawned on Adam. Despite all the Sculptor''s pretenses, he had never really intended to divulge everything, even before the attack. He was only saying whatever benefited him, directing the conversation so he could point Adam like an attack dog at the First Painter.
On one hand, it meant he hadn''t really screwed much up by attacking the Sculptor.
On the other hand, it meant this godlike man, one with the power to rewrite history...wasn''t yet done with him.
That second thought was decidedly unpleasant. However, Adam couldn''t get too worked up over it. It was only fair that the Second felt that way.
After all, Adam wasn''t done with him yet either.
The Sculptor hasn''t noticed, he thought, feeling the link manifesting. I should end this before it becomes visible within my Canvas. No need to give him more clues.
"I think I''ve had enough for today," Adam said. "Let''s meet again at a later date. Send me back."
"Of course." The Second made a huge show of granting him a respectful bow. "As I said, I would never intrude upon someone else''s privacy."
"But you would rewrite their past."
"We all have our vices," the Sculptor remarked, shrugging. "Fear not ¨C very little time has passed outside your Realm. If you work fast, you might be able to save at least some of the soldiers that the First''s Assassin killed."
That had been weighing on Adam''s mind. Tired or not, he''d still wanted to save Captain Diego and the others. "You''re too kind," he told the Second dryly.
The Mist-shaped human convulsed into laughter. "I must confess ¨C this is the first time that charge has been laid at my feet."
And so, Adam woke up.
¨C
Days Later
Adam studied the outskirts of Penumbria from inside his carriage.
Much had changed since the last time he''d been here. Three differences in particular stood out the most to him.
The first ¨C and most easily seen ¨C change was the city''s geography.
It was impossible to miss the results of the intense duel that had taken place just a short week prior. Tenver''s giant-slaying arrows, each taller than an armored knight, dotted the city outskirts like lances fallen from the heavens themselves. The wide craters that they''d excavated painted a rough and terrifying picture of his confrontation with the Emperor.
And it wasn''t just the land that had been altered. There were also battle scars upon the city proper, the tall stone walls that surrounded it now showing considerable wear and tear. A number of Stained Creatures had attempted to breach through during the Battle of Penumbria, their efforts just barely rebuffed.
But even with all that, it wasn''t the change to the city walls, but rather the change to the Realm''s Walls that constituted the second-biggest difference Adam had noticed.
Penumbria''s Realm had been reconstructed with a new set of Laws ¨C and this time, they were carefully crafted to forbid allies of the Emperor from entering the city. It was a very difficult restriction to impose; one that Adam himself wasn''t yet skilled enough to pull off.
The reason Penumbria could now exist with such a sophisticated rule was that its Walls hadn''t been created by Adam, but by its former lord, if only temporarily.
And he hadn''t so much as hesitated when his carriage rolled into the city.
My Lord Talent is stronger than Aspreay''s, Adam thought, with an eerie calmness. Even if he''s more skilled than me, I can shatter his Realm without issue if he tries to claim Penumbria again.
The eeriness he felt came not with the thought itself, but with the underlying assumption that Adam didn''t actually believe it would come to that.
Aspreay had shown up at the end of the fight to save Penumbria ¨C well, to save Vasco. He''d also risked his life to save Adam''s before, and that time had been motivated by the city''s well-being. Somehow, after everything, despite everything else...the Painter was quite confident the former Lord wouldn''t make himself difficult to deal with.
Not that he trusted him, but, still.
His presence here wasn''t the only oddity. The winds of change were blowing over Penumbria. Aside from geography, and aside from the Realm Walls, there was one transformation that surprised him most of all.
"Hail Lord Adam!" cried the crowd.
"LORD ADAM!"
"KING ADAM!"
"THE PAINTER KING!"
"THE LORD OF INK!"
"THE KING OF PENUMBRIA!"
"THE KING OF THE FRONTIER!"
The third and most shocking change in Penumbria had been its people.
They were feasting, they were celebrating, and...and they were happy. There was still uncleaned rubble from the crumbling stone walls near the city''s edge, yet it did little to deter their uproarious festivities.
News of the war must''ve reached Penumbria a week ago, Adam thought, smiling softly at the sight. And they''re still celebrating.
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By now, they should all have heard the announcement: Adam had secured a way to keep the Rot at bay. Furthermore, he had also brought a number of Orbs into the city as ''war reparations'' from the Empire.
It was an empty gesture, of course. Ciro would invade again as soon as he''d mustered up a better reason to mobilize his troops ¨C he would need to invent another excuse after Adam''s parentage had backfired on him so heavily. But the people likely didn''t know, and the few that could reason this out still didn''t care.
For now, they would survive winter.
For the first time in Penumbria''s history, no one would starve to death or fall to the Rot when snow fell.
To them, this meant...everything. It was enough that Adam''s loud, yet unofficial declaration of independence from the Empire had spread like wildfire among the masses. To the common citizen of the Frontier, who''d likely never even seen Ciro in person, being ruled by the Painter who''d made the city richer and safer than ever before was a much more attractive status quo.
One they would die to defend.
And that steep price was something Adam refused to overlook. It would be oh-so-very-easy to do so; to drown it out in the clamor of cheering crowds, the deafening chanting of his name.
All the more reason why he couldn''t.
"My lord," the coachman nervously began. "The manor awaits your glorious return. Are you certain that you''d like to¨C"
"¨CYes," Adam firmly stated. "It''s my duty to see them first."
"But wouldn''t you rather celebrate right now?"
"Yeah, I would." He paused. "But they would too ¨C and they weren''t given the option."
The Coachman offered no other protests, other than mumbling something about how Prince Tenver and the others were anxiously waiting on Adam''s return. Still, the man did as he was ordered.
He drove the carriage to Penumbria''s cemetery.
Though the battle had been relatively bloodless, that was only true when compared to the alternative of a downright massacre ¨C a fate they narrowly avoided.
Dozens of soldiers had perished keeping Nayt, the Elven Hangman, from entering the city. Hundreds had died defending the Santuario das Chamas from Valente, the Dark Captain.
It felt wrong to celebrate without first acknowledging their sacrifice.
"I...don''t even know your names," Adam began, kneeling before the graves. "And I hate that. I hate that so many of you died because of my decisions that I can''t even remember all of you. I hate that I can''t visit each of your grieving families and offer my apologies."
The soldiers'' loved ones wouldn''t starve this winter, but their survival had come at the cost of a wound that would never heal.
"I wanted to keep anyone from dying. This was the best I could do." He shook his head. "Vasco''s men were buried in Gama. I...I''ll visit their gravestones too. Let them know that it wasn''t in vain ¨C that their people will be safe."
"They would like that," said a new voice.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew closer. "And know that you are no master of treachery, oh Lord Painter. Do not take away their choice with your guilt."
Adam hadn''t known the man for long, so he recognized his grandiose words before his voice. "Ferrero," he said, rising to his feet, "I owe you a great deal."
The Duelist glanced over from the gravestones, looked Adam up and down, and then laughed. "You jest, my lord. You saved my life during the Ghost Ship incident, and you''ve also stood up for Puppets with a nobility so unlike noblemen. If anything, I dare say the ledgers are not yet balanced."
"Has the city given you trouble?" Adam''s voice was sharp. "I pray no one has tried to..." He trailed off, letting the unspoken ring loud.
"Not so much as a whisper," Ferrero assured. "Hatred of Puppets is strong, but someone has seen to it that tales of my duel with the Hangman were spread far and wide. For now, the people are happy to consider me and my kin as monsters that protect them. It will pass once the victory celebrations run dry, of course, but I will be happy to indulge in the momentary glory."
"I heard of your duel," Adam said, shaking his head in amazement and widening his smile. "You truly fought a Hangman in single combat ¨C and came out alive."
"As did you, my lord."
That was different. It had been Adam''s unique Talent that allowed him to survive his duel with Eric ¨C and even then, only barely.
It would be rude to voice this, however. "I confess that when you told me you wouldn''t lose even to a Hangman...I couldn''t quite believe you at the time," Adam admitted.
"You and them both." Ferrero gestured at the gravestones, his expression bitterness. "Despite Prince Tenver''s orders, they would not entrust the city''s fate to me. I could only fight once they had fallen. If I''d just been able to convince them¨C"
"A wise man once mentioned something about the guilt of the living and the choice of the dead."
The Duelist laughed. "A fool, more likely. And even he would know those words apply to a Lord, not a mere duelist."
He regarded the gravestones in silence for a few more moments before turning to the Painter with a raised eyebrow. "Say ¨C who informed you of my duel? You''ve only just arrived in Penumbria."
"A little bird told me," Adam replied, with a grin. "The same one that spread the tale of your duel to the citizenry. It flew into my carriage a few days before we arrived."
Ferrero gave him a long, disbelieving look. "Once I thought of her as a detective and nothing else," he said. "Now I realize that discovering the truth lets you wield it as the most magnificent of blades."
Adam stopped as he heard some distant observers speak of him in hushed tones. The common folk heralded him as a folk hero ¨C Aspreay''s wayward, bastard son who''d returned just in time to save the city from the Emperor.
"That is not the only blade she wields," he muttered.
¨C
"I beg of you," Adam pleaded. "Speak to me in person for once. Must you use the ravens?"
"Aye, my lord!" The Detective''s voice echoed around the courtyard as a chorus of birds repeated her words, one after the other. Every guardsman posted near Penumbria Manor appeared to develop a sudden interest in literally anything else.
When Valeria spoke again, just one of her ravens did so ¨C the one perched on Adam''s shoulder, whispering in a low voice. "The birds and this Talent belong not to me, but to the Grandmaster. I''m only able to make use of it through my proximity and their ignorance...willful or not."
Her point was simple and truthful. Adam didn''t like it. "And the Grandmaster hasn''t declared support for Penumbria yet. Your time at the Mines grows increasingly dangerous the more you abuse your freedom."
"Let it, my lord ¨C or is it Your Highness these days? ¨C if that''s all it takes. We can risk my life, but we cannot risk losing access to the Talent of Communications. These birds won us the war as much as your paint did."
Adam grimaced. "You speak of your own death too freely. I wish not to sacrifice anyone, no matter how willing they might be."
"Might?" Valeria laughed softly through the raven, a low sound of high pitch. "Solving mysteries is my purpose for being; a form of art more beautiful than any portrait. Do you now understand why I would die for it?"
"No," he barked out. "I really don''t. But I also know this is more than just about passion. You think there''s something wrong about¨C"
"About how I was born, yes. Questions beget questions. Why and how did the Grandmaster happen upon so many elven corpses? And why were we so recently deceased that we could be turned into Puppets, yet not so recent that our memories remained?"
Adam gazed intently at the bird on his shoulder. "Your death would shroud that mystery forever, Valeria. Come to Penumbria."
"So would yours, my lord. And had I not stayed behind, there wouldn''t be a Penumbria to come to."
This wasn''t a truth he liked, but it was a truth nonetheless.
The Lord of Penumbria sighed, sipping his winecup as he peered at the setting sun. Red and orange clashed, painting brilliant hues that dazzled the eye...
Yet its vibrance was ephemeral. In less than an hour, it would be gone.
A moment of time makes all the difference in the world.
Adam shivered as he recalled the stories he''d heard of the battlefield. Tenver, desperately holding on against hordes of monsters. Solara, murdered until her Talent reached its limit.
If either of them had misstepped, even for just one moment...then they would have proven no less ephemeral than the sunset stretched out before him.
Except that if he wished, he could wait until tomorrow for the next clash of red and orange. There would never be another Tenver or Solara.
How close had his friends been to vanishing from his life entirely?
But they didn''t, he reminded himself. They''re here, and they''re waiting for me.
Along with someone else.
"Thank you for rescuing Aspreay," he softly spoke, looking up at Penumbria Manor. He hadn''t gone inside yet ¨C mostly because of the person in question. Aspreay was no danger, but Adam couldn''t imagine what their conversation was going to be like.
Even so, I''ll need to enter sooner or later. Have to talk to Solara and Tenver.
No. He didn''t have to.
He wanted to.
"Your praise is more than I deserve," said Valeria. Her bird took an elegant bow, gently laying its feathery wings on Adam''s neck. "I merely gave you the soldier. You were the one to think of how to use him."
Adam chose not to point out the obvious ¨C that luring the former lord into action using Vasco was simply the best move available. By saving Aspreay''s life, Valeria had effectively controlled his actions already.
Tenver and Solara had taught him the value of trust, and he''d taken their lesson to heart. Adam didn''t intend on reverting to his old self.
Doesn''t mean I won''t consider that you may have other plans, Valeria.
Chapter 60
Wonder why I''m nervous.
Logically speaking, there was very little reason for Adam to feel like this. He was about to see his two best friends in this world. They were finally reuniting after a long, bloody battle ¨C one that could''ve easily ended with all of them dead.
Yet despite the odds, through a combination of grit and luck, they had won. A coalition of upstarts had humbled the Emperor of the World.
And the people he cared most for had survived.
During his carriage ride to Penumbria, Adam had often pictured this moment as a triumphant return. He would throw open the double-doors to his manor and greet everyone with a cocky grin, saying something along the lines of: ''Of course we won. What, did you ever think otherwise?''
But¡that just didn''t feel right ¨C didn''t feel honest. Not after everything that happened.
People had died. People had lived. People had suffered. People would yet suffer.
Somehow, simply celebrating ¨C as if he were pleased about how things went ¨C would''ve felt like a lie.
As his hand touched the door handle, Adam felt a wave of anxiety swallow him up. He wasn''t focused on what they had won, but on what they had nearly lost. If I''d been just slightly slower during my Realm Clashes¡if I hadn''t painted Eric''s soul¡if Solara failed to hold back the Hangwoman¡if Tenver didn''t stall the Emperor¡if Ferrero lost his duel with the elf¡if Valeria hadn''t¡
There were dozens, hundreds of possibilities where Adam wouldn''t be standing here today. Outcomes where he, his friends, and all of Penumbria would''ve faded to ash and been thrown to the wind.
So when the Lord of Penumbria, the Painter Lord, the King of the Frontier, entered the room and saw his two friends waiting for him, no gloating words touched his tongue. Instead, his hands shook, his throat caught, his eyes watered, and¨C
"Hey¡ah, hey guys," Adam managed weakly. "Looks like I''m back. And we''re all alive. Who''d have thought. Not me, ha. Haha. I¡I really thought I was never going to see you guys again, you know? We¡"
His voice gave up any pretense of stillness, shaking with every motion he''d been forcing down until now. "WE''RE ALL HERE!"
There was no arrogant smirk, no pretense of regality, no forced distance so that he wouldn''t be hurt again. There were only tears ¨C and both of his friends leaping into his arms at once, so quickly that they found themselves on the floor. The three of them shared that same tight, desperate embrace, letting out the anxiety that none had allowed themselves to feel on the battlefield.
No one stood or moved for a long time. They merely laid there on the cold stone floor, holding one another, laughing nervously all the while.
"Welcome back¡" Tenver stuttered out. "...My lord."
Solara laughed through her sobs. "Tenver, I swear to the Forest, if you ruin this moment¨C"
"¨CYou didn''t call me Puppet," he noted. Despite his earlier attempt, he gave up putting on airs. "Thank you."
Before entering the Great Hall, Adam had ordered that none else be let inside. It would just be him, Tenver, and Solara for the rest of the night.
Much was still left to be done in Penumbria. They had orders to give, plans to prepare, wounds to tend, people to grieve, and guilt to bear.
Yet there would be time later for regrets and apologizing to the fallen. Tomorrow they would perform whatever duties were required of them.
Tonight, however¡
Tonight belonged to them.
Just for now, they allowed themselves the selfishness of being happy.
Hours flew by as they laughed and drank. They retold glorious versions of their battles to one another, the tellings growing more exaggerated with each sip. It was as if they hadn''t just survived a dance with death ¨C as if they weren''t still facing a most dangerous fate.
Throughout that festive haze, everything felt right.
¨C
Tenver returned to the Great Hall dual-wielding a lute and a rather large glass of rum. "Since we didn''t invite any bards to this ce¡lebration¡"
He stumbled drunkenly, his body nearly collapsing beneath its own weight, but his smile never faltered. "I thought I ought to take it upon myself to bless our ears."
From atop the Penumbria throne ¨C which had been horribly stained with wine ¨C Adam leaned forward, his eyes widening. "Tenver, you can play the lute?"
In response, the Puppet Prince raised his chin, confidently lifted a single eyebrow, and brought his left hand down onto the strings to show that¨C
"¨CNO!" Solara shouted, covering her ears and throwing herself onto the ground, rolling as if escaping an explosion. "HE REALLY FUCKING CAN''T!"
¨C
The flickering flames danced merrily, casting playful shadows on the walls. How long had they been burning by now?
Solara raised both arms over her head in victory. She cast her gaze at the completed gameboard down below, then raised it to look her opponents in their eyes. "Told you I could handle both of you at the same time," she taunted.
Adam tried to handle the loss with grace. "Well," he started, "you uh, are very good at this thing because¡" Why was she good at it, again?
Did I drink enough water? Maybe. Am I going to regret this ''not enough water'' thing tomorrow? Yeah.
He peered at Solara, realizing his mouth was still open. "What was I saying?"
Tenver had considerably less grace. "This is a sham!" he cried out, in a tone of aggrieved indignance. "This entire game is a sham! It''s ¨C it''s an Imperial lie! As the true Emperor, I declare it illegal!"
Solara fell back from her chair, her cup empty enough to make her ask with genuine dread, "Y¨CYou aren''t serious, right Tenver? C''mon¨Cbuddy¨Cmy Puppet brother¨C"
It occurred to Adam that maybe he hadn''t explained how important Espada-de-Guerra was as a game to Solara. Tenver might not have known that the inebriated elf was going to genuinely panic over this.
Unfortunately, Adam was too drunk himself to voice this concern aloud. How would he even string that thought into a coherent sentence?
Eh. Much easier to slam his glass down onto the table, and below out, "AND AS KING OF THE FRONTIER, I MAKE IT LEGAL!"
He missed the table and tossed his glass onto the floor.
Rather than attempt to clean it, the trio wordlessly agreed to avoid that part of the Great Hall.
¨C
"C''mon, show me!" Solara demanded. "I didn''t see the Puppet Arm yet ¨C show me!"
Adam tilted his head. "Wait, didn''t Tenver use it when we fought the Ghost of Waters? You were there for that."
"I was dead for most of that."
"Oh, yeah, right. Man that was an odd fight." Adam turned to Tenver and shrugged, as if the matter was settled. "Anyway, she makes a fair point. Off with the armor."
Tenver feigned a hearty protest. "Why, that is most uncouth of you to ask that of me, my lord."
"Take it off already, pretty boy," Solara said, with a parody of seductiveness in her tone ¨C before pausing to make sure she wouldn''t throw up. "C''mooon! What kind of monster drinks this much with a full suit of armor on, anyway?"
Adam understood, too late, that Tenver''s brief reticence wasn''t because he minded showing off his Puppet Arm. The knight''s unvoiced objection, locked away deep inside his mind by the alcohol, was that he wasn''t nearly sober enough to unleash an extremely large arm upon a room filled with delicate breakable things.
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None of them acknowledged the broken glassware, the goblets sent rolling down the ground, or any of the pandemonium that came when Tenver''s Puppet Arm left his armor.
¨C
"Don''t you dare move," Solara threatened.
"How the fuck would I?" Adam protested, wriggling uselessly as Tenver held him above the ground with full use of his Puppet Arm. When this didn''t work, he turned to his knight and shouted, "Traitor!"
Tenver''s eyes sparkled, showing a suave smile that would''ve suggested a clever plan ¨C had the man not wobbled from side to side. "My Adam Lord," he said, with a look of intense concentration, "Solara made a good point. You used your skill to paint those tattoos on us. It''s only fair we get to do the same."
"It''s not the same at all!" Adam protested, panicking. "I''m an actual artist! I know what I''m doing! I even did an internship at an admittedly sorta shady tattoo shop, like dude I¨C"
Solara stepped forward, wielding an unsteady, ink-soaked brush on one hand. "Don''t move, I''m not good at this," she mumbled, holding her hand as still as she could.
Then, after freezing in silence for two seconds, she swept her brush upward ¨C as if forgetting her original mission entirely ¨C and gazed at Tenver with trembling eyes. "Wait, did, did you just call me something other than Elf?"
The Knight paused. "I''m pretty sure I''ve done that befo¨C"
"THAT''S SO NICE!" She sank to her feet, hopelessly drawing more paint onto Adam as she did so. He protested weakly, then halted in exasperation as he saw her crying. "I CAN''T BELIEVE YOU CALLED ME THAT!"
Adam drew a deep breath. Shit. Sober up. Have to make sure she''s not doing badly. "Solara, this isn''t the first time he¨C"
"YOU TOO!" She cried even more.
"I''VE NEVER CALLED YOU ELF!" Adam protested, all care and concern forgotten. "LITERALLY NOT ONCE!"
"Oh?" Like a shut-off valve, Solara''s tears abruptly stopped as she frowned in concentration. Her face lit up a moment later. "That is true ¨C Adam, you''re fantastic. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. You''re fucking great. You never called me Elf and you made Espada-de-Guerra the Kingdom of the Frontier''s national sport!"
Despite his mind''s haziness, Adam was decently certain he''d never approved that last bit. "Really, really don''t think I said it would be."
"You¡didn''t?" Solara fell to her knees in despair again.
"Okay, so she''s drunker than¡me. Which is probably a lot." He wasn''t sure, but he was pretty certain. "Tenver, do you think we should cut her off for a bi¨C"
That question came to a sudden halt when the Puppet Prince dropped him on the floor, and also started to despair.
Tenver sobbed. "Why do you hate our sport, Adam?"
Okay, they drank too much, was Adam''s first thought. Hmm, or maybe I haven''t drank enough, was his second, winning thought.
¨C
"If I had any connection to my home culture, I''d probably be deeply offended by this," Solara shouted, even though the two were standing right next to her. "But I don''t, so like, whatever, keep testing how sharp my ears are. I''m honestly kinda curious, never really experimented with that."
Adam placed a chunk of cheese through Solara''s left ear. "Huh. Didn''t know they were this sharp," he mused. "That''s so¡"
The word fascinating came to mind, but pronouncing it seemed impossible. "So rad."
"The sharpness changes depending on my mood," Solara muttered, then winced. "Careful ¨C this hurts a little."
"Okay," he promised her. "Also, do you want to unpack what you mentioned about not being connected to your culture or¨C"
"NOPE!" Solara said gleefully, turning her wine glass upside down.
The block of cheese fell.
After a moment, Tenver tested his Puppet Arm against her right ear, finding that the massive wooden prosthetic rather predictably proved too resilient for it. Upon this, the Knight grinned and laughed. "I win," he declared.
"The fuck you do," Solara shouted, stumbling to her feet and rushing at him like a mad bull.
¨C
Everything felt right in that festive, ridiculous drunken haze ¨C even as the effects of alcohol started to fade, and the first signs of a hangover started to manifest themselves. Never a good sign when your head hurts before you can fall asleep.
In fact, everything felt so right that continuing their revelries would''ve been as easy as it was tempting. But because of how much this moment meant to them¡Adam knew there was something else he needed to say.
Something long overdue.
And quite frankly, it was much easier to bring up after drinking half his body mass in liquid courage.
"You guys sort of know I don''t really belong here," Adam muttered. "And even if I haven''t said exactly how, I imagine you could probably guess. You never insisted too much, but¡I should probably tell you now."
Tenver and Solara shared a look of confusion ¨C that gradually morphed into one of slow understanding. Neither spoke a word.
"The reason I have this weird Talent¡the reason no one knows where I''m really from¡"
He steeled his resolve. "Is that I''m not from this world."
He told them more than that. He told them everything ¨C About his parents, about Eric, about the art contest, about coming into this world, his Talent, his meeting with the Second Painter, the Rot¡Adam left no detail unexplained.
"At first, I hid those things because I was afraid you''d use them against me," he admitted, shamefully. "Couldn''t really trust anyone after Eric. But after that, I¡to be honest, I think I kept quiet because I was afraid it would freak you guys out. That maybe you''d get scared, and just¡leave. I don''t know."
This wasn''t how Adam had planned on telling them. He''d rehearsed this exact scene a thousand times in his head. That Adam was always much more dignified, exhibiting far less vulnerability than the fragile, hesitant voice slipping out of his mouth right now.
But those plans also hadn''t accounted for all three of them being sprawled out on the floor of Penumbria''s Great Hall, unable to stand up after a night of drinking. And even in the most optimistic version of his fantasies, he definitely hadn''t thought his friends would appear so¡
Unconcerned.
"I was willingly possessed by a Ghost after negotiating with the Dark Sorcerer," Solara remarked, shrugging. "The same man who put you here to begin with. And you coming from another world got me out of that tower so ¨C why would I complain?"
"Adam, I quite literally died once," Tenver said, with a dark laugh. "Do you think me that much of a hypocrite to care about your background? You are here, and you are you. That''s all we need to know."
"Exactly," Solara said, nodding. "Except¡"
She paused, holding her silence for a long moment.
"Except, fuck that Eric Gryphon guy. What a shitstain of a human being."
Tenver nodded in solemn agreement. "While I am positive that the Second Painter will be our adversary in the future, today I say¡"
He held a glass of wine to the sky. "We drink in his name, for he killed that insufferable prick!"
Adam smiled so wide that it hurt, his anxieties melting away like snow under a warm sun. He raised his own glass to meet their toasts ¨C although he did fill their cups with water this time.
Chapter 61
"Nice to see you in good health," Adam calmly said.
"Ha!" Aspreay gave a hollow laugh, quick and cold, highlighting an annoyed smirk. "Good health!" He repeated, studying his own empty palm. "A good joke, that one. Mayhaps I should''ve made you a jester rather than a painter."
"Well, at least you''re still alive."
"Not an uncontested claim, that one." Aspreay studied the back of his hand. "More would think of me as a monster."
Adam paused. "Do you see yourself that way?"
"I frankly care little for it either way," the Nobleman answered. "Given the option, I would become a monster a thousand times over to protect Vasco."
His laughter turned dark. "I would slay many more monsters, too, and set fire to this very city if need be."
Here Adam reminded himself ¨C it wasn''t that Aspreay had decided to side with him. Aspreay had sided with Vasco, and Vasco had followed him in large part because of Solara.
I should remember that distinction. "Sounds as though you''re not upset about your...health, then."
Aspreay shrugged. "It is a great opportunity, if anything. For this ¨C and not much else ¨C I thank you, my dear villain of an usurper."
"Your gratitude is misplaced. Valeria deserves it, not me."
Aspreay shook his head. "Puppets are not meant to be thanked," he said, his voice dripping with forced venom. "One does not thank a sword for cutting down a man."
Ferrero would, most likely. Adam stepped forward. "I shall refrain from expressing my gratitude, then."
"Good. Worthless feeling, that one. Praise and awe are more becoming of me, Painter. I fought the Dark Captain twice and survived once ¨C you would not have been able to do it." He spun his wine glass impatiently. "Go on! Tell me how positively amazing I am."
"Lord Aspreay, we have not the time to go over how positively magnificent your performance was," Adam said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Such an assessment will have to wait for a different night."
Aspreay let out an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. "Ah, time is such a harsh mistress!" He shook his head. "In which case, let us address the unimportant bullshit first."
In response, Adam gestured around. A week ago this had been his room. A year before it had been Aspreay''s room. Now, the former lord appeared to have dressed it as his own again.
"You are in possession of something of mine," the Painter dryly noted.
"What do you speak of?" Aspreay looked around in apparent confusion. "Oh, this room? I''m quite fond of it, you see, and took it as payment for my services."
"I speak of the Realm." Adam stated, his voice and his resolve both hardening. "The Walls surrounding the city are yours right now. Not mine."
Aspreay shrugged. "I suppose you want ownership of it transferred to you, then? Halt, pup!" He held up his hand. "Do you not realize how transparent your Canvas''s staining is right now? Your soul stirs like ill-mixed ink, you miserable commoner ¨C worse, you amateur!"
The former Lord frowned with disgust. "If you wish to kill me, do it better."
Adam hadn''t even noticed his own body tensing. If it came down to a fight, he was prepared to use his painting again, not his Realm. Yet his Canvas unconsciously stirred when standing before the man who had once ruled Penumbria.
"I''d rather negotiate," the Painter said, after a pause. "What do you want in exchange for the Realm?" He sent him a sharp, piercing gaze. "Make it reasonable. I can take Penumbria back by force if you refuse."
Aspreay laughed. "And you should know from Ciro''s astonishing, repeated fuckups not to recklessly anger your allies. You need me." He raised his chin. "I want this room back."
Adam frowned. "What else?"
"Orbs, I suppose." Aspreay shrugged. "Enough that I can feast occasionally and hire foreign troupes. Our local playwright is terribly incompetent, do you not know?"
"I haven''t...had the pleasure. Running the city took much of my time." Adam shook his head to refocus himself. What is he getting at? He lifted an eyebrow. "What else do you want?"
This time, Aspreay''s laugh sounded mocking. "Vasco named you a shrewd negotiator." He shook his head sadly. "As a master of war ¨C and rather handsome ¨C it''s only fair that fate handicapped him in some manner. Why insist, boy? Do you want to give me more?"
"I want for you to not cause any trouble!" Adam shouted. "But wanting and hoping are different things. I know you''d like more than just a room and some Orbs."
"And again your famed cleverness fails you," Aspreay said, shifting his gaze back to his winecup. "Bluntly speaking, my wants are few ¨C this room, Vasco, and lastly having few duties that would take my attention away from the first two. You could''ve gotten your Realm with just that...but as you''re feeling generous, then by the Ancient Dragons I shall rob you blind."
Adam narrowed his eyes at the man and his list of demands. "Vasco I get, but why the room? There''s others that are just as luxurious in this manor."
The Once-Lord peered around the room with a longing gaze. "Memories are priceless," he said, absently sipping at his tea. "The cloak of a lord always felt too tight around my neck to truly enjoy the rest of the manor. One day, you too will come to think of it as a noose at times. Here, though?"
He brandished his glass at the room. "Here, I was alone. Here, I was happy."
"Were you?" Adam asked. Memories of Aspreay''s misery surfaced in his mind. "The reason you suffered so much is because Vasco left, isn''t it?"
"This does not mean I was any happier with my courtiers. Loneliness is a cold fate, yet I''d much rather suffer the coolness of the night in solitude than wrap myself with a cloak of spikes."
Adam thought of his friendship with Eric...and how empty his life had felt before meeting him. "Some colds are freezing enough that the prickling would seem minor by comparison." He glanced at the poorly-painted drawing on his left hand. "Altogether, I...I do admit I''d much rather be warmed by something that doesn''t draw my blood."
He paused. "In any case, if you''d be happy with just this room, then I''ll happily take that trade. I actually preferred the old prison-room you had me in before. Tenver is the one who insisted on¨C"
To his surprise, Aspreay shook his head. "Again, how did you gain a fame for shrewdness, boy? That will not do. You shall take the Imperial Suite ¨C it is functionally identical to this room, anyhow, and is where the Emperor''s representatives would normally stay during a visit. We have scarce little need of it, considering your rebellion."
Adam forced his face to retain a mask of neutrality, but at his side, his fingers twitched ever so slightly. "What does my room have to do with our rebellion?"
"You have claimed the title of King of the Frontier ¨C yet Penumbria and Gama do not a kingdom by themselves make. While Coimbargo and the others are disillusioned with the Empire after that disastrous battle, they will still need to be courted. Nobles usually do."
"The thought did occur to me," Adam confessed, bitterness creeping into his tone. "But I don''t see why that would be affected by what room I have."
"Claim modesty as a virtue if you will, but think not that others will too." Aspreay sharpened his gaze. "Nobles are a vain sort. You think survival is why they''ll join you? Nay, boy ¨C ''tis their wounded pride that commands them so."
"Nobles are a prideful lot," Adam coldly stated.
Aspreay did not deflect the insult. Instead, he wore it proudly. "Indeed we are. Which is why you should listen to me, boy. Because I know what they fear and what they respect."
Adam felt a twinge of defiance surge within. "You were bested by this ''boy'', Aspreay. Or have you forgotten?"
"And yet I disrespect you," he plainly replied. "Know why, brat? Because you don''t act like a lord. You only show strength to those you think deserve it."
"What else would you suggest, Aspreay?" He used the name with the same disdain the former lord used for insults. "That I use it on those who don''t deserve intimidation?"
Aspreay raised his eyebrow with the polite haughtiness of pointing out a mistake. "Everyone deserves intimidation. Intimidate those weaker than you, so they don''t rebel. Intimidate those stronger than you, so they hesitate. A lord needs to command respect."
"Would you have Vasco fear you?" Adam asked, matching his voice to the other''s haughtiness.
"Mayhaps then he wouldn''t have tried to keep so many secrets from me," Aspreay muttered, his gaze and thoughts miles away. "That fool."
Adam saw an opening and took it. Cut me with your words if you want ¨C I know you can bleed too. "If you think that would''ve helped, then mayhaps you''re every bit the imbecile you accuse me of being, milord."
He made a show of his lowborn manner of speech, watching as the nobleman'' eyebrow twitched slightly in disgust. "That very sharpness you preach may well have been why Vasco felt afraid to confide in you after the Butchery of Greenisle."
Aspreay''s mask of calmness slipped. "I COMMAND YOU TO¨C"
His Order stopped abruptly as he cut it off, biting his upper lip. Neither man acknowledged the near-attack as he continued speaking.
"You would already have the Grandmaster''s full support if you''d made him believe your threats more. If you were a frightening lord, he would''ve believed you might unleash your Realm, kill his people, and raze the hollow bastion of Puppets. He could have given you an army to use against Ciro, rather than merely allowing your Detective to assist from the shadows."
"I won that war," Adam protested. "Or have you forgotten?"
"And lost how many men?" Aspreay retorted. "Dozens of yours. Hundreds of Vasco''s. You could have avoided this if you had a larger force to begin with."
Here it was Adam''s mask of calmness that cracked. "REALM RECONS¨C"
The Painter stopped the inking of his Canvas just in time. Forcibly bringing his Realm to a halt was a tumultuous sensation; an echo of an invisible army marching inside his heart. Neither man acknowledged the near-attack as he continued speaking.
But when Adam did continue, it was in a muted whisper. "You think...you think I don''t know that, Aspreay? That I don''t wish I could have done things differently?"
He regretted the vulnerability as soon as the words left his mouth, instantly wishing he would take them back. Yet surprisingly, the shark did not leap at the smell of blood.
"You think me different, Painter?" Aspreay muttered. A humorless laugh bubbled up from the back of his throat. "Every man has things they wish they''d done differently. But wishing does not make it thus. One cannot bring onto reality that which they cannot conceive even in their mind. And so..."
He circled back to the original point, his words lacking the venom of before. "And so I ask you to listen to me."
There was a silence.
"If I listen to your noble ruthlessness," Adam said, slowly. "Will you listen to my requests to show more kindness to others?"
Another pause.
"I am capable of meeting your demand," Aspreay agreed, some reluctance in his voice. "But know that I will spare no suffering for any wretch that hurts Vasco. This includes you."
"I can agree to those terms."
They shared a nod, the two men sheathing their swords of diplomacy.
"The Frontier Lords," Aspreay began, "are furious that the Emperor used their troops, their Orbs, for a war that ended in shameful retreat. Furthermore, recompense was paid to Penumbria, but not to their own lands. They think ¨C ''Oh, how dare this man use us in such a way, only to be disgraced in battle by the boy he named Pretender?''"
He shook his head. "Their purses hurt from the battle...but even more than that, they see the Emperor as weak. A ruler must appear strong, dignified, someone that those prideful pricks can respect enough to not feel humiliated when bending the knee."
"That''s why you think I can''t take residence in my former room?" Adam asked, reluctant acceptance shaping in his heart.
"Words take flight too quickly these days," Aspreay noted, with a sigh. "If the Frontier Lords are to be of any help in the coming war, then before all else, they must respect and fear you."
Because the next time the Emperor attacks, just Penumbria and Gama won''t be enough to hold him off. Ciro isn''t going to be miserly with his resources; my head will be worth lightening the Empire''s purses.
It would take Emperor Ciro time to conjure another excuse, but eventually, he would. And when his armies next marched, their advance would be planned far more carefully. He would have armies and alliances at the ready, seeking to crush the rebellion in one fell sweep.
There would be no repeats of his prior mistakes. If the Frontier Lords sided with Ciro then instead of Adam...
Fear and respect. He engraved the words upon his heart.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
As the first snow of the season started to touch Penumbria, Aspreay gestured at a half-open window. "We have until spring to prepare for Ciro''s next incursion, at least. Most likely until the next winter."
"What are you basing that on?"
"On what I''d do if I were the Emperor," Aspreay answered. He laid his hand on his chin, sinking into thought. "Right now, the common folk hail you as their greatest hero. You''re known as my forgotten son who took over my throne when I fell ill, defended Penumbria from the Empire''s wrath, and brought about a peaceful winter. If the Empire attacked now, it wouldn''t be just Penumbria ¨C Gama, Coimbargo, and peasants from all Frontier cities would be swallowed up by your glorious tales and fight the Empire with morale that Ciro''s troops could not match."
The Nobleman frowned. "But what of next winter? What happens when you can no longer sustain the influx of Orbs this brief war granted you?"
The Painter''s response was a virtually imperceptible nod, his eyes distant as he let the thought settle and deepen.
Rather than shatter the silence, Aspreay gave him time to mull it over. The Nobleman calmly used Royal Orders to fly a map across their table, then to the right of the room, the parchment crackling as if it whispered secrets. He walked towards it almost lazily, gesturing for the Painter to follow.
Aspreay''s gaze danced over the map markings, each stroke of ink a note in the melody of his strategy. "My prediction," he said, "is that next winter is when the War of the Five Rulers will take place."
Adam had nearly nodded before he caught the other man''s meaning. "Five? How did you get five sides out of all this?"
"Don''t play the fool," Aspreay told him, in a harsh voice. "The Empire is the first, of course. Then comes you: the Crownless King of the Frontier, whose rebellion is all but certain."
Aspreay''s hand swept over the map. He paused at the Mines, his eyes sharp and his smile grim. "The Grandmaster of Puppets has been a poor ally at best. While I severely doubt he will side with the Empire, that doesn''t mean he''ll remain your ally, either. The Puppets have their own goals ¨C and they won''t always align with yours."
Truthfully, Adam had contemplated this matter as well. "The Grandmaster does have fair justification for not openly supporting me," he began. "He can''t give the Empire any reason to attack the Mines."
The Painter paused. "But...it is awfully convenient that he''s able to sit on the sidelines as Ciro and I continuously draw each other''s blood. I imagine that''s the only reason he''s turned a blind eye to Valeria using his Talent to assist me. What choice shall the Grandmaster make, I wonder, after two opposing Kings have been sufficiently weakened?"
"Something to keep in mind," Aspreay assented. "And of course, for the fourth ruler, we have the First Painter to take into consideration."
Adam froze. What did he just say?
"Lawrence," the Nobleman scoffed. "What an abominable name. He made use of the Ancient Dragons ¨C and then the Gryphon, many years later ¨C to attempt the Second Painter''s assassination. Blasphemous, ignorant buffoon..."
Aspreay shook his head. "Yet he did not, notably, directly help the Empire. I don''t believe that Ciro would want to live in a world without life or death ¨C there''d be nothing for his ego to rule over. I think that they will have their own goals, though we should consider that those goals may benefit the Empire in some ways."
Adam regarded him in careful silence. "How do you know about the First Painter?"
The Nobleman went on as if he hadn''t heard him. "Finally, for the fifth Ruler, we have the Second Painter. The other self-proclaimed God of this world. The cretin made his distaste of the First clear ¨C as well as his sincere belief that the Rot is a natural phenomenon that should not be removed. He will be against the First and Ciro, so we should note that his interests might align with ours at times. In the end, though, he too will oppose us."again
"Aspreay!" Adam''s chair went flying, so fast he stood up. "How did you¨C"
"Have you already forgotten how Realms work, Painter?" Aspreay raised his chin and showed a faint smile. "The Third Pillar of Lordly Realms: Divine Knowledge. You are inside my Realm right now, or have you forgotten? I''ve been perusing the pages of your mind since you arrived at the manor."
"That''s impossible!" Adam protested. "My Lord Rank is higher than yours ¨C you shouldn''t be able to read my mind!"
"Not with a regular-sized Realm," the Nobleman admitted. "Haven''t you noticed any changes?"
Adam''s fury cooled as he shut his eyes and began pacing in a circle. His hand reached for his Canvas, feeling out the delicate threads of the Realm''s power that were wrapped around Penumbria like a shroud.
When he''d first returned yesterday, he felt the Walls enveloping the entire city. And now...
Now they enveloped only the manor.
It must''ve been recent, else monsters would already be swarming the city. But how recent? Has...has it really only been a few hours, if that?
The Painter whirled round to face the Noble. "Since when? The Walls were surrounding the city when I came in."
"Naturally," Aspreay answered, "else you''d have noticed what I was planning."
Before Adam could respond, Aspreay snapped his fingers, to no outward effect ¨C yet his meaning was immediately clear to both Lords.
He was transferring control of his Realm over.
Mere moments before the action was concluded, Aspreay called out, with remarkable casualness, "Realm Reconstruction."
When the Walls returned to Adam, they encompassed the full breadth and width of the city once more. However, now they were infused with incredibly precise Laws that imposed restrictions on newcomers attempting to enter Penumbria.
Watching Aspreay paint his Canvas had felt like witnessing the work of a master at his easel. There''s so many details here, Adam marveled, and he did it so quickly!
So many times, too.
"I only managed to use Reconstruction twice against Eric ¨C with a lengthy break in-between," Adam said. "I still nearly died for it. Yet you''ve used it twice in much less time...and without so much as breaking a sweat."
"That I did," came Aspreay''s reply, with a touch of pride and satisfaction in his tone. "And if needed, I could use it two or three times more."
"Impressive," Adam acknowledged, without irony. "Don''t know if I could do that."
"You will," The Nobleman snorted. "Before the last drop of snow has touched our city, I shall drive these lessons into that thickened skull of yours. You must learn how to bend subjects to your will using words alone ¨C with or without your Realm."
His intentions were clear. Aspreay truly did mean to side with Adam, and he would teach him more about Realms and the Talent of a Lord...but he couldn''t simply say as much. The man had outlined his style quite clearly earlier. Even when he meant to help, he would act in an abrasive manner to command fear and summon respect.
"How kind of you," Adam said, with a faint smile.
Aspreay grunted. "The world knows you as heir to the House of Arcanjo. It would be my eternal shame for history books to write of my ''son'' as being so woefully undereducated in the art of Realms and warfare."
Though Adam had heard himself referred by that title before, hearing it from Aspreay''s mouth felt...different. Stranger. His son, huh...
The fact that a selfish, monstrous, egomaniacal nobleman inserted less disdain into the word than his real father once had just felt even more disconcerting.
"Still, far be it from me to think I hold all the cards," Aspreay dryly remarked. "I have perused your thoughts, true, but a skimming of such a complex book as the human mind leaves one lacking in details. I know much ¨C your origins, your real Talent, your encounter with the Second Painter ¨C but there is more to your plan, is there not? Speak."
A smirk spread across Adam''s face. Despite his best attempt, the quiet satisfaction of someone acknowledging a well-laid plan shone through. He knew it was a bad habit, but he couldn''t help savoring the moment. "Oh, have you not forgotten the magic word there, my lord?"
"Ah, right, right," Aspreay said, voice dripping in sarcasm. "There is more to your plan, is there not?"
Here both men couldn''t suppress an amused ¨C though still far from friendly ¨C chuckle.
I''d rather not tell him, Adam thought, but he made his point clear. If he wants to know, he can use his Realm to eventually read my mind. Worst of all, Aspreay is probably the best teacher I could ask for...and he could hold that hostage as well.
He grimaced. Guess this is what he means about negotiating harshly.
Well, it wouldn''t do any harm. The Second Painter wasn''t omniscient ¨C that much was clear. Adam could speak of this, at least here inside the safety of his Realm.
"When I painted Eric, I gained the Talent to protect us from Rot," Adam said, after a pause. "But that''s not everything I gained from him. I received all the Talents he stole."
Aspreay could not keep the look of surprise from showing on his face. "You don''t mean¨C"
"Do you remember Vasco''s brother, Belmordo?"
Instantly, almost like a reflex, the Nobleman responded with, "Yes. I heard of your slaying of the whiny mongrel. For that, I sincerely thank you greatly."
The earnestness in his words was such that Adam nearly laughed before continuing. "Anyhow, Eric stole Belmordo''s Talent of Contracts, you see. And when I stole Eric''s Talents..."
"You are able to create Contracts now," Aspreay finished. His eyes widened as realizations dawned. "You brilliant whoreson! Painter, did you¨C"
Adam''s smirk widened. "It''s as you suspect."
"Swear to me," he had shouted, not long ago. "Swear to me that we will meet again, and that you will answer all my questions."
"Of course," was the Second Painter''s response. "I swear that when you summon me next, I will tell you everything you wish to know about this world."
"The Second Painter agreed to a Contract before I left. I don''t think he was aware of it. Aside from Lawrence, I''m the only one with the Talent of Painting ¨C the Second likely had no idea I''d used it to inherit Eric'' other Talents."
At the time, he didn''t even notice that Adam''s phrasing had been purposefully specific.
Oaths were Contracts. The Second Painter might not know yet ¨C or perhaps he''d discovered it later. Wouldn''t matter. Contracts weren''t a form of physical violence, and as such, he couldn''t easily ignore them.
Whenever Adam called for him, he would have to answer.
Very slowly, Aspreay puzzled out the meaning behind the Painter''s words. "Considering that Talent...you''ll interrogate him many times, I presume? Divest him of information until he resents the sound of your voice?"
"That''s one option ¨C one that we''ll resort to if we fall too far behind during the war."
The Nobleman caught his implication. "And the option you favor?"
Adam leaned forward. He gradually turned his tablet to face the Nobleman, exhibiting another reason why he felt so confident at that moment. To Aspreay, the mechanical item would look like a regular painting.
Perhaps it was because of this that the man practically recoiled from the sight.
Though his fear vanished as he read further, his eyebrows shot upward, and his face twisted into a wicked grin. "Marvelous," Aspreay said, through a malevolent laugh. "Mayhaps I ought to apologize for misspeaking earlier. I did not realize you were willing to go this far. You didn''t let an emotional duel with your rival get in the way of pragmatism ¨C beautiful, Painter, most beautiful!"
Among the many Talents now listed in his tablet, one stood out. Nearly as important as the Contracts, almost as vital to the war effort as his Talent to combat Rot. It was one single word that foretold much of their future¨C
Hangman.
This power, alongside others, were what enabled Adam to choose this path.
"I''ll find out everything there is to know about the Second Painter," he assured. "Then I''ll summon him when he least expects it, show him his portrait, and steal his fucking soul. Then, with his Talent, I''ll rid the world of its accursed Rot, its selfish Emperor, and its insane Gods. And then ¨C and only then ¨C will the inhabitants of this world know peace."
The Nobleman regarded him in silence for a moment. "You herald the future like a prophecy," he said, after a long pause. "Shall I take your speech as a promise?"
"A promise? No." Adam''s mind raced through it all again. "It''s a spoiler. One day someone will compose my biography, and this will be its ending: Adam Arcanjo slew the monsters that call themselves Gods, killed the tyrant that fancies himself Emperor, and cleaned the world of all its Rot."
Aspreay laughed softly. "I might yet be proud of you, son."
END OF BOOK 2
Bonus Chapters 1 & 2
Penumbria''s new lord wanted nothing more than to rest. It had been a long day¨Ca long 92 days¨Ca long life. Whatever danger he might subject himself to by falling asleep was worth it. As far as he was concerned, nothing was going to keep him from a well-deserved rest.
''Nothing'' fell short of ''no one,'' however.
"I have organized an honor guard for your parade," Tenver said, in the same jovial tone he''d used countless times before. "It will let the common folk put a face to the whispers about to set every tavern in the Empire ablaze. Give them reason to hope, rather than dread."
Adam winced, but could admit the logic of it. His takeover wouldn''t be received without opposition. He was already expecting heavy resistance from the nobles whose purses he fully intended to plunder. Better to claim the hearts of the commoners he actually wished to help before they were misled by false news.
"Fine," he muttered, lifting his head from the pillow. "We''ll go...we''ll go now."
"Do you not wish to change your attire, my lord?" Tenver thoughtfully asked. "Your current state of dress may not impress the common folk."
The Painter glanced down at his stained working clothes, then shook his head. "No. I don''t want them to see me as just any other lord. Ideally, I''d like them to see me as part of ''us'' not ''them'', if you catch my meaning."
"Most wise, my lord." Tenver nodded and began moving for the door. "Do you have any requests?"
"Only one." Adam raised an eyebrow. "Tell me why you appear entirely unconcerned that your painter friend committed severe treason and usurped the title from the lord you serve under."
"Because my painter friend is a better lord than Aspreay, for one." Tenver tilted his head, then relaxed into an affable, disarming smile. "Do I need more reason than that?"
If you''d asked me that before Eric, I would have said no. Now...
"Yes," Adam firmly replied. "You very much do."
Tenver paused for a moment before laughing. "Well, that''s fair, isn''t it? If you must know...on some level, I''m not entirely surprised over what transpired."
"And why is that?"
"My lord, although one day you will have both, today you can only choose one: my loyalty or my honesty." Tenver''s voice grew lower. "Which one would you prefer?"
Tension flared up in Adam''s veins like a sudden shot of caffeine, banishing away his drowsiness. This, he knew, would be one of the most important decisions he would make as Lord of Penumbria.
Should he trust Tenver?
He''s been hiding something ever since I met him...but without him, I wouldn''t have had the chance to steal Aspreay''s position or Talent. Adam closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. It''s not as if I haven''t already been gambling with my life the moment I chose to call myself lord. Timid half-measures won''t help me when I''ve already rolled the dice. . And I have no allies here ¨C might as well tentatively play along with the closest thing I have to a friend.
This didn''t mean he trusted Tenver, though. It hadn''t escaped Adam''s notice that Tenver was the only one in the Throne Room who wouldn''t kneel to him. Did the guard think that they were close enough friends to forsake rank? Unlikely, in this world. Then what...
Stop, Adam admonished himself. At this point, any further guesswork would be based on incomplete information. I need more details ¨C and more importantly, sleep ¨C before I can say anything for certain.
"Let''s get going," Adam announced, his words muffled by exhaustion. "The sooner we get through this, the better."
--
His intentions to avoid fully engaging with his duties were soon murdered quite ruthlessly. In total, there were three killers responsible for this most heinous of crimes.
First was the murderer named ''Fresh Air.''
How long had it been since he''d breathed in the scent of the outdoors? Adam liked to think of himself as a recluse, but the moment his open-carriage set forth into the city, a gentle breeze passed through his face and left a wide smile in its wake.
I should make a point to be outside more often, he thought. This is...nice. Even if I had to commission five new paintings, I feel like it wouldn''t be the worst thing in the world, anymore.
Second was the multi-faced murderer titled ''Hopeful Faces.''
Evidently, although some word of his usurping had gotten out, most didn''t believe it until setting eyes upon him. As Adam rode through Penumbria, the ever-changing crowd went through a continuous cycle of emotions. First they would look at him in disbelief. Then, their gazes would fall down to the Lordly carriage, as if to confirm this man was truly their new lord. Then they would look at his stained, heavily worn clothes with surprise, but also joy.
And lastly, amidst their cheers...they would beg.
"Milord, my family needs more Orbs, our heating¨C
"Milord, please, my son is starving¨C
"¨CTis my mum, she''s knocking on death''s door right now¨C"
"¨CEven when I make bread, no one can afford it¨C"
That last one caught his attention most of all. It was the same baker that Tenver bought those pastries from when Adam had been arrested. Even he appeared to be struggling to make a living; enough to desperately cry out to his new lord for a hopeless chance at salvation.
Then there was the third and final murderer. The one who united this gang of killers.
It went by the name of Rot.
While Adam had been led through the poverty-stricken, tumorous side of Penumbria on his first day here, now he could see that even the relatively wealthier side of the city was not free of corruption. Cobblestone surfaces occasionally transformed into a distorted version of itself, permanently wet with dark, blotted liquid. Anyone nearby would break out into a cough fit, as if wracked by sudden sickness.
"Tenver," Adam asked, in a low voice. "Is there anything we can do to keep the Rot from advancing?"
"Once it''s rotten, we must burn it down to ashes, lest it infect more of the world." Tenver''s response was delivered in a calm, almost jovial tone, but Adam noticed how the guard clenched his fist. "Most of it is only Stained, however. Part of the Rot as it might be, Halfwood keeps it at bay."
Adam glared at him expectantly. Explain, his gaze said.
To the man''s credit, he obeyed. "The Empire controls the world''s largest ¨C if not only ¨C reserve of Halfwood, and we burn through it often. Some folk cannot afford to replace the Halfwood inside their walls." Tenver gestured towards a blot of dark ink located on the side of a house. "Then it starts to spread."
"People can''t afford it," Adam muttered slowly, his own fist clenching tightly. "And when they can, it robs them of the means to afford anything else. Food. Clothes."
"Winter always comes," Tenver replied solemnly. "The cold cares not whether you spent your Orbs on idle feasts, or on protecting your home itself from falling prey to the worst of diseases. More people meet their death in our city than are born in it. Only a continual influx of freshly-banished malcontents keeps our population somewhat stable."
Adam found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the rot ¨C stains ¨C on the city. Especially after realizing how little note the common folk appeared to give it. To them, the blotted ink that heralded their death was an ordinary facet of life. "What happens when someone lives inside a place that has Rotted too much?"
"They fall sick and die," Tenver said promptly, but not callously. "If they''re lucky."
"And if they''re not?"
"Then they become like the monsters that attacked you." His voice was grave. "More commonly, the guards are in charge of...executing them, to prevent their transformation from happening. It''s a slow enough progression that we rarely miss it. We cannot afford to miss it."
That was why Aspreay seemed so concerned about an infected man potentially entering his city. If Adam had been infected by the Rot ¨C in a regular fashion ¨C he would''ve been a walking bomb, a virus that might very well have destroyed half the city.
It''s not enough to justify the other things Aspreay did, Adam thought angrily. Too angrily. Even if they''re trying to limit the spread of Rot...this is just delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later, Penumbria will fall apart.
"Is there anything we can do to stop it?" Adam asked, his voice still low. He waved to the common folk and put on a forced smile, as if there was reason to celebrate. "Is the Rot this bad across the rest of the Empire as well?"
"Not in every region," Tenver admitted. "Those that have the Orbs for it can afford to use the Empire''s inventions to stave off Rot ¨C albeit not banish it away entirely. Unfortunately, the Eastern Frontier has had to contend with the two Ghosts for years. Their very existence worsens the Rot and strangles our economy"
Adam looked at him expectedly, silent asking for another explanation. The guard reeled back slightly. Though used to the painter''s apparent memory issues, he still expressed an occasional bout of shock over Adam''s ignorance.
Better this way. If he underestimates me, it''ll be easier to spot a betrayal.
"Odd existences, those Ghosts," Tenver added, after a pause. "Even for Stained monsters." The word ''Stained'' still appeared unfamiliar to him, as if Aspreay''s ban on the word remained entrenched in his mind. "While the Rot spreads everywhere of its own volition, their mere presence exponentially worsens the plague. The Empire has concluded that two of them haunt the eastern regions: the Ghost of Flames, and the Ghost of Waters. We know precious little aside from their general location, however."
Which meant that ridding the world of Ghosts would alleviate the Rot, somewhat. Problem was, Adam couldn''t very well ask all the hopeful faces he''d met to sit back and wait as he hunted down legends he wasn''t even sure he could kill. I need to focus on changes I can reasonably make, here and now.
"We''ll change the castle''s spending policies first thing tomorrow," Adam told Tenver. "Feasts, foreign troupes ¨C gone. Other luxuries will go shortly after, as soon as we can quantify them. It won''t be enough to help people buy all the Halfwood they need...but it''s a start."
He nodded. "If we can save even a dozen people by cutting down on pointless expenditures, it''ll be well worth it."
Adam sent a measuring look at his guard. If Tenver was going to object to these drastic measures, now would be the time.
Instead, he found a warm smile on the man''s face. "My lord, that would be the most wonderful¨C"
"¨CDeranged plan I''ve ever heard!" Captain-Lord Inacio said, breaking off from formation and riding up beside them. Evidently, he had been eavesdropping. "My lord, you can''t possibly be serious! The nobility will not stand for such indignity! You mean to rob them of their few pleasures?"
Until now, Adam had kept his voice low. Partially out of shock over what he was witnessing, and partially to keep the common folk from hearing ¨C and spreading ¨C any passing thoughts he might voice to Tenver.
Captain-Lord Inacio, meant to lead the honor guard for the parade, exhibited far less concern. He had boldly rode up in front of Adam, forcibly bringing the parade to a screeching halt, then shouted his objection so that it was heard by all in attendance.
He wants this argument to be as public as possible, Adam reasoned. Inacio wants word of this to reach other lords. To start a faction against me.
Having stolen Aspreay''s Lord Talent, Adam was now virtually unkillable. However, that didn''t mean other nobles had no room to argue. While some were useless, others held a vice grip on parts of Penumbria''s failing economy. He expects me to back down here, to compromise...and to lose the public''s favor.
Altogether, it was a reasonable move. Adam was an usurper with little in the way of supporters. He''d expected this much.
Which didn''t mean he would play along with this farce.
"When you refer to the ''nobility'' not standing for such indignity," Adam began, dryly and loudly. "Do you include yourself in that statement, Lord-Captain Inacio?"
Inacio was a Lord by title, not by Talent. He didn''t have Aspreay''s ¨Cnow Adam''s ¨C Talent of near-omnipotence inside the Realm. His face flushed slightly, but he refused to back down.
"Your proposal is more than rude ¨C it is self-sabotage of your rule," the lord-captain cautioned. "Aspreay was not altogether well-liked. If you heed my word, then perhaps you can avoid suffering the same fate."
"Strange," Adam said, raising an eyebrow. You stand here, demanding that I continue wasteful spending, cautioning me of Aspreay''s fate...that I inflicted upon him for not caring enough about his people."
He fixed Inacio with a steely gaze. "Who do you think will punish me for ensuring that people live to see the next sunrise?"
Murmurs passed through the crowd. In that moment, rumors were birthed that could never be silenced.
Inacio must have felt this, because he said, "My lord, all I ask is that you be reasonable! Even the common folk must agree that¨C"
"My decision has been made," Adam shouted, loudly enough that everyone in the crowd could hear him. "The nobility will have most of their luxuries stripped until we know for certain that our people will not perish to starvation, cold, or Rot. Disagree with me if you must."
"My lord, I will disagree!" Inacio shouted. "If you cannot see reason¨C"
His hand went to his sword.
For the first time, Adam''s Lord Talent flared up.
Although he knew little of its workings, some of the Talent''s intricacies flew into his brain, information and experience adapting as if it had always been his. Reality itself became Adam''s subject as he laid down an absolute order.
"Arise, Inacio."
There was no need for the words to reflect the specifics of his command. Adam''s heart knew what he wanted, and thus his Lordship Talent willed it into existence for him.
Just like Aspreay had done once before, Adam lifted up Inacio in the air, as if an invisible hand had pulled him off his horse and now held him up.
"We''re inside my Realm," Adam said, with an unyielding tone. "My word is law. You would do well to remember that."
"Y¨Cyes, my lord¨CI¨CI''m sorry, p-p-please!" Inacio reached his own neck with both hands, trying to break away from the grip of reality itself. "P-please! I beg you! T-the common folk will have everything they need! I will donate Orbs from my personal collection! I¨C"
"Good."
Adam let go, maintaining an icy stare that did not betray the racing of his heart. It was good that Inacio hadn''t pressed him further. He wasn''t sure what he would''ve done if his bluff had been called.
I don''t know if I have what it takes to outright kill someone, he mused. What he''d done to Aspreay wasn''t the same as that. Painting his portrait had felt...disconnected, in a magic-fantasy-world sort of way. He hadn''t needed to swing a sword, pull a trigger, or dirty his own two hands.
Probably couldn''t handle killing someone in cold blood like that. It''s one thing to hate a guy ¨C and I definitely hate people like Inacio. But even so...I don''t know if I can muster up the ability to just...murder.
Not yet, anyhow.
In either case, it wouldn''t be necessary. His show of force had accomplished more than death could ever. The crowd cheered, the captain cowered, and Tenver nodded approvingly.
"Hey," Adam said to his guard, "let''s head back to the castle. We''ve got work to do."
There was plenty of unpleasantness ahead, he knew. But if he dared to interfere with the course of Penumbria''s future...the least he could do was to give it his very best.
--
Author''s Note:
This second new chapter takes place right after Adam meets Belmordo (the curse / contract guy), but before he enters Solara''s tower. Considering how important to the story Ferrero and Valeria ended up being, we wanted them to be introduced before the murder-mystery-airship arc. This also lets Adam (and the reader) briefly explore a town outside of Penumbria before things kick off again.
--
At a glance, Adam understood the differences between Gama and Penumbria before even properly entering the city itself. There''s way more than just a gate at the entrance. Guess that''s what money buys you.
He hadn''t expected the sheer number of security protocols involved with entering the city, but in hindsight, it made sense. After all, they wanted the Rot plague kept out of their cities no matter what.
It was a sensible rule ¨C that would rapidly transform into a massive problem if anyone ever caught sight of his Stained Ink.
Even so, Adam considered, as he stepped into the examination room. I would have assumed that lords would be spared the indignity of being searched. Although the rich and powerful had a way of avoiding consequences, enough cities had fallen due to misuse of this privilege that even the most arrogant of lords enforced the rule.
A young woman bowed elegantly before him. It was a courtesy usually performed by men, he noted, but it didn''t seem out of place on her. If anything, she was more stylish than Adam thought he would''ve been able to pull off.
"My name is Valeria, my lord," the woman began. "I''ll be in charge of the inspection today."
He nodded. Really hoping you''re bad at your job. "I am Lord Adam Arcanjo of Penumbria." Using Aspreay''s last name made his skin crawl, but he bit his lip and endured it regardless. Stealing his throne I don''t mind, but claiming to be his son just feels...wrong. "It''s a pleasure to visit this fine city of Gama."
"Have you been searched for Rot before, my lord?" Valeria asked. She had short hair, he could discern precious little of her face. She wore a three-point hat with gray feathers protruding off the left side, which tipped over her eyes to shadow her features. "It is a quick process, I assure you."
"I have not," Adam admitted, slipping off his coat. "But you have no reason to worry ¨C I will comply with your instructions."
"Splendid!" she exclaimed, in a tone that could have been either genuinely earnest or a parody of it. Adam wasn''t sure which. "Undress, then. We have to make sure you exhibit no outward signs of the Rot...and that you aren''t a Puppet."
Adam had heard enough about Puppets to have a general idea of what they were. A humanoid, maybe artificial race, who were seemingly quite disliked by the general Imperial population. He was still rather light on the details, though, and this was as good of a chance as any to hunt for intel. "Can you tell if someone is a Puppet?" he asked.
"Well, my lord, if they are in fact a first generation Puppet, I''d prove quite the incompetent Inspector if I failed to notice their wooden skin." She chuckled. "When it comes to newer Puppets, the process is quite trickier. We can''t really tell the difference unless we open them up and search for their Core. Did you know the more recent Puppets still retain functioning human organs, my lord?"
"I did not," Adam admitted. His ignorance was true enough, but he hoped his tone did not convey the full extent of it. A wrong move on his part could end up him with gracing their surgeon''s table, picked apart and examined so they could illuminate the mystery of the painter Lord with the Stained arm.
From context, I imagine she means that Puppets don''t actually need their human organs to survive. In which case... "Why do they keep them, do you know?"
She shrugged. "It simply looks natural, I think. Otherwise we could tell who is or isn''t a Puppet just by checking if their blood is still flowing." Valeria barked out a low laugh. "Despicable creatures, aren''t they?"
Agreeing was the safe answer. Too safe. Adam wanted to make a point of having his fair share of controversial opinions here and there, lest his answers seem too prepared. "I wouldn''t know," he replied. "I haven''t met one before." It was the truth, which helped.
"Is that so?" Valeria''s voice sounded surprised, devoid of any of the dry playfulness that had suffused her tone until now. "I must admit, my lord, that your answer surprises me greatly. If you did meet a Puppet who seemed every bit the monster that our stories make them out to be, I presume your opinion would change?"
He considered the point. A part of him wanted to agree, and it would have been safe to do so. But the pedant in him insisted otherwise. "Then I''d then believe that the one Puppet I met was an awful person. Hardly enough information to say anything else, yes?"
"Mayhap so, my lord." Valeria paused. "In any case, we do have several tests to conduct in order to check your humanity. If you wouldn''t mind undressing yourself...of course, a male examiner can be arranged at your request, my lord."
Wonder if that option would be offered to most travelers, or just nobility. He shook his head. "I don''t really care," he stated. "I am a painter. Anatomy doesn''t unnerve me."
That was a half-truth at best. Some artists were quite liberal with nudity for one reason or another, but he wasn''t really one of them. With that said, he didn''t particularly mind it much either way, and just wanted to finish the inspection as quickly as possible.
Might be the one time I''ll think this, but I kinda wish they gave lords special treatment so I could skip the search. Not because of the invasiveness of the test ¨C but because he wasn''t sure he could pass it. He was infected by the Rot, wasn''t he? Sort of? Or did stealing the soul of that monster not ''count'', exactly?
If it comes down to it, I can always run.
"What would happen if I were a Puppet?" Adam offhandedly asked, in what he considered to be a casual tone. He pulled his shirt over his head as he spoke. "Or infected with Rot?"
Valeria watched him put away the last of his clothes without diverting her gaze, only responding when he''d finished. "If you were a Hybrid Puppet, then it would depend on how many of your limbs were replaced by Puppetry. Most likely people would merely send hateful glares your way. But if you were a Nexus..."
She paused. "That would be different. I suppose we would have to act per the Emperor''s laws and punish you as if you were Rotten."
"Again," Adam insisted, "what would that punishment entail?"
"Now that is a fun question, isn''t it?" Valeria smirked. "Lord Vasco imposed a Law upon his Realm: if his royal inspectors declare someone to be infected, the Realm will endeavor to kill the person first, then expel it from the Realm in the event that it fails. But, you''re a Lord as well, and of presumably equal Rank to Lord Vasco."
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Adam turned around just in time to see her lift her hat and show an amused, piercing gaze. "Quite frankly, I haven''t the faintest idea of what would transpire."
There was a lot to unpack from that ¨C and it represented a golden opportunity. Much as Adam had tried to research his Lord Talent, there was infuriatingly little information available on it, at least within Penumbria. I suppose Vasco trusts his subordinates more than Aspreay did, if this inspector happens to know so much.
He had to press for more. This was too good of a chance to let slip away.
"That would be quite tricky, wouldn''t it?" Adam remarked, attempting to sound noncommittal. First, make an inference based on what she''s told me...then see what I can get her to open up about. "Vasco definitely wouldn''t be able to kill me, that''s for sure."
Valeria laughed haughtily. "My lord, there is no need for modesty while you stand here naked. He would not be able to banish you either. Even with the reduced scope of his Order, I think you would be able to resist it."
My Rank is actually lower than Aspreay''s...but she doesn''t know that. Nodding mutely, Adam took the few nuggets of information she''d gifted him and began comparing it with what he already knew.
ADAM''S NOTES ON THE PAINTED WORLD
The Lord Talent
- The Lord can enact a Law upon his Realm. It will trigger upon specific circumstances. This will occur even if the Lord is not present in the Realm.
- But since Vasco still needs his subordinates to judge someone as guilty, there are limitations on how to trigger the Laws. Must research further.
- Lord Talents can clash with other Lord Talents ¨C at that point, the stronger Rank will prevail.
- Is it any Talent? Would a high-Rank Baker be immune to a Lord''s Talent? No, it can''t work like that, surely? Must research further.
- In addition to Rank, the intensity of the Order or Law can change the result of a Talent clash. For example, ordering someone of equal Rank to die might fail, but telling them to stand still might work instead.
- What counts as ''too far'' for orders?
- If you narrow down an order, how far above your weight can you punch? Could I make an Emperor yawn once? Are there consequences if my Laws fail to work? There must be, or Aspreay would have implemented more of them.
- Must. Research. Further.
After finishing his mental notes, Adam turned to Valeria with a smile. "I couldn''t tell you for sure. I''m afraid I''ve never experience a clash like that."
"Ah, of course. You didn''t study at the Academy, right, my lord?" Valeria moved up towards him, so quickly and so suddenly that Adam couldn''t help but take a step back. "Aspreay''s bastard son must have been fostered elsewhere, I imagine."
She was, he noticed, slightly shorter than him. It didn''t make her sudden proximity any less intimidating. The woman peered up at him, and both her eyes blazed with ardent curiosity.
"That is a bold thing to say to a lord," Adam said, slowly. "Some would have you executed for it."
"Some. Not you, I''d wager."
"Rather daring of you to bet so much on a man you know so little of. What made you confident that you''d live?"
"My lord sees my lack of care for my life and mistakes it for certainty of my conclusions."Valeria smirked and tapped his chest mockingly with the back of her hand. "I assure you ¨C it is the former. People who fear death do not take a job where you expose yourself to the Rot."
That was the first thing she''d said that made sense to him. "Have you been working here for long?"
"No. Today is my first and last day. I mislike the job, my lord." Valeria''s comment was said too lazily for it to be her true feelings. "In any case, it is as I say ¨C I am merely a strange person who cares little for their survival. Truthfully, I don''t presume to trust your sense of morality."
What an odd woman. "You could be lying," Adam posited.
"Mayhap so. Mayhap I really do have legitimate reasons for believing in your innate goodness." Valeria held her gaze for a moment, then laughed, her voice taking on a dry note as she spoke. "You have no visible sign of the Rot in you. And you don''t look like a Puppet, either. May we proceed with the final test?"
Adam nodded carefully. There was something deeply strange about this inspector. I don''t think most others in her profession would have talked to me this way. What''s wrong with her?
She turned away from him, moving to the back of the room. "Are you familiar with Dragonforged Steel?"
He was. Not only had he read of it before, but he had also brought the Dragonforged Steel from Penumbria''s treasury with him. I''m glad Tenver insisted on this...even if that shield is heavy as hell. "I know a little of it."
"That my lord knows of its resilience is expected. Today, we care not for the Steel''s strength ¨C but rather, its weakness."
"Which is?"
Valeria rummaged through the back of the room, then returned with a large shield that nearly covered half of her neck all the way down to her knees. "Dragonforged Steel isn''t simply vulnerable to the Rot; it attracts the blasted thing. If you are infected with the plague ¨C be it a mere Stain or a complete Rot ¨C and attempt to reach past the steel, your arm will be dragged to it as though magnetized."
"Interesting," Adam said. This makes things easier. "Maybe Penumbria should adopt this sort of testing." He said the words to sound natural, but after a moment, realized the validity of his own question. Why didn''t Penumbria use Dragonforged Steel? Aspreay could have used it to test newcomers ¨C he would''ve known Adam was innocent from the start!
Amusement passed through the Inspector''s eyes. "If my lord can afford it," she pointed out, with a polite manner. "Dragonforged Steel is mighty expensive and shatters after a few total minutes of exposure to Rot. Additionally, the Puppet Mines hold a monopoly over its production. Lord Vasco spends a great deal of his treasury on procuring more."
One more thing for me to consider. How many Orbs would that cost? Money...everything always comes down to money.
Adam sighed audibly, although he didn''t mean to. His portrayal of a lord until now had been close to perfect, only revealing his true feelings when necessary. This was his first minor slip-up.
If Valeria had opinions on his reaction, she did not voice them. "My lord? The test?"
He reached over to the shield and gently tapped the woman''s forehead with his index finger. Adam had tested this earlier ¨C as long as he didn''t activate his Stained abilities, thereby turning his blood to Ink, the shield appeared to act as though he were a regular human. "Is this enough, Inspector?"
"Aye, my lord. You are free to go."
Upon being verbally granted entry to the city, Adam felt the magic of the Contract settling over him. He recalled one certain stipulation: ''If Belmordo dies within twenty-four hours of Adam''s arrival in Gama, Adam will gain all of Belmordo''s Orbs.''
Let the games begin.
--
Were it possible, leisurely exploring Gama would have been quite the interesting experience, if not downright fun.
The city was laid out differently than Penumbria. Having been developed primarily as a port town, Gama was nearly a straight line. Its design was broken only by the odd twist and turn, where busy groups of people could be seen carrying sets of goods from one end of the city to the other.
Unfortunately, Adam needed to make every second count. While he did have some leeway to explore the city after being inspected, Belmordo would likely find him soon and demand that he head to the tower straight away. I think he meant to seek me out right after my inspection, but that guard...Valeria...I don''t think she was very helpful to him. Adam hoped she wouldn''t get in trouble for that.
The nobleman was likely searching for him at this very moment. Will he try to entrap me in some way? Adam paused, then shook his head. No. He seems confident in my imminent failure. More likely, he was afraid that painter Lord would use the Contract clause about Belmordo ''not interfering'' to entrap him.
As if I''ll need to.
His time was better-spent on freeing Vasco''s daughter before the twenty-four hours passed. Adam was no stranger to deadlines, and he was prepared to pull an all-nighter if necessary.
Although unlike in college, he wouldn''t be able to keep himself up with food, drink, and copious amounts of caffeine. It was a pity; the culinary aromas within the Foil and Ferret''s Inn smelled absolutely fantastic. The most he could do was indulge in just a few bites.
As he conducted business.
"I''m not used to being summoned by a lord." The traveler grinned at him, seeming at ease despite speaking to apparent nobility. "Is it common to hold such meetings at an inn?"
"No," Adam replied, only half-apologetically. "However, time is of the essence. You''re also here to take care of the Lady in the Tower, correct?"
"Introductions before business, my lord," said the other man. "Your name was given to me upon my summons, but I fear that you might not have been offered the same kindness. My name is Ferrero Acerro."
Adam already knew that, of course. He''d checked with his tablet the instant the man started to approach him.
Ferrero Acero
Talent: Duelist of the 10th Rank ¨C Craftsman
The Talent of a man who excels at singular showdowns. He has forsaken everything else in his pursuit of the title of Strongest Duelist.
The description gave Adam pause. It was a little less...exact, than what he''d gotten in the past. Were some Talents harder to describe than others? Or was something ¨C someone ¨C selectively choosing what information he should learn?
He would think more on that later. At the moment, all it meant was that Adam only had a sparse tablet description to work with. He needed to focus on scrutinizing the man sitting across from him, gleaning what information he could from his appearance.
Ferrero seemed not much older than Adam himself, if at all. On Earth, he would have been in grad school or a college senior, most likely. He wore a modest ¨C yet fitting ¨C dark brown leather vest. Underneath it was a well-worn and better-cared-for white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a surprisingly toned pair of formarms, highlighting his biceps. He also possessed a cloak, but it had been set aside on his chair. Lastly, the man''s hair was dark, curly, and messy, framing a knowing smirk that seemed to mock the very notion of defeat.
Despite that, he gave off an impression of being gentle, rather than arrogant. You know better than to judge based on appearances, Adam. People could be both kind and cruel. Eric had taught him that. Be a lord. Lives are at stake.
"Why do you want to fight the monster in the tower?" the painter Lord asked. "Aren''t there countless stories of how dangerous the Lady and her curse are?"
"Indeed," Ferrero nodded. "That is exactly why I came."
"I...don''t follow. Surely you understand that your life will be at risk. Is it for the reward?"
Which would make me a competitor. An obstacle. But if I buy him out...might be worth it. Belmordo can help me there. Might as well negotiate assuming that I''ll win the nobleman''s Orbs. "Because if so, I am willing to offer¨C"
Ferrero held up an apologetic hand. "Oh, no my lord. Not at all." He smiled. "It isn''t for the money ¨C it''s for the challenge. I will grow stronger by defeating the Lady''s curse."
"And that''s worth risking your life for?" Adam asked. incredulously.
"Of course." Ferrero''s ever-present grin took the stage. "What kind of man wouldn''t risk his life to surpass his limits?"
Adam stared at him blankly. "Are you serious?"
Suddenly, the duelist''s eyes went wide and he waved his hands in apology. "Oh, I''m very sorry, my lord. I meant it only as a figure of speech. The same applies to women. They too would also risk their lives to overcome their limits, of course."
"Dude ¨C I mean, uh, my good friend ¨C I fucking promise that''s not why I''m confused." Adam spoke slowly at first, then with an exasperated exclamation at the end.
"Ah, I see. To some, risking the one life they have in pursuit of a baseless dream is rather foolish, is it not? Mayhap I''d agree with that, even."
Ferrero''s neck tilted to the side, and he snorted. "But is there anything wrong with living for the sake of your foolish dreams?"
The Painter hesitated before replying. "I suppose not."
"Then forgive my rudeness, my lord, but have you never felt the burning satisfaction of surpassing yourself before?" Ferrero leaned forward. "Have you never been overcome with that fiery pride that thunders in your heart when you become a better version of yourself?"
It would''ve been easy to just politely nod along and change the subject. Adam was a lord, and eccentric or not, this man was bound by etiquette. A single word would have forced him to apologize and drop the topic.
But...Adam couldn''t do it. Worse, he had to admit he didn''t want to.
The man''s simple, sincere passion beckoned him to close his eyes and think for a moment.
I remember practicing my art over and over again. Calling the process ''exhausting'' wouldn''t do it justice. ''Painful'' is probably a better word for it. But it''s also how I built myself up to a point where I could compare my new self with my old self and be proud of how far I''d come.
Those times felt...good. Like I was going somewhere when nothing else in life seemed to matter.
Even more recently, more brutally, Adam had to admit that acquiring the Talent of a Lord had felt much the same. Remembering the utter torment he had suffered at Aspreay''s hands, leading up to usurping his throne and using that power to speak back against Inacio on behalf of the commoners...
That had felt good too.
"I do get it," Adam admitted. "To a point."
"Then why would you want to rob me of my chance to become stronger, my lord?"
Adam looked at him seriously. For one thing, I don''t think you can beat the curse. Your Talent''s Rank is quite low. For another ¨C "Because even if you could rid the world of a monster, you would be killing the Lady of Gama."
"Aye," Ferrero agreed, in a somber tone. "It is the only solace I can offer the poor woman."
"I can do more than that." Adam''s voice fell to a hush. "I can save her."
This, the duelist had not expected. Surprise was plain on his face, and he''d been left temporarily speechless.
It represented an opening. Let''s see what I can offer him, Adam thought, considering his options. Money makes the world go round. He loves getting stronger, so he''d want more Orbs to improve his Rank, surely. If I can appeal to both his sense of justice and his desires... "With that in mind, Ferrero, could you perhaps consider¨C"
"I will stand out of your way," the man stated.
Adam raised his eyes. "You...mean that?"
"Yes."
Despite knowing better, Adam barked out a low laugh. "You could have haggled some Orbs out of me for that favor."
"I could have." The duelist shrugged. "But it wouldn''t have felt right to bargain with someone''s life. I am a patron of neither violence nor murder ¨C swordsmanship is a sport. If the young lady can be saved, then I welcome you to do so with haste. Any moment we waste is another moment she suffers. I would not dishonor my master by haggling."
This guy is fucking weird, was Adam''s first thought. I want to know more about him, was his second. "Why are you¨C"
"¨CLORD ADAM ARCANJO!" exclaimed a new voice. "In the name of the laws carved by our Holy Emperor Ciro Vasquez, and the noble blood that runs in my veins from my father Edmundo Crepusculo, I challenge you to lay your title on the line against me!"
Out of the corner of Adam''s eyes, he spotted a headache in the form of a man pointing dramatically at him.
The tavern was immediately set ablaze by the sudden declaration. Adam only cursed in silence. He should''ve expected something like ¨C and to a degree, he had. But he''d hoped it wouldn''t happen until after the Tower business was sorted out.
Groaning internally, he turned to gaze upon his assailant. Balmor was the bastard son of Edmundo Crepusculo, as well as the highest ranked individual in Aspreay''s former court. He''d flirted with treason against Penumbria''s new Lord before, but had seemingly ceased his ambitions when Tenver beheaded Lord-Captain Inacio.
There was always a chance he would follow me and challenge me to a duel instead of rebelling. He''s strong, and as a bastard, he''ll never inherit his father''s Lord Talent. If it has to come to this, I''ll¨C
Ferrero stood up. "Excuse me, sir," the man said. "I believe Lord Adam already has a duel scheduled for today. You should not issue such a challenge at this time."
"His desires be damned!" Balmor shouted. He stepped forward, slipping a set of heavy brass knuckles over his fingers. "By the Empire''s laws, my claim for his title is valid, and our dispute supercedes all else. Both Lord Adam and I have bastard blood, yet¨C"
Ferrero unsheathed his sword. Thanks to years of researching art image references, Adam knew that it was a rapier. "I care not for the Empire''s laws," Ferrero said, in a low, dangerous tone. "By the law of the sword, your behavior is that of a cretin."
"Careful," Balmor hissed. "You speak to a future lord."
"Yet presently, I speak only to my opponent." Ferrero extended his blade towards the man. "Fight me if you wish. I will kill you if I must."
Meanwhile, Adam glanced furtively at the door. Should use this chance to escape and make my way to the tower, he thought, with a strange sense of calmness. Ferrero''s Talent is lower ranked than Balmor''s. He might have the best of intentions, but he won''t last long.
Adam allowed himself a last look at his tablet to see if there was anything he''d missed.
Ferrero Acero
Talent: Duelist of the 10th Rank ¨C Craftsman
The Talent of a man who excels at individual showdowns. He has forsaken everything else in his pursuit of the title of Strongest Duelist.
Balmor, the Bastard of House Crepusculo
Talent: Acid of the 9th Rank ¨C Life Peer
Fists of acid beckon this man''s pride. Anything those hands of his touch melts away. A true monster.
Everything was as he remembered.
The Painter stood up. He truly did plan on leaving. Yet there was also a spark of possibility he couldn''t stop thinking about. Ferrero''s Duelist Talent mentions ''individual showdowns''. Could he really pull something off here?
Adam struggled to think of a way. Whatever trick Ferrero was planning, the truth remained simple: a weaker Talent could not overcome a stronger one. All of Adam''s testing back at the castle had confirmed as much.
Despite that...
"Your name speaks for itself, Balmor," said Ferrero. "I have heard tales of your deeds in the Relampago rebellion ¨C how some, yourself included, thought you worthy of a title for it. Shame, then, that you found only refuge at Aspreay''s court."
The bastard claimant laughed. "My time spent there will now be repaid in full. Your lack of reputation tells me all I need to know of you."
Balmor lunged forward, both gauntlet outstretched. His fists sought to demolish anything that lay in their path. If he touches Ferrero at all, it''s over, Adam thought. Even if it''s just his sword, even if it''s for just a moment¨C
If.
''If'' is such a fragile word.
A flock of ''ifs'' all ending in tragedy will invariably lead the human mind to amalgamate them into a ''when.''
Surely, disaster will happen when any of those endless possibilities occurs. And yet¨C!
"You cannot touch me." Ferrero dodged away. He escaped the lunge by timing a backward step with Balmor''s landing, flicking his wrist as he did so. "But you cannot say the same about me."
"What are you ¨C no!" Balmor glanced down at his wrist and cursed. A small cut had appeared on his skin. "When did you...how did you do that, pest?!"
Ferrero laughed. "Considering that you are wearing clothes, I feel as though despite your famed Talent of Acid, your entire body isn''t always acidic. You need to activate it in order to use it. Meaning it is no ultimate defense. Mayhap not even a good one."
"I have a thin layer of harmless acid spread over my skin. It should have negated your Talent when we made contact. Unless¨C"
Balmor froze. "Boy! Speak to me! I am a Baron, but you..." He shook his head in disbelief. "Could you...have a higher rank than me?"
Adam knew otherwise. No. He''s one Rank lower ¨C and he isn''t using his Talent to attack. The Talent of a Duelist was enhancing his speed, but only defensively. When it came to actually delivering the thrust, when the two Talents might clash in some way, Ferrero relied solely on himself. He was light on his feet, delicate even, and executed swift, deliberate motions with nothing but pure technique.
Technique he''d earned through hard work, and hard work alone.
Talents can shut down other Talents...but they aren''t a shield against raw violence. A sword is a sword. A punch is a punch. The Lord Talent wouldn''t inherently protect me from either.
As Adam watched the duel play out, he made sure to engrave this lesson upon his soul.
Ferrero''s voice rang out. "Lord Adam ¨C we spoke earlier of haste, yes?" His sword and gaze were still aimed at his opponent. "Please, go take care of your appointment. Allow me to dance with this man."
Adam wanted to stay. He knew nothing of swordplay, of the arts of fighting, yet he found himself enthralled by every movement the duelist made. His words, his goals, his ideals...they all appeared to converge on the sincerity of his blade movements, the countless hours of effort he had poured into his art shining brightly.
Even so, the painter turned around. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ferrero," Adam said ¨C and meant it. "I''ll see you when I''m done with my business at the tower."
The last thing he heard before leaving was Balmor''s impotent screaming being muffled by the sound of Ferrerro''s rapid footwork.
Chapter 62 (Book 3 Chapter 1)
Winter had blanketed Penumbria in pure white.
Thick layers of snow were settling over streets and buildings alike, mostly hiding the dark, sickly veins of Rot threading through the stone. It lent a fleeting purity to a city otherwise tainted. Not a month before, it had been a battlefield ¨C and not a winter later, it would be once again.
For now, its citizens chose not to think of that. War would come knocking soon, they knew. But today...
Today was a day of quiet celebration. It was the first winter in their lives where they had enough food and coin to not question whether death would come for them. The drumbeats of war scared the people of Penumbria far less than the rumbling of their children''s empty stomachs.
And as they marveled at finally being able to live semi-comfortably, one name passed between their lips in hushed, reverential whispers. They spoke of the man responsible for their winter of plenty. They spoke of the rebel Painter who''d challenged an Empire, slighted an Emperor, and emerged victorious all the same.
They spoke of the esteemed Lord Adam Arcanjo.
Who was currently struggling to stay conscious.
Panting heavily, Adam''s Canvas began to stain as he exercised his Lord Talent. He felt his body nearly crack beneath the pressure, his False Father putting him through intense preparations for the next spring.
"How many Walls do you think a Realm has?" the once-Lord Aspreay demanded of his false son. "Tell me, brat!"
Adam ''Arcanjo'' doubled over, hands on his knees, breath misting in sharp, shallow gasps. The cold air bit at his throat and lungs with each inhale.
He didn''t bother voicing his feelings aloud, though. Adam was tired, aching, but that wasn''t enough to stop practicing. Aspreay wouldn''t have accepted it as an excuse ¨C and neither would he.
Ciro and the Empire would come knocking soon. And the closest thing Penumbria had to nuclear deterrence was Adam himself.
His Talent of Painting was immensely powerful. It bypassed every magical protection afforded by a person''s Rank, trapping their very soul inside a work of art. Unfortunately, it was also easily avoidable and required time to execute. Adam could hardly be expected to paint someone during a fight.
That one time against Eric was plenty.
Thankfully, he had more than just his Painting Talent now...or rather, he had more Talents because of his Painting. From Eric, he had stolen the Talent of Hanging, and from Aspreay, the Talent of a Lord.
Aspreay couldn''t teach him about the former, but he was arguably the most skilled in the world when it came to the latter. Despite possessing a much weaker Rank, he''d managed to hold back the Dark Captain Valente in a duel to the death.
Had I been as skilled as Aspreay, Adam thought, my fight with Eric would''ve been much shorter. I could''ve defeated him during our Realm Clash instead of resorting to that desperate gamble with painting my own blood.
It wasn''t just that, either. At the time, Adam hadn''t been capable of reconstructing Penumbria''s Walls from afar. If not for Aspreay, the city would''ve been destroyed by Emperor Ciro''s surprise assault.
There was so, so very much to learn. The scope of it felt overwhelming.
So far I''ve been happy just creating static Walls that keep monsters out of the city. Adam clenched his fist. But that''s not going to be enough. Not against what I''ll be facing in the future.
He needed to reconstruct his Realm faster. Had he taken even just a second less, he would have defeated Eric with ease.
He needed to reconstruct his Realm more times. Had his Canvas allowed him one more attempt before his soul was forever stained, Eric wouldn''t have come so close to killing him.
He needed to implement more precise Laws. Had he been able to force more restrictions on Eric, Adam could''ve sidestepped their frontal clash altogether.
So much to learn. Too much to learn.
And the only way out was forward.
It didn''t matter how painful it would be. Let Aspreay mock him if he wanted. The man was a good teacher, albeit an aggravating one.
"I don''t know," Adam told him, through grit teeth. "How many walls does a Realm have?"
Aspreay shook his head. "Remember that I did not give you Penumbria, brat ¨C you wrested it from my fingers. This, among little else, is what grants you a speck of respect."
His eyes narrowed. "It is why you mustn''t think that I''ll give you anything for free. A good student doesn''t merely listen; he steals from his teacher. Think! Try! Fail if you must! Only then shall I put you in your place."
Do you really have to make this so confrontational? Adam thought, biting his lip. The fact that an uncomfortably large part of him agreed with the man''s logic only made him angrier. It was painful, unhealthy...yet he too thought this was the best way to learn.
Should really unpack that at some point.
Adam closed his eyes and drew a deep breath before finally answering. "Realms have four walls. Any more than that and it''s a ceiling, so if this is a trick question, that''s on y¨C"
"Wrong." Aspreay shook his head, clicking his tongue in distaste. "Your substandard rate of progress is concerning. We don''t have the time for you to catch up."
With a gasp, Adam barely found enough breath to speak. "Then stop dancing around it and just tell me!"
Aspreay''s frown deepened. "We hardly have the time for that, either. It would take far too long for a brat like you to understand ¨C your questions would rain down like a tempest, and be equally unpleasant."
The nobleman called upon his Talent of a Lord and ordered, "On your feet."
It wasn''t the first time Adam''s body had been strung upwards by nonexistent strings, forced to his feet once again, but there was no getting used to the sensation of becoming a macabre marionette. No matter how many times Aspreay compelled him to rise, he''d never get over that feeling of deep, sinking unease within his gut.
But where his bravery failed, his exhaustion thrived. Sometimes you''re just too tired to feel scared of anything.
"Okay, cool ¨C then what, you fucking arrogant dickhead?" Adam shouted.
Or too tired to care about filtering your words.
Adam knew there would be consequences for his outburst. He was also determined to keep talking until those mythical consequences caught up to him, and not a second sooner.
"The hell is your plan, even? If everything we''ve been doing is so fucking useless, why don''t we just torch our entire city before the Emperor''s troops¨C"
"Shut it, Painter."
His lips smacked together and held still, sealed with a magic stronger than Adam''s own ¨C technically. Aspreay''s Rank was lower, but he''d reconstructed his Realm into a much smaller enclosure for the sake of training. Realms that had been shrunk and refined into smaller spaces were stronger compared to Realms that encompassed larger areas.
Adam could have overpowered him if he chose to reconstruct his own Realm into an equally small space. However, that would''ve both removed the protective Walls surrounding Penumbria and defeated the purpose of this exercise.
The Nobleman sauntered forward, his footsteps rhythmic and elegant despite their snowy surroundings. "Here''s what we will do," Aspreay said, lifting one arm. "I shall drive this knowledge directly into your brain!"
"Hang on, the hell are you¨C"
"OPEN THE DOOR, NOW!"
Adam did not, for what he counted as at least four different reasons ¨C the first of which being he hadn''t the slightest clue what the hell that meant. He only realized Aspreay was speaking about a metaphorical door to his thoughts when the nobleman forcibly kicked it down and barged into his mind.
Outwardly, nothing changed. Inwardly...
''The Third Pillar of Noble Realms: Divine Knowledge,'' Aspreay said, though his lips weren''t moving. ''You should have experienced this when you escaped Emperor Ciro in the Capital. Have you forgotten already?''
He hadn''t. Adam remembered how all three Pillars functioned. But while he could read the thoughts of people inside his constructed Realm, he''d never learned how to speak into their mind.
Since Aspreay can do it and I can''t...must not be about Rank. Probably just a matter of practice. It was a reassuring notion. I just need to take my time¨C
Aspreay''s voice exploded inside Adam''s head like a shattered block of ice. ''The First Pillar of Noble Realms: Royal Orders. You''re familiar with that, at least?''
You''ve been using them on me this whole time ¨C hell, you''ve SEEN me use them, Adam thought bitterly.
He decided against saying it aloud. Yet in his exhaustion, he also forgot that Aspreay was reading his thoughts at that exact moment.
''Kneel, Painter.''
Adam fell, his knees, elbows and head meeting the snow''s frozen bite. The Realm held him there, pressing his face into winter''s bitter lesson.
Aspreay gave a haughty laugh and encircled the Painter with a look full of disdain. His next words he spoke with his actual voice. Somehow, that made them more infuriating than when they''d merely been inside Adam''s head.
"Are you frustrated?" the Nobleman taunted. He marginally eased the restrictions placed on Adam...then enforced them again, driving him face-first onto the snow. "Humiliated? Angry? Is that it?"
The former Lord of Penumbria came closer and closer as he encircled Adam. "You obtained the power of a Hangman ¨C the mightiest of fighting Talents in the world!" Aspreay sang the words, a malicious amusement dancing across his laughter. "Yet when it comes to Realms, you cannot even surpass a lower-Ranked lord than yourself. Does it hurt? Does it ache your pride ¨C pride that had swollen oh so very much after besting your rival?"
Adam thought of his duel with Eric, and how ecstatic he''d been after finally defeating him. "I''m not frustrated," he grunted. "And I''m not a child. I know that when it comes to matters of importance, I should stay calm and collected."
"To the Dragons with that horseshit, Painter!" Aspreay bellowed. "Be furious, gods burn it!" His voice grew louder as his pace brought him closer to the kneeling painter, the man''s footprints spiraling ever so closer. "Do not still your blood. Use it as motivation. Let it drive you ¨C let it boil. Be yourself."
A disbelieving look crossed his face. "By the gods, whoever told you to stifle your own passions?"
"My father."
Silence dragged on. Aspreay''s mouth slowly closed shut.
"He told me I was reacting too much," Adam admitted, in a lower voice than before. "Showing too much emotion. That it was...annoying."
The thought made resisting the Royal Order that much harder; Adam''s chest had nearly collapsed onto the snow once again. "He always said that it was a bother to people. Better to be quiet and not cause any trouble."
There was a reason that Adam had felt zero compunctions about discarding his family name and assuming the name Arcanjo. He would''ve done so anyway, as become Aspreay''s fake son was necessary to legitimize his position, but...
He wished the decision had felt more difficult than it was.
Aspreay didn''t allow this uneasy recollection the kindness of silence. In fact, he didn''t even respond to it at all. "Have you noticed, Painter? I''ve Reconstructed the Walls as I drew closer. Narrowing my Realm allows me to exert even more influence on you."
But then, Aspreay did comment on it, even if just slightly. "Don''t listen to him. If anyone has an issue with your passion, that is their damned problem, not yours."
Adam knew he would curse himself for looking up expectantly at this, his eyes wide with the shocked confusion of a starving man unfamiliar with the sensation of his stomach''s rumbling briefly ceasing. He knew he would regret expecting the former Miser Lord of Penumbria to give him a second filling.
Predictably, Aspreay didn''t spare him any more encouraging words. Yet he did say, "Rise," rather than force it with a Royal Order.
Only once Adam was on his feet did the Nobleman continue. "There''s too much for you to learn about how to use Realms effectively," he muttered, more of a complaint now. "It would take a lifetime that you do not have. Thus, we''ll hasten the process. Care to guess how, Ad¨C Painter?"
"Considering your focus on the Pillars, something to do with that. Just not sure where you''re going with it."
"Inside a Realm, a skilled enough Lord can make even nature bend the knee to his Royal Orders. People, objects, and reality itself will behave according to your rules."
Adam knew this, and also knew Aspreay didn''t expect him to be that ignorant on the subject. Meaning you''re setting up the stage for something...but what? His eyes narrowed with interest as he listened to the Nobleman speak.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"With the Third Pillar, Divine Knowledge, I have access to your mind. With the First Pillar, Royal Order, I can alter reality. Using those two Pillars, I shall carve decades of experience and expertise straight onto your brain."
Fear and caution surged within the Painter. He immediately leapt backwards through the soft snow, as if retreating from a burst of open flame.
"Something doesn''t sound right," Adam said, with a wary tone. "If that''s an option, why don''t more people do it?"
Aspreay tossed his long hair over his shoulder and shrugged. "It''s unnecessary, for one ¨C and near useless, for another. You can only impart knowledge that you have. It''s not as though you can teach someone how to use a Talent you do not possess."
"I''m not convinced. Look, I might not have been trained with Realms from childhood, but I''ve done my own tests. I know that the more reality-bending a Law is, the more likely it is to fail...and to have negative consequences."
While his experiments were quite recent, and hardly thorough, they had been enough to make him rightfully concerned.
During one such test, Adam had enacted a Law within his Realm that made it so every paintbrush in Penumbria would fly over to him. They''d all done so without much trouble.
But during another such test, when he''d asked for a specific bench on the streets to write poetry...it had disintegrated. It couldn''t handle the shock of being commanded to perform an action it simply wasn''t capable of.
The further away an Order was from feasible reality, the harsher the consequences would be. Even among those paintbrushes that flew to him, there were a few ¨C likely the ones furthest away from Penumbria Manor ¨C that had arrived half-broken.
"If you just shove all of that information into my skull, I''m going to..." Adam winced. "I don''t know, end up like the Hangman who fought Solara?"
Aspreay shook his head and crossed his arms. "Have you forgotten, Painter? The Second Pillar of Noble Realms, Noble Guard."
Whilst inside his own Realm, a Lord was unkillable. Even Valente, the Dark Captain, could not kill someone under the protection of Noble Guard. Aspreay was proof of that. Well, more or less. Death, injuries, it was all undone ¨C moreso than healing, it was almost like time travel, like the violence had never rained down on the lord.
It was a decent point. Still...
"You think I''ll be safe because of that?" Adam asked hesitantly. "That the Second Pillar will heal the damage to my brain as it happens?"
"Most likely."
Adam raised an eyebrow. "Most likely?"
In response, Aspreay raised an eyebrow of his own. "Do you take me for a fortune teller, Painter? I cannot see the future."
Faster than Adam''s complaints were his arms, frantically waving an objection as panic swept over him. "Wait, wait! You aren''t sure this isn''t going to kill me?"
"Oh, I would never dream of it, Painter." Aspreay''s grin grew wide. "I am absolutely certain it is going to kill you. The overload of information will cook your brain like roast chicken over a hot fire, causing your body to malfunction immediately thereafter."
Adam gave him a blank stare. "Gotta confess, I''m really looking forward to seeing how you''ll try to sell me on this one."
The Nobleman shook his head and made a show of a melodramatic, disappointed sigh. "Must your thinking always lag behind your griping? I know you''re capable of intelligent thought, so please command your mouth to wait for your brain."
Aspreay''s mockery left his face a moment later, replaced by a grave stare. "Noble Guard will bring you back to life ¨C with a functional brain that retains the information it died learning."
"And again, I have to ask, are you sure?"
"If you don''t learn how to use your Talent to its fullest extent, you''ll die anyhow." There was no mockery in the Nobleman''s words this time. He was only stating the truth as he saw it ¨C and his sincerity made it sharper than any insult. "What''s the difference?"
Worst of all, much as Adam hated to admit it...there was reason in Aspreay''s madness. It wouldn''t be the first time I''ve risked my life, and it won''t be the last, he considered, finding some dark humor in the thought. Aspreay is reckless, hates me, and definitely doesn''t respect me. But I also don''t think he would suggest this if he truly believed I''d die.
He''s been far more pleasant since¨C
Suddenly Aspreay rushed forward, his expression filled with an almost comical deadpan, an ethereal blue light about him, and the beginnings of a Royal Order in his throat.
"WAIT! I''M NOT READY! ASPREAY DON''T¨C"
¨C
For the seventh time that day, and the umpteenth time that month, Adam lost consciousness.
It wouldn''t be the last. Nor would it end with that cold winter morning.
Aspreay and Adam continued practicing this way, with the former Lord of Penumbria teaching ¨C no, stabbing ¨C his knowledge through the reigning Lord''s skull.
It was a seemingly endless cycle of working himself to exhaustion, feeling his brain torn apart, and then rebuilt by his Divine Knowledge.
In some ways, it reminded him of the hellish days he''d spent painstakingly and single-handedly creating hundreds of artworks for Aspreay, way back when he''d just arrived in the Painted World. Working under that ridiculous deadline...it might''ve been more exhausting that this torture he calls training.
And less rewarding as well. While Adam''s art hadn''t improved while under that torturous deadline, his current training with Aspreay was proving obnoxiously effective.
Adam could reconstruct his Realm much faster now. He was also able to reconstruct it without needing visual contact of the city ¨C though he hadn''t tested the range limits on that yet. Furthermore, he''d gotten better at reducing his Realm to a smaller size in order to improve its potency.
It''s like...I''m painting a portrait, and I have enough ink for just ten brush strokes. If I shrink the canvas without changing the amount of ink I use, then the final painting is going to look fuller. More detailed.
The metaphor had emerged from his brain fully-formed after one of Aspreay''s information torrents. As if he''d been thinking of it his whole life. Now that he could visualize the concept, putting it into action was relatively simple.
He could still only reconstruct his Realm two times per day. No change from the start. However, he was getting close to three, and the process didn''t expend as much stamina as before. When dueling Eric, reconstructing twice had nearly killed Adam ¨C now it didn''t even tire him out, his Canvas staining less with the effort.
While the weeks were hard...he could feel progress being made.
An invigorating routine gradually formed. When each day''s grueling training had ended, he''d first dedicate some time to working on his various paintings. When night came, he would then spend hours with Solara and Tenver, discussing matters both important and not.
It''s kind of crazy how much easier everything feels when you''re not alone, Adam mused.
Another thought snuck up on him ¨C Wait, why am I thinking about all of that now? What was I doing?
Slowly, he became aware of the white wintery sky above. His body was sinking into the cold snow as Aspreay''s sharp demands drifted to him, distant and hollow.
"Guess I passed out again. Man, this feels weird as hell."
Adam felt the city''s Realm dissipate under the tangled web of restrictions he''d weaved. His own soul suffered the brunt of the failure, agony reverberating through every inch of his fading self.
Yet it wasn''t necessarily a bad feeling. Gun to his head, Adam would more likely describe it as...satisfying, if anything.
Who knew working yourself to physical exhaustion could feel so refreshing?
"Rise."
Although Aspreay''s forced reawakening did put a damper on his satisfaction.
Adam chose not to fight the Nobleman''s commands this time, letting the Realm pull at his body''s invisible strings once more. At least his Canvas was partially cleansed after his unintentional nap.
Why can''t Noble Guard fix my Canvas too? Everything would be so much easier if it could.
"Because your Canvas is what enables your Realm to work," Aspreay dryly answered, as if he could read Adam''s mind. ''I can. We have been over this.'' Oh yeah. "Rest is a luxury we cannot afford, Painter. Are you truly that much of a spoiled brat?"
"Why, former Lord Aspreay, haven''t you heard?" Adam stumbled to his feet, glaring at the other lord. "Go to any tavern, listen to any bard, and they''ll sing the same song. Legend has it that I''m the son of a vain, spoiled prick."
Aspreay matched his glare. "That people think of you as my son is precisely why you cannot afford to be so wholly incompetent. Winter won''t last forever, and if you don''t master your Realms in time..."
The Nobleman gave a dark laugh and gestured at his ¨C at their ¨C city. "Then, come spring, snow will not be the only thing destined to melt and fade."
Many counterarguments sprang to mind. Adam could''ve pointed out that he was good at using his Realm, much better than most other living lords in the world, and that he''d achieved this level of excellence rather quickly too. He could also have argued that it was unfair for Aspreay to hold himself as the standard when he was arguably the most skilled Lord in recent history, his Rank be damned.
WIth a grumble, Adam chose not to use any of them.
He knew why Aspreay was being so hard on him. Their time was limited, and any explanation for Adam''s shortcomings, justified or not, amounted to little more than excuses. They had good reason for resorting to this borderline murderous training method.
Ciro, the Emperor of the World, would likely invade Penumbria as soon as the snow melted.
They had to be ready by then.
Which was why the two men were working on his Realm Reconstruction even the morning before meeting with the other Frontier Lords. Just some mild brain damage before an important political discussion ¨C nothing unusual.
"One more time," Adam said through grit teeth. "I can Reconstruct one more¨C"
"Take a bath first, mongrel." Aspreay shook his head in disgust. "You will not meet with the Frontier Lords in that state. So long as you pretend to be my son, I won''t allow you to shame me."
Adam frowned, stepping forward with an air of determination. "I can keep going," he insisted, holding a firm gaze. "I feel so close. Like I''m standing before an unlocked door."
"Progress is a staircase, not a door, Painter. If you''re an artist, then you must surely know this."
"I do know, but..."
Adam shook his head. "That''s exactly why I want to keep going! It''s like I''m just about to climb another step. Let''s give this one last try before calling it a day."
Aspreay raised an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten already, Painter? You''re inside my Realm right now ¨C it''s how you''re able to freely practice your own Realm without endangering Penumbria to the Rotten monsters outside. Until you have rested enough to retake the Walls, this city is mine."
"What...what about that?" Adam barked out defensively. He immediately felt his body tense. "Are you threatening Penumbria?"
It was a known risk he''d taken when beginning this training; that Aspreay could threaten much with little reprisal. Adam had found it a more palpable choice than the alternative, but still... "Aspreay, are you saying you''ll remove the Walls around the city if¨C"
"No." The Second Lord of Penumbria shook his head and sighed. "To the Dragons with your paranoia, Painter. Use that energy to focus on your learning ¨C do you know how many Walls a Realm has yet?"
Adam opened his mouth to respond, but Aspreay held his hand to stop him. "Speak less and listen more. I neither threaten you, nor do I code my words. My intent is much simpler than your inane theories. Penumbria will welcome foreign lords, and you need to look presentable. Meaning..."
Aspreay closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "GO TAKE A BLOODY BATH, YOU DIRTY PEASANT!"
The Order propelled Adam upward and forward, the manor shifting around him, bricks bending with a silent grace. Entire hallways were rearranged seamlessly, forming a perfect path as Adam spun in the air, the walls moving to guide his flight.
Until he landed, dazed, in his bath, cold water splashing.
"It''s five Walls ¨C you count the ceiling as a wall," Adam muttered, sighing as he sank deep into the water.
Bonus Chapter 3
The Kingdom of Puppets thought of Adam as a monster.
He wasn''t pleased with that reputation, though he could hardly complain about it ¨C seeing as he''d cultivated it by design.
Few people would''ve enjoyed being viewed as some kind of dreadful, malevolent creature. Adam was no different. However, he''d hardly come here on a sightseeing tour; he was here to negotiate terms. In a battle of words, diplomacy, and reputation, an unstoppable warrior would fare better than an impoverished lord.
That was his hope, anyhow.
Alas, Tenver had a habit of destroying those. "Mostly no change," his knight told him, slamming a thick binder of parchments onto the desk. "The Puppet Grandmaster is largely steadfast in his position."
Adam sighed. "I killed a Ghost haunting the only ship that still visited the Puppet Mines with any regularity. You''d think the Grandmaster would be more appreciative."
"He is. It''s just not enough to guarantee an audience." Tenver gave an uneasy shrug. "His statement to the public is that you''ve been named an official friend of the Mines, welcome to come and go as you please. That''s not an honor they grant often."
"If only honor could buy food," Adam dryly remarked. He peered absently out of the ship''s window, gazing into the dock outside. Dozens of soldiers ¨C armored heavily to hide their identities ¨C stood just outside the wooden dock, spears pointed at the bottleneck in a phalanx. "And I wouldn''t call that particularly welcoming."
Tenver bellowed out a princely laugh. "Can you blame them, my lord?" he asked, his voice a mixture of amusement and curiosity.
"Absolutely," Adam fired back. "It''s inconvenient as hell. Our ship has been stuck at the docks for three days already!"
This only caused his knight to chuckle once again. "What you see as inconvenient, Adam, they see as a threat. We aren''t merely camping out here, remember? There''s a slight difference ¨C two, in fact."
The first point Tenver had alluded to was their slaying of Auricio, the Ghost of Waters. On one hand, ridding the Puppets of a monster that had killed so many was highly laudable, and seen as worthy of admiration.
On the other hand, it implied much about how terrifyingly strong Adam''s and his allies were. After all, people capable of felling a Ghost could only possess powerful, highly-Ranked Talents ¨C so powerful that it would be difficult to stop them if they went on a rampage. It was a reasonable assumption for the Puppets to make.
Especially since they don''t know how much of that battle was won through strategy rather than brute force, Adam thought. Little wonder they''re scared of us.
The second and most pressing point was because of what happened directly after the Ghost of Waters'' demise. Upon regaining control of their ship, Adam had then executed the creature''s human accomplice, the former captain Baltsar, for the crime of feeding innocent passengers to the Ghost.
It wasn''t something Adam took pleasure in doing. Before being dragged into the Painted World less than a year ago, he''d just been a typical struggling art student. Going from that to killing a man wasn''t easy...but he had done it nonetheless.
And the commoners aboard the ship loved him for it.
To them, it must have been the first time a lord ever served them justice.
The passengers had then declared Adam as more than their lord ¨C they''d shouted his name as Adam Arcanjo, King of the Frontier. The only reason it''d stopped just short of treason was because he''d refused to outright accept the title.
Although his reluctance to reject the crown had his body precariously tethering over that line.
It would''ve made Adam a dangerous guest to host anywhere else in the world. To the Puppets, who''d nearly been eradicated by the Empire not even half a decade ago, this was actually an even worse of a situation to be in ¨C or a sudden stroke of luck. It depended on whether they wanted to try staying in the Empire''s good graces...
Or to ride the momentum and rebel against them.
Which was likely what the Grandmaster of Puppets had been debating for these past three days. Adam was forcing his hand by refusing to step out of the ship, as well as keeping other passengers from doing the same.
Out of everyone aboard, only Tenver had been allowed to leave and return ¨C and for good reason. Both Adam and the Grandmaster possessed some reservations about the knight, but on that same note, they both also retained a measure of trust in him.
To Adam, Tenver was the first person he''d met in the Painter World. Not once had the man failed to stand up for him. The Painter trusted the Knight as much as he could trust anyone after what happened with Eric...which wasn''t much, but was still enough to make him feel uneasy and vulnerable all the same.
Meanwhile, the Grandmaster''s trust came from a different source. He believed in the uncrowned title that Tenver was heralded with amongst his kind:
The Prince of Puppets.
Prince, because he was the son of the late Emperor Gomez, who favored friendship with the Puppet Kingdom.
And Puppet, because Tenver had died in the same attack that killed his father ¨C only to be brought back to life by the Grandmaster''s Puppetry, his soul sealed back into his body through some strange technology.
The sheer wrongness of their existence marked them as hollow abominations to the rest of the Painted World. If Tenver''s true nature ever became known, he would be cast out, resigned to live in the Puppet Mines until the end of his days.
Which makes him trustworthy to both of us...or to neither.
Adam forced himself away from that hostile thought. No. I''m not gonna become some jaded, lonely lunatic just because of what Eric did. I refuse to push everyone away. I want to keep people around me...even if it''s hard sometimes.
Fortunately, Tenver made this easy on him. "I couldn''t get the Grandmaster to agree to give you any Orbs¨C but I did arrange a meeting." The Puppet Prince flashed a wide grin. "Thought you''d appreciate that."
Despite everything, Adam couldn''t help but smirk in response. "Guess I do," he said. After a moment, he shook his head and added, "I really do. Can''t afford to look weak right now, but it''s not like we have the supplies to stay docked forever, either."
"And were you to insist on this standoff for much longer, I fear the goodwill you''ve earned would only keep the passengers peaceful and silent for so long. We could wait until a more favorable situation presents itself, but..."
Adam nodded. "I suppose waiting for Godot would take too long." He stood up. "Time to meet the Grandmaster."
Time to convince him that Penumbria has earned more than a few Orbs.
¨C
One hour of preparation later, Adam found Solara in the ship''s main lounge, sitting on a chair and staring out a window. The Painter had donned his most extravagant Lord''s cloak, and the Elf, her most extravagant dress. Neither was particularly expensive.
Solara greeted him with a wry smile and a wave. She then crossed her arms, aiming a pensive gaze at the fogged-up window.
"Are you ready to go?" Adam asked, his voice as serious as it was sarcastic. How could anyone be ready to enter the kingdom where their storybook monsters come from? All in all, she''s handling this quite well. "Tenver is going to stay behind and let the passengers out one-by-one. Should keep things more organized."
The elf looked up. "Truly?" Her expression was equal parts relief and reluctance. "Well, that ought to make things easier."
"For the passengers?" Adam asked. After a moment, he added, "Or for you?"
"Both. Though I do not claim to love strangers enough to breathe relief over their plight ¨C Dragons burn me, were I to tell such lies." She laughed bitterly. "No, I just..."
Solara trailed off. It seemed more like a struggle for the right words rather than hesitancy in telling him.
Adam paused, then offered, "It just feels weird going into the Puppet Mines? You were raised on horror stories about the Puppets ¨C how they abduct people, replace them with soulless automatons, and spread the Rot merely by existing. It''d make sense if you felt conflicted about visiting their Kingdom as a guest."
Her laugh sang again, more bitter than sweet this time. "That is kind of you to suggest," Solara said. "Were my freedom from Gama''s tower not proof of your cleverness, I might even have believed you."
She flashed him a genuine smile. "But I thank you for offering that more dignified option all the same."
Adam laughed, as that sound felt less awkward than nervous stuttering. What were you supposed to say to that?
Solara''s an elf, and her kind was blamed for the Rot, he thought, as if recounting it would help find a solution. The Puppets, much the same. Both had been subjected to the same disparaging tales by the Empire...
And both had faced the same near-extinction.
Not long ago, the Puppets'' largest settlement had been annihilated by the Dark Captain of the Hangmen on Emperor Ciro''s orders. Adam had literally marched through the mountain where their hidden city once existed. The memory chilled him as he recalled the empty, hollow cavern blown open by the Dark Captain''s attack, so wide that it''d become a tunnel merchants now used as a shortcut.
As for the elves? Greenisle had been raided by a family of knights ¨C again, on the Emperor''s orders ¨C and summarily razed to the ground. It was an atrocity committed with less magic, but no less death. The massacre was so violent and cruel that, to this day, mentions of it in a loud tavern would cause even the most avid hater of elves to cast their eyes into their drink.
That there were any elven survivors at all was only because one Imperial Knight had turned against his orders, sinking his battleax into his own father''s neck. The knight''s viciousness, dyeing himself in the red of kin dead by his hand, was enough to earn him two titles.
Vasco, the Butcher of Greenisle, Lord of Gama, when spoken of by Imperial mouths.
Or, if you were to ask Solara ¨C father.
He''d adopted her after the massacre, welcoming the elf into his noble house, consequences be damned. And god knows there were consequences.
At this point, both Puppets and Elves often took to blaming the other in a vain attempt to save themselves from Imperial wrath. It didn''t work, of course, but feelings of hatred are like a carved statue ¨C no amount of disliking the end result can revert the finished shape into unspoiled stone again.
No. Reshaping that statue is a long, arduous process that cannot be hastened by mere wishing. In many ways, it was hardly surprising that Solara''s distaste of Puppets was still ingrained within her.
And now that you know that Tenver is a Puppet, you''re at a loss for how to act.
Tenver had sometimes made a few passing comments of his own about elves, though nothing too sharp. Conversely, Solara''s words on Puppets and their kind were not measured, even if only uttered when she didn''t know about Tenver''s secret.
It was obvious from the way she shifted her eyes, rubbed her arms, and bit her lip. Solara felt more than just guilty ¨C she was completely unsure of how to conduct herself moving forward.
Adam didn''t know how to offer her comfort. He didn''t even know if he should. Instead, he put his hand on her shoulder and said, "There''s a lot of work to do. The Puppets...might be wary of us."
Solara''s hands shot up to her sharp, pointed ears. "Because of this?"
He shook his head gently, tapping the Imperial badge on his Lord''s cloak. "Because of this. I''m the Lord of Penumbria, and you''re the Heiress of Gama ¨C royal cities of the same Empire that razed the Puppets'' Mountain."
The elf laughed weakly. "You''re too kind, my lord, and I mean that. Some sufferings must be experienced in full to carve their lessons onto your heart. Let me suffer, and let me learn."
She shook her head. "Do you know what is the worst of it?"
"I dare not guess."
"That I can''t just feel sorry." The Elf huffed in disbelief. "Part of me thinks that it''s Tenver''s fault for hiding the secret from me, despite knowing it would have endangered him so. Even now, I cannot fully regret everything I said."
Adam smirked and rubbed her shoulder. "If that''s the case, then why do you look so pained about it?"
"Because I feel like I should feel sorry...and truthfully, I want to." An annoyed smile played across her features. "Because even though the man is the most annoying prick I''ve ever met ¨C and trust me, that''s a hard fought title ¨C I''ve been thinking of him as...a friend, mayhaps. And it pains me to have treated a friend this way."
She lowered her gaze to the floor. "It could be I don''t know what having friends means."
For the first time in the conversation, Adam felt like he had something meaningful he related to. "I don''t know much about that either."
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Eric made sure I''d question what a friend even is.
"But despite that, I still think of you as my friend," Adam half-lied, his voice firmer than his thoughts. I don''t know if I can think of anyone like that right now. But I do trust you, and you deserve to hear better than my paranoia. "Tenver too. You should talk to him. Considering the way he laughs everything off, he might not be as upset as you''re imagining he¨C"
"That''s part of the problem!" Solara exclaimed. "I think he should be. And if he won''t be mad at me...then I''ll be mad at myself."
Adam narrowed his eyes. "Maybe talk to him, then?"
"Mayhaps?" Solara hesitated briefly. "Can I not do something to convey that same meaning without words? Avoid the conversation entirely?"
"No."
Solara sighed more heavily than before, and when she did, the noble pretense of her tone left her voice. "Fuck you, my lord," she muttered, with a pained expression. "Do I REALLY have to?"
Adam dropped just a little of the gentleness in his voice. "YES YOU DO!"
Maybe more than just a little.
¨C
Ferrero the Duelist awaited Adam by the exit leading out of the ship. He was leaning against the doorframe with an easy confidence, arms crossed and his mouth curled into a smirk. The Puppet flicked two fingers from his brow in greeting, then said excitedly, "I hope you like my hometown, Lord Painter."
I like that title, Adam thought as he returned the gesture with a nod. No one else calls me that. It felt...respectful. Similar to what most others called him, but as if it truly belonged to him ¨C not a false mask he wore for the world.
Unlike some of his other titles.
"I must confess that I''m surprised to see you here," Adam began. "When we first met in Gama, I figured that if we ever saw each other again, it would be in Penumbria, not the Mines."
"Ah! Is that so?" Ferrero leaned his head forward, arms still folded. "How very fascinating."
Adam tried to fight against the amusement creeping onto his face. "Why is that so strange to you? I didn''t even know you were a Puppet back then!"
Ferrero laughed "Nay, Lord Painter. Out of every possible assumption, it was a fair one to make."
"Then what do you mean?"
"Only that most wouldn''t have thought a future meeting was possible at all."
The Puppet Duelist pushed his foot against the wall, then stepped towards the Painter, his hand lazily resting on his sword hilt. "When we met in Gama, I was dueling a man with a rarer Talent and a mightier Rank than mine own. And you?"
Ferrero laughed again. "You were entering a tower to fight a Ghost! Any reasonable person ought to have expected at least one of us to have perished. Not you, it seems."
At the time, Solara had been possessed by the Ghost of Flames and confined to a tower inside Gama. Her uncle had even conspired to have her killed so he could usurp Vasco''s position as Lord of Gama. Thankfully, Adam managed to free the elf by stealing her cursed Talent ¨C albeit at nearly the loss of his own life.
It was worth it, though. Solara still has access to the Ghost of Flames'' Talent, and she''s proven to be an irreplaceable frien¨C ally. Irreplaceable ally.
He meant to think of her as an ally, not a friend. The word scared him, Eric''s scars still too fresh.
To banish the thought, Adam chose to latch on something else Ferrero had said. "Wait ¨C you said Ghost." The Painter furrowed his brow. "At the time, everyone thought of it as a mere monster. How did you know the difference?"
The Duelist gave a small nod and a quick chuckle. "I suppose it makes sense you wouldn''t know. The four Ghosts were created by the Dark Sorcerer."
His carefree countenance took a small hit as he trembled just slightly at the name. "Bad omen, mentioning that title. But avoiding it would make the explanation pointlessly cryptic, and I''d hate to inflict such boredom upon you."
Now that''s a pleasant surprise, Adam thought. I got a direct answer for a change.
This wasn''t the first time that name had come up. Solara had named the Dark Sorcerer as the architect behind her curse, having promised her the power to fight for the city of Gama and elvenkind both. Adam''s personal notes also mentioned him having met with someone who fit that same shady description ¨C though he had no recollection of ever speaking to a man like that.
Normally, he would''ve ignored this and assumed his memory to be unreliable...except that he also had no recollection of writing the note whatsoever. Someone or something was tampering with his memory.
Maybe that''s how I was brought to this world.
"I appreciate the bluntness," Adam told Ferrero. "Yet it doesn''t explain why you know how the Ghosts were created ¨C or that they exist at all, for that matter."
"Because the Grandmaster is aware of their existence and wishes them dead. The Ghosts spread Rot. Thus, I was sent to Gama to dance with the envoys of Rot and ensure I was their last partner. Puppets are rarely allowed out of the Mines without reason, you see."
He tapped on the hilt of his sword. "And this is my reason. Always has been."
You mean that in more ways than one, Adam noted, recalling the man''s passion for fencing. "That just raises further questions. You arrived at Gama first, you love dueling more than anyone...and still let me enter the tower ahead of you. Even though it was your mission."
His thoughts danced toward a frightening conclusion, horrified realization slowly dawning on him. "The Grandmaster is going to be furious if he finds out you did that. Why''d you let me go first? That could''ve been so goddamn dangerous for you!"
"My blade is sharp, Painter, yet it has only two roles ¨C to entertain and to kill. While I could have struck the curse down, I could not have saved the Lady of Gama whom it possessed. You told me you could. That was enough for me."
Adam shook his head in bafflement. He risked his life on a whim? "Fine. I can understand your logic, sort of. Nevermind all that ¨C why are you telling me these secrets?"
"Pray tell, is there reason not to?" Ferrero frowned. "We are friends, no?"
Dangerous word, that one. And for once, Adam felt like it was more of a danger to someone else instead of him. "Yes, but¨CI¨Cyou¨C"
His exasperation had him tripping over his own words and nearly biting his tongue. Adam closed his eyes, then drew a breath to compose himself before continuing. "Is it fine for you to be telling me about the Ghosts now?"
Ferrero cupped his chin with one hand, falling into thoughtful silence for a moment. "The Grandmaster is likely to name my sharing of information as a rather serious crime," he said, slowly. "Knowledge of Rot is one of the few advantages we have over the Empire. They guard it fiercely."
Adam sent the man a blank stare. "That doesn''t faze you?"
"Why would it?" The Puppet tilted his head. "We have our laws and customs too, my friend. Should the Grandmaster accuse me of some sin yet again, I shall claim Trial by Combat ¨C I''m very familiar with the procedure by now."
"You''re familiar with¨C"
Adam stopped himself. No. Don''t ask. Save your brainpower. Just assume there''s a reason why the Grandmaster chose him to go fight a Ghost ¨C even though he''s someone who speaks of their laws so casually.
Maybe the Ruler of the Puppets figured they''d either be rid of Ferrero if he lost, or kill a Ghost if he succeeded. Win-win scenario.
It was a satisfying enough explanation for that particular bit of absurdity, letting Adam ignore it and refocus on the other bit of absurdity. "Fighting in a Trial by Combat doesn''t scare you?"
Ferrero grimaced and stepped closer, squinting his eyes and turning his ear toward the Painter slightly as if he hadn''t heard him properly. "Scare me?" He asked, as if requesting confirmation. Upon Adam''s nod, the Duelist gasped and laughed. "I''m afraid I do not follow. Help me get there, friend ¨C what concern do you think ought to plague me?"
"Well...you could lose? And then die? I assume this is the kind of crime that gets you executed."
"Oh, yes. Were I to lose, I would most likely be slain ¨C if not for this crime, then for the others my blade previously cleared my name of. But why would I lose? It''s a one-on-one duel, as mandated by our laws. There can be no scenario where my defeat is possible."
Adam blinked twice. There were so many different objections he wanted to raise that it gave him decision paralysis. "But...what if...what if you ran into someone stronger than you?"
"I''d win."
It was closer to an empirical observation than a boast. Ferrero''s confidence wasn''t the arrogant type ¨C if anything, he spoke with a calm politeness of a gentleman who simply misliked speaking lies.
I wonder how much easier life is when you''re that sure of yourself, Adam thought, too stunned to even begin feeling jealous.
Admittedly, the man had shown evidence for his certainty only a few days ago. He''d outclassed the Ghost of Waters in single combat, only defeated when the monster forcibly dragged others into the fight, which temporarily disabled Ferrero''s Dueling Talent. As long as the Puppet could engage opponents in one-on-one duels, he was nigh unstoppable.
In contrast, Adam himself had only bested the monster with the use of multiple Talents at once ¨C something unheard of in the Painted World ¨C and the help of his many other allies.
Still can''t believe how confident Ferrero is that he wouldn''t meet someone stronger than him. The notion sent a chill down Adam''s spine. He knew from experience that the moment you started to think of yourself as the best, that was when fate itself sought to humble you. It was much better to assume there were people more capable than you out there...
And that you could beat them regardless.
Adam had always considered that to be a healthy balance of confidence and humility.
"You''re unbelievable," he told the Puppet, shaking his head. "Please never change. Try not to die, though ¨C telling me all of this is risky, and you know it."
"Lord Painter, I know unoriginality must hurt your artist''s soul, yet I must repeat myself: how very fascinating of you!"
Adam chuckled. "Then I must also repeat myself ¨C what do you mean?"
"Four days ago, you risked your life to save the passengers of this ship. Half a year ago, you nearly perished saving the Elf in the Tower. Your willingness to die for others is as sure as the rise of the sun, so why does mine mystify that brilliant mind of yours?"
"It''s different!" Adam defensively fired back. "And that''s a bizarre analogy for you to make, anyway. There''s no sunlight down in the Puppet Mines." He paused. "Uh...no offense."
"Nay, my Lord Painter, no offense taken. You are quite right, I am no creature of the sun ¨C that title belongs to those like yourself, who live on the surface. Puppets are creatures of the water, if anything, and that beautiful life-granting liquid does not have a morning ritual like the stars above, like the rays of sunlight such as yourself."
Ferrero smiled. "Yet water has its own unique qualities. It reflects the sun, should it be given a chance to bask in its morning light."
He laughed and put an arm over Adam''s shoulder. "And it stirs when the sky is cloudy. What troubles you, my friend?"
Adam allowed himself a quiet laugh. I give up. This guy is too weird to get frustrated at.
"Well, Ferrero, maybe it''s because I need to convince your Grandmaster ¨C one of the only three people in the world with an Emperor-Ranked Talent ¨C to lend Orbs to me, the Lord of an Imperial city, lest my people die this winter from the Rot and winter both. Not to mention that I''ll be walking into these negotiations bearing very little leverage. Do you think maybe, just MAYBE, that I have reason to feel troubled?"
"No."
Adam closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. "Dare I ask why?"
"Because you''ll win," Ferrero told him, with the same confidence as before. "Why would you even begin to think you might lose?"
Why do you see everything as a contest? Adam thought firstly.
Although I do feel strangely calmer, Adam thought secondly.
Still, there''s numerous reasons why I might ''lose'', Adam thought thirdly.
"I guess...there is no reason," was what he ended up saying. A foreign confidence emerged from within his gut, manifesting into a smirk. "When you get down to it, it''s really that simple."
There were people more capable than Adam out there. The Puppet Grandmaster was certainly one of them. He was older, stronger, wiser, more experienced ¨C a veritable pillar of the Painted World.
None of that mattered.
Adam just had to win anyway.
Chapter 63 (Book 3 Chapter 2)
Penumbria''s royal bath ¨C if it could be called that ¨C was a bright, steamy, high-ceiling room with a singular stone tub. A few minutes after being forcibly launched into the water, Adam resigned himself to his fate and tossed his wet clothes off.
If I have to speak with the other Frontier nobles, being clean is better than not, he groused. And if the negotiations end up being as tough as Aspreay alluded to...then I should take this chance to relax, if nothing else¨C
Tenver slammed the wooden-double doors entrance open. "Ah! There you are, Adam." The Puppet Prince grinned. "I have excellent news and terrible news ¨C what would you prefer first?"
"My bath, if I have a choice." Much as Adam loathed the manner Aspreay had forced him, he had to admit he enjoyed how the warm water soothed his sore muscles. "You aren''t getting me out of this tub to discuss our impending doom. Not gonna happen."
"Understandable." Tenver''s hands moved with practiced efficiency, each piece of armor hitting the ground with a deep, resonant clatter that cut through the steamy stillness. The soft whisper of leather followed as he shrugged out of the final straps. "We can do both," he said lightly, his grin flashing through the haze like a blade.
"That''s not what I¨C"
The Painter''s objection for peace died in his throat when Tenver''s clothes hit the ground, his abnormally-large Puppet appendage on full display.
It was easy to forget that the man wasn''t human ¨C not that Adam cared either way. Still, the fact the wooden limb became nearly long enough to reach the man''s own toes when uncompressed always marveled him.
Tenver''s arm was also strong enough to shoot arrows as if they were ballista bolts, especially when combined with his Talent of Archery. It had proved invaluable in the defense of Penumbria not long ago.
Yet you''d never know he was a Puppet under normal circumstances, Adam mused. How can his arm look regular-sized when he has his armor on, then become that...thing a moment later?
Once upon a time, Tenver would have likely felt self-conscious about any curious glares aimed at his body. Then again, that was when his Puppetry was a closely held secret ¨C and for good reason at that. He would''ve been executed had it been known that he''d died once before, only to be resurrected by the Puppet Grandmaster, now ''cursed'' to roam the Painted World as a reanimated automaton of sorts.
These days, the Puppet Prince hardly seemed to care. Their rebellion against the Emperor already warranted execution, anyhow, so his status didn''t matter much at this point. And most of all...
He''d found friends he could relax around.
Somehow, I''m of the same mind as this weirdo, Adam thought. He muttered a curse of annoyance as Tenver entered the tub. Can hardly believe it, but I''ve also found people I can relax around. Those two really¨C
Tenver splashed warm water onto his face.
Adam frowned, wet hair handing over his eyes. "Seriously?" the Painter asked, in a deadpan monotone. "Are you goddamn serious with me right now?"
"My King, I am many things. Your first knight, your best of friends, the trueborn heir to the Empire ¨C damned be the kinslayer I call uncle ¨C as well as your most trusted advisor."
He paused solemnly and held a fiery gaze. "However¨C" Tenver splashed him again, this time hitting Adam straight in the eye. "¨CI do not believe serious to be a fair descriptor of my behavior."
The Painter forced himself to sigh deeply in order to keep a smirk from the edges of his lips. It didn''t work. "Alright, jackass. What''s the terrible news and what''s the excellent news? Pick the order, I don''t care."
"Fear not, I lied about one being excellent. Regardless, what you must know first and foremost is that the Western Hangmen have mobilized. Our spies report they have left their cities and begun marching east."
Adam grimaced. "That is quite terrible."
During their last skirmish with the Empire, they''d fought against most of the Hangmen stationed in the Capital city ¨C and nearly died for it. Adam and Solara had defeated two of them, but not before those walking heralds of destruction killed hundreds of their men. Even now, Penumbria''s army was still weak in manpower because of that very clash.
And that was back when Ciro only bothered to summon the few Hangmen he had to spare. He didn''t bring the ones guarding the Western corner of the Empire.
"Honestly, I was hoping the Emperor wouldn''t call them to the battlefield," Adam whispered, sinking deeper into the bath. "I knew we were lucky he hadn''t stationed any Hangmen around the Eastern Frontier, but I thought he''d keep the ones at the other half of the Empire in reserve lest we tried to flank the Capital."
Tenver''s Puppet arm splashed a large amount of water ¨C this time unintentionally ¨C as he shrugged. "Why would they fear that? The Capital is in the center of the Empire and has little direct access to the ocean. While it does have one river that connects its dock to the ocean, that''s narrow and easily defensible. It would make sense for the Emperor to send forth his Hangmen and finish this war quickly."
"I suppose it would," Adam conceded, sinking even further down.
"Most fortunate, then, that he didn''t call them."
The Lord of Penumbria stood up in a splash. "What? But you just said that they were moving!"
"They were ¨C but not on the Emperor''s orders. Right now, the group of eight travels together under Knox''s banner."
The name wasn''t entirely unfamiliar. Adam had heard it in his studies of the region, although not yet in conversation. "The Hangman?"
"Aye! The dreaded Hangman Knox. Not as strong as the Dark Captain Valente, but far more ambitious."
A dangerous combination, that. If Valente could be said to have one weakness ¨C and this wasn''t a certainty ¨C it was his almost childlike naivety. The Dark Captain was undoubtedly the strongest in the Painted World, yet he believed himself to be a fairy tale hero, as if the reality itself would conform to his notions of righteousness.
Aspreay exploited that, Adam recalled. It''s the only reason he survived their duel. But a Hangman who even approached that man''s level of strength, whilst also having darker ambitions...
Now there was a chilling thought.
"You mention his ambition for more than set dressing, I imagine," Adam noted. "Why is Knox on the move? What opportunity did he spot?"
"Our dear Frontier Lords aren''t the only ones who smell weakness. After the Empire failed to defeat us and needed to sue for peace last autumn, Ciro did summon his Eastern Hangmen. Instead, they refused his summons and rallied around Knox."
Adam''s eyes widened. "Are they also rebelling against the Emperor?"
"Were it only so, my king."
Tenver sighed, showing a rare weariness on his face. "Knox knows that he''s working on incomplete information. The Empire failed to defeat Penumbria, and lost two Hangmen for its troubles, true ¨C but he has less knowledge of the how and why. Valeria''s misinformation campaign was quite capable in that regard."
The Puppet Prince hesitated. "However, he also knows that Valente alone would be enough to destroy both our entire rebellion and the Eastern Hangmen if it came down to it. Ciro can''t send the Dark Captain against us yet because he lacks official pretense, and because it would cost him prohibitively if the other cities decried his warmongering. Those reasons no longer apply if the Empire is attacked first."
A memory of the hundreds of deaths at Valente''s hand flooded Adam''s mind. "So Knox smells blood in the water, but isn''t delusional that his alliance can defeat Valente. What then?"
Tenver shook his head. "He cannot best the Dark Captain, and he knows it, too. Yet mayhaps he thinks that he can best the Emperor."
Adam raised an eyebrow with interest. Only three individuals in the Painted World possessed a Talent of Emperor Rank: Emperor Ciro, the Dark Captain Valente, and the Puppet Grandmaster.
Those three were nearly unkillable. A lower-Ranked Talent was incapable of directly harming someone who wielded a higher-Ranked Talent. To injure them, raw, physical violence was necessary...and inflicting that upon living demigods was easier said than done.
Worst of all, Emperor Ciro also possessed the Talent of a Lord ¨C and he''d spread his Realm throughout the entirety of the Empire. No matter what happened, the Second Pillar of Noble Realms, Noble Guard would keep him alive.
"I''m still not following you," Adam admitted. "If Knox knows he can''t win, why foster rebellion?"
Perhaps that was hypocritical to say considering Penumbria''s own circumstances, but their rebellion had been born of desperation. The Western Hangmen could''ve lived in the lap of luxury for the rest of their years, enjoying their position at the top of the Empire''s food chain. This uprising was painting a target on their backs.
Tenver smiled bitterly. "My king, imagine yourself as Knox. You are plentiful in ambition ¨C poor in morals. Your mockery that calls itself an Emperor has, surprisingly, struggled in a war against an enemy of unknown force. What would you do?"
Adam closed his eyes in concentration. "I would want the Orbs to turn myself into a stronger threat against Ciro," he slowly said. "Yeah. If I needed an Emperor Ranked Talent to inspire real fear, then I''d start collecting Orbs any way I could."
And in this Painted World where money was literally equal to strength, that would mean...
The Painter''s eyes snapped open in horror. "Knox could raze down the Empire''s cities to the ground ¨C the Eastern cities that they were stationed under. They could erase them from the map, kill thousands, pillage everything in sight, and use the Orbs to improve his negotiating position."
"Correct," Tenver muttered, his Puppet arm tensing. For a man who''d faced down certain death with a smile, the thought of Knox seemed to trouble him "And he needs not even succeed to achieve his goals. The man isn''t a sadist; he is merely without kindness in his heart. Ciro desires Orbs more than anything else, remember?"
It was hard to forget. For reasons yet unknown, the Emperor was attempting to hoard a truly absurd number of Orbs. Only his strange protectiveness of the Empire''s economy had halted the last war and forced him into peace negotiations.
Ciro would do a lot to keep his cities from being destroyed. Not because of any genuine concern for his subjects ¨C but because less people meant fewer taxes flowing into his coffers.
"If the Empire is preoccupied with us in the Eastern territories," Adam began, "then the Capital would be hard-pressed to stop a second rebellion in the east. At worst, it''ll be vulnerable to a third incursion from elsewhere."
Realization dawned on him. "The threat is what matters. Knox doesn''t actually want to fight the Emperor. He''ll hold a knife not to Ciro''s throat, but rather, to his purse...and hold the economy hostage in exchange for...?"
"Power," Tenver grimly stated. "Power, Orbs, and Titles. It''s what he''s always wanted."
That sounded oddly personal. "I have to ask ¨C do you know the guy?" Adam queried. Upon receiving silence for an answer, he insisted, "Personally, I mean? Not just as a Hangman."
"We...used to be friends." Tenver laughed distantly. "A long time ago." He shook his head. "Think of Eric. It''s not too dissimilar, though mayhaps I overstate the severity of the matter."
The comparison explained enough for Adam not to pry. He would need to know more about their past soon, as both Lord of Penumbria and King of the Frontier, but for the moment...just for the moment, he could allow Tenver not to think of it.
"Knox is an opportunist," said the Puppet Prince. "If he sees our war against the Emperor turning favorable, he could be persuaded to side with us."
"You don''t sound hopeful," Adam pointed out.
Tenver smiled. "I mislike lying to my best friend. But as your Knight, it is my duty to mention the possibility. Unlikely as it might be, if we could outnumber the Empire with Hangmen, then¨C"
The large, wooden double-doors flung open once more as Solara of Gama entered.
Steam coiled around her like a cloak as the Elf stepped forward, her long wavy hair catching the damp air. Her voice, low but playful, pierced through the haze with an authority that filled the room. "Ah¨C! There you are."
Adam shrunk deeper into the stone tub. "Solara, I think this is...not the best time."
"Why is that?" The Elf tread closer to the tub, then gestured at Tenver with her head. "You allowed him here, and I too have things to report."
"That''s different," Adam protested, trying and failing to hide his exasperation. "Tenver is¨C"
"Is it because he''s in the bath with you?" Solara''s voice was completely innocent, only the slightest of smirks betraying her true feelings. Her hands reached for the buttons on her dress. "If my lord commands, this can be remedied."
Adam bit his tongue to prevent a flustered response. I know your game. Not gonna let you get to me. Upon summoning his composure, he said, "That would be...a problem, Solara."
Tenver held his chin pensively. "Do you think so? Our elven friend has a point, my king. If you can stand to bathe with unparalleled beauty such as myself, I believe her inferior appearance would hardly distract from our discussion."
"Go ahead and insult me, little prince." Solara raised her eyebrows. "Need I remind you of my Genius Realm? Herald your own funeral ¨C see if I care."
Don''t even try to pretend that any of us know exactly what your Genius Realm does, Adam thought. Yourself included.
"Oh, my lady ¨C I speak not of insults, but of truth!" the Prince objected. "I would not lie and claim you are not beautiful, Solara. Rather..."
Tenver''s fingers traced a languid pattern on the water''s surface, then drew a line that continued onto his muscular torso, which he highlighted with a radiant pose. "I am without peer and you both know it."
Solara and Adam couldn''t help but laugh at his confidence. Were it unfounded, it would''ve already been amusing in its own way. That the man was unfortunately as handsome as he liked to claim only made it funnier.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"Worry not," Tenver went on. "Each of us shine in our own way. You are not as beautiful as I, but you are stronger. Neither Adam nor myself could beat you in a fight now that you have your Genius Realm."
"Truly?" Solara asked. "Considering Adam''s new Hangman Talent he stole from Eric, and your Puppet Archery, I''m not sure I would have the time to call upon my own ability."
"Surely you jest," Tenver insisted. "A few nights ago, I seem to recall you drunkenly spilling wine¨C" Right in my eye too, Adam recalled, "¨Cbefore saying you could easily take both of us on."
"That I did. But not in a fight, I fear."
Both of them laughed heartily as Adam sank his head into his hands to hide his face. "I almost miss when you idiots didn''t get along," he whispered under his breath, causing them to laugh harder.
In truth, he wasn''t as embarrassed by their sense of humor as he made it seem. But the two had been on...tense terms until recently, and they were stronger friends with Adam than with each other. If making him blush was their common ground, then he was happy to oblige while they worked past this awkward stage.
Besides ¨C much as he hated to admit, he did have fun joking with them.
"At least turn around," Adam complained, mock outrage in his voice. "The steam isn''t that thick. Respect your friend''s modesty a little."
"Why? I ought to join you instead," Solara threatened, though they both knew she wouldn''t follow through. "Then we could have our discussion more easily ¨C faster, too! It would be such a better use of time!"
"Again, that sounds highly inappropriate."
"Hardly so. I don''t think elven culture would have the same views about bathing as humans."
"So? You weren''t raised in elven culture! This probably feels as weird to you as it does to me!"
To Adam''s surprise, all humor fell from Solara''s face at once. Huh. I didn''t expect that to land. He stared at her in confusion, trying to think what he could''ve said to spark that response.
Before he could arrive at a conclusion, the elf cast her eyes downward and turned around. "Aye, aye, fair enough my lord!" she replied, with a tone of false enthusiasm. "Let''s move on to matters of business, then."
"Hold on," Adam interjected. "I don''t think you actually wanted to get in, I''m 99% sure you were just being annoying...so why are you upset? That doesn''t seem right. Did I say something to¨C"
"Did you know that an elven village still resides in the Empire?" Solara asked.
Adam''s train of thought nearly crashed as it abruptly switched tracks. "Wait, what? But Greenisle..." He trailed off, lest he speak of the massacre she had endured.
"...Had survivors who refused to come to Gama," Solara finished. "Most perished as the Empire chased them, but the others appear to have formed a hidden village. I don''t know whether they have a Lord Talent to help keep the Rot out, but they do possess some manner of illusion."
Her posture was stiff as stone. "The village is located in the Frontier. Makes sense, I suppose ¨C the Emperor cared very little about this side of the Empire. Same reason why the Puppet Mine is located around these parts."
Adam furrowed his brow at the implications. A hidden elven village in the Frontier. How is that going to impact the war?
The elves were going to be in danger, for one thing. And they could be useful allies, for another.
But most importantly...
"Have you always known about this?" Adam asked.
Solara shook her head. "No." The answer came in a pitch higher than usual, and was punctuated by a weak laugh. "Not at all."
Tenver folded his arms. "How did the survivors reach this secret village?"
"Other elves told them. Despite the Empire''s treatment of them, some small communities do exist in Imperial cities. The news spread from elf to elf, only telling the ones they could trust...which was quite the large number."
Adam nodded. "So that''s how you heard of it, then? When the elven refugees migrated to Penumbria after our war with the Empire¨C"
"No!" Solara exclaimed, louder than before. Her back was still turned. Adam no longer thought that it was because of any concerns for his modesty. "I found out from Valeria. She''s known of it for a while now. Isn''t that just amusing?"
Her question was accompanied by another laugh, this one empty and hollow.. "She''s an Elven Puppet who sliced off the edges of her ears to disguise herself as human...yet they trusted her with this secret. But I...well, I guess that''s fair, right? I mean..."
Her voice died suddenly as she shook her head. "Sorry, Adam. I need to...go be by myself for a moment."
"Wait," he protested. "Are you okay? What''s going¨C"
By the time he''d spoken, Solara had already slammed the doors shut and left.
--
Adam read the letter over and over until its ink began to blur together. He can''t be serious.
"Do you now begin to see why I once gave up on saving this city!" Aspreay sounded far too pleased with himself as he sipped at his wine. "I take it from your face that the Frontier Lords are demanding more?"
"And how." Adam huffed in disbelief. "We already agreed to pay for their travel costs. Now that they''re here, residing in our guest chambers, they demand more still!"
He shook his head. "Just...why? Don''t those imbeciles understand how important this alliance is?"
Aspreay laughed. "It is precisely because they understand it. Emperor Ciro''s last war spoke loudly and clearly, but the Frontier Lords heard a different tale than we. The Empire will not save their cities from either Rot or calamity, true ¨C yet neither will its scythe fall upon them. That is a fear of Penumbria alone."
"Is there a difference? So the Empire won''t march its army on them. Who cares? Ciro made it clear he doesn''t care for their lives when he sent their men against us without even trying to minimize his losses! Do they think he''ll help them evacuate when the Rot inevitably gets worse?"
"No, bastard. They think that your desperation outweighs theirs...and that the one with the tightest noose has the weakest standing."
Aspreay''s mirth slipped away. "The Frontier Lords know that siding against the Empire is the best choice. The last skirmish proved, if not Emperor Ciro''s weakness, then at least his unwillingness to field his own troops or commit to an expensive supply line. They believe that a war with him is manageable ¨C until terms of peace can be settled ¨C and that you''ve devised a way of your own to combat the Rot. From their perspective, Penumbria has much to offer."
Adam chose not to argue the sureness of their survivability. The Frontier Lords underestimated Penumbria regarding politics, yet overestimated it regarding war.
Of course they do, he thought. Thinking otherwise would be admitting that their armies were soundly defeated by a weaker force.
And their ego couldn''t have that, could it?
"I will not give them Orbs just for attending a meeting," Adam declared, with malice in his voice. "Even if we could afford it, doing so would inflate their self-worth too much."
"On that, we are of one mind, Painter." Aspreay fixed an icy stare at him. "What then? Can you think of some sophistry to twist a Lord''s stubborn pride to your benefit?"
Adam raised an eyebrow. "We speak of a group of four Lords, yet your tongue names a singular man." He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because ¨C the Dragons burn me if I''m ever wrong ¨C Lord Crepusculo of Coimbargo is a treacherous whoreson who''d sell his own daughter for an Orb. Across the entire Frontier, his city is the closest to the Imperial capital, and the richest one at that. This isn''t the first time he''s attempted to force Penumbria''s hand, nor is he unfamiliar with compelling other Lords to follow his whims."
The name brought a distant memory to the surface. "Crepusculo...wasn''t his bastard son part of your court, Aspreay?"
"Aye. Unlike his wife, Crepusculo was more fond of his bastard than his trueborn. I thought it could be a useful tool the next time the miserable old fuck tried to do exactly as he is now."
Aspreay narrowed his eyes. "But I seem to recall that someone had the bastard''s head placed on a pike."
Tenver made his presence known with a sheepish laugh.
Until now, he''d been observing the other two lords in a quiet, respectable silence. As Adam and Aspreay turned to look at him, a sense of playful embarrassment crept into his features. Upon being reminded of his coldhearted execution of a man, he let out a guilty chuckle, sounding no different than if he''d been accused of eating the last slice of cake.
"Ah, well, I wonder what dastardly man did that," said the Puppet Prince. "Rest assured, though ¨C Lord Crepusculo''s bastard most assuredly deserved his fate. He attempted to overthrow Adam after he took Penumbria''s throne."
A tense silence passed through the room.
Bold of you to say that to the man I overthrew, Adam thought. From Aspreay''s perspective, Edmundo must''ve been a hero trying to rid the city of an usurper.
"The bastard was guilty of treason," Aspreay stated, with a lazy disdain. "That I do not deny."
Or not.
"However, killing him has deprived us of options." The former Lord glared angrily at Tenver. "Had you kept him alive, he would be of great use right now."
"Had I kept him alive, he could have threatened Adam," the Puppet Prince replied, in a tone of mocking confusion.
Adam chose not to let the tension fester any longer. "Aspreay, if Crepusculo''s bastard frustrated you so much, then why didn''t you deal with him sooner?
Aspreay Arcanjo flashed a dark smile. "Had I done so, the lords would have run along to Emperor Ciro and begged his aid. At the time, it seemed unwise to court war against the Empire."
The Nobleman threw his head back and laughed. "But now Ciro himself crossed that line in the sand already ¨C I see no reason to hesitate."
"Then what exactly are you suggesting?" Adam asked. "Do you want me to use my Realm to order Crepusculo to attend the meeting?"
"It would be a start." Aspreay placed his empty winecup onto the table. "But only a start. You would do well to break his legs too."
The Painter tensed. ""I''m trying to convince those people to bend their knees to me, Aspreay ¨C hard to do that with legs that won''t support them. I want them to see me as their King. You think imposing tyranny on them as my very first act would convince them to be loyal?"
"It would force them."
"Only until I show weakness. Isn''t that why they''re willing to betray the Emperor? Because he showed weakness? I need to inspire more loyalty than that."
Aspreay poured more wine for himself, then emptied the cup in one long gulp. "Painter, no feelings of transient loyalty can ever outshine the inherent glitter of greed. You couldn''t create such a fantasy on your canvas ¨C let alone spawn it into reality. A vassal is not a friend; they will betray you once you show weakness of any sort. Remember this, and become stronger."
Tenver harrumphed loudly. "And you think bloodshed is the quickest way of doing so, Lord Aspreay?"
"Do you not?" the Nobleman fired back. "I would have assumed you''d agree with me, Tenver, considering your...history with violence."
The Puppet Prince smiled. "On some level, mayhaps. Yet the difference between us, Aspreay, is that you would bring a scythe down upon one man''s neck to make the other four surrender in terror."
"And that you lack the taste for blood, it seems." The Nobleman''s voice was a sweet, venomous honey. "Mayhaps your father''s tragedy was not enough to rid you of the rich, spoiled childhood he bestowed upon you?"
"I was raised by the best, most expensive tutors. That is true. But they taught me to not behave like a wasteful noble and simply discard whatever food I mislike."
Tenver''s gaze was sharp. "I would much rather make all five men surrender in terror."
"And I would like for my hometown to not be swallowed by the Rot. Wants have little to do with reality."
"Wants are the first step towards crafting your desired reality, Aspreay." He turned to face Adam. "My lord ¨C there is another way we can yet convince Lord Crepusculo to engage in talks."
Adam perked up. There was a sinking feeling forming in his stomach, and for the life of him he knew not why. "What do you have in mind?"
"Edmundo ¨C Crepusculo''s bastard son ¨C sinned most gravely against us. He attempted treason against you, Adam."
Aspreay groaned. "And you had him executed for the crime. His ghost will be of no help to us."
"No," Tenver acknowledged. "But his bones will."
The Painter hesitated. "What are you suggesting?" he asked, wishing that he couldn''t predict the answer.
"Lord Crepusculo will not only come to our table to negotiate ¨C he shall bring the other Lords to it as well." Tenver''s voice sang too innocent a tune for its lyrics. "Otherwise, we''ll feed his son''s remains to the pigs."
Adam felt a chill go down his spine.
"I placed his head on a pike," Tenver went on. "But once it scared off further rebellions, it was honorably buried in our crypts. It is still well-preserved. Bastard or not, Crepusculo won''t want his noble house''s name sullied any more than that."
He might love his child too, bastard or not, Adam thought, although he didn''t say. "It feels...inhuman," he said, after a pause. "To threaten a man like that."
"Then allow the Puppet to handle this," Tenver told him with a smile. "Bards already sing me as a monster. Allow me to prove them right."
Adam grimaced. Crespusculo holding their alliance hostage was essentially an attack on Penumbria itself. Whatever his reasons might be, it didn''t justify putting hundreds of thousands of people at risk. Yet matching his attack in kind...ransoming his dead son''s bones...it just didn''t feel good.
It doesn''t have to, he reminded himself. Protecting this city is my duty. If I falter, the fragile happiness I''ve seen will disappear in the blink of an eye.
People live or die by my choices.
The Lord of Penumbra clenched his fist. "See it done."
Bonus Chapter 4
Before opening the ship''s front door and stepping outside, Adam went over his plans one last time. Each member of his group was set to leave the ship at differing intervals ¨C ''escorted'' by Puppets ''for their own safety.''
Ferrero and I will go first, the Painter thought. The implication was unspoken yet loud. Slaying the Ghost of Waters had earned him the Grandmaster''s gratitude, but it had also earned his caution. While being escorted alone by the Puppet Duelist was a safety measure...it wasn''t one meant for Adam.
Then again, considering how Ferrero behaves, I can''t help but question the wisdom behind that decision. Standing beside him, the Duelist was hopping back and forth as if warming up in anticipation of returning to his homeland. Maybe the Grandmaster didn''t have a choice in the matter.
After Adam and Ferrero, Solara would be escorted by Valeria, the Puppet Detective. Tenver would come next, leaving with Serena, the enigmatic Master of Communications.
Out of the Puppet trio, Serana puzzled Adam the most. She hadn''t stood out much during their confrontation with the Ghost, mostly waiting behind the front lines. She''d even kept the majority of her face cloaked and hidden from view.
Her justification for her attire was that the cloth concealed horrible burn marks. Adam had confirmed as much later, leading him to suspect that her injuries were related to the Rot. Perhaps others would have been unnerved by that connection, but it wasn''t what gave him pause.
Rather...
She was just so calm. Adam frowned as he recalled Serana''s countenance back then. A Ghost was attacking, the ship was aflame ¨C yet she''d stood serenely as if none of it concerned her. Why? What if¨C
"Come on!" Ferrero called out, his hops intensifying. "Shall we raise the curtains, oh Lord of Paint? I cannot wait to show you around my city!"
Adam relaxed into a smile. "Fine, fine. Let''s get going, you impatient fella." With an exaggerated flourish, he pushed at the ship''s front entrance.
Surprise overtook him before the door had even finished swinging open.
Adam had figured that the Puppet Mines would be like something of an underground prison ¨C damp, dark, and cramped, with small caverns illuminated by faint torchlight. The little he could make out from the ship''s foggy windows had matched that expectation.
Now, with his own eyes, he saw it as it was: less of a coffin and more of a subterranean world. Underwater caverns weren''t meant to be this wide. The waters leading to the docks were so vast that, if not for the stone rock walls and sharp stalactites hanging on the ceiling, it wouldn''t have looked all that different from a regular oceanfront city.
In fact...add in some thick fog, and I wouldn''t be able to tell where we were.
There was something distinctly macabre about the place ¨C about how close it felt to the surface while still being ever so slightly wrong, how cold, jagged stone took the role of the muddy ground beyond the wooden pier, how the moisture gathered on the ceiling and fell down in slow, acidic droplets like a cursed version of rain...
Yet it was all the more beautiful for it. Each wrong element, each odd inclusion...they all added up to paint a beautiful picture of muted colors, combining into a brighter hue than the eye could see.
The very image of a people who survived despite the world itself wishing otherwise.
Though I doubt the Puppets forced to live here would describe it so favourably, Adam conceded. While he could see the beauty in it, he knew in his heart that his eyes beheld the romantic illusion of a stranger. I wonder how Ferrero sees the Mines, having been ''born'' here. Or how Tenver does, for that matter, since he only comes for maintenance of his arm.
Maybe the Prince''s perspective wasn''t too different from Adam''s own. He too would have heard the tales and confirmed some of them to be true. Just as the Penumbria archives suggested, the Puppet Mines were indeed a set of low, interconnected, underwater caves. It had required a specialized ship to dive deep enough until they could resurface at what they called the Docks.
Though Adam didn''t think that name was accurate, given their location ¨C he didn''t think it inaccurate either, given its appearance.
A series of wooden planks had created a narrow pathway between the ship and the pier, looking just enough like a regular city''s docking area to emit a sort of dissonant eeriness. The wood was the same, the smell of salt water not too different, yet the ''land'' they walked toward was made of pure rock.
Of course, none of that compared to the sensation Adam felt when he peered up and found his vision obstructed. The eternal blue of the sky had been replaced by a dark, rocky ceiling. A tall ceiling, to be sure, tall enough their ship ran no risk of hitting it ¨C but not so tall that Adam couldn''t imagine another vessel suffering that issue. Everywhere he looked was solid stone; a stark reminder of where they stood.
An underwater cavern...where the last Puppets are hiding from the Emperor.
It also didn''t escape his attention how bright everything was despite the lack of sunlight. There were no torches or other apparent sources of light, yet the place felt wholly and evenly illuminated, almost ethereally so. Where are the lights hiding?
Perhaps in the same location where every other living person seemed to be. The docks could''ve comfortably fit four other large ships, yet Adam''s vessel stood alone. Stranger still, despite the rocky composition of the ''land,'' the area was laid out like you''d expect from an area where goods were imported to a City by the ocean: filled with barrels, damp wooden stands, and makeshift trading stores.
All of those stands were empty ¨C collecting dust, even!
"We appear to have scared everyone off," Adam dryly noted. He didn''t include the two dozen armored soldiers at the end of the pier, forming a pike formation with pointed spears.
"Aye, my lord." Ferrero stepped off the ship and over to Adam''s side, then stretched his arms above his head. He drew a long breath that ended in a wide smile. "Ah, traveling the world is fantastic ¨C nothing quite like it. But there''s nothing quite like home either."
He shook his head, still grinning. "Be not insulted by the lack of people. We don''t receive much trade from the outside world these days. The place is usually empty regardless."
The Ghosts were partially to blame, and the illegality of trading with Puppets bore the other half of the guilt. Few ships knew of the Mines, fewer dared to smuggle goods into it, and only one hadn''t been a victim of the hauntings.
And Adam had commandeered that very ship after executing its captain for treason.
The consequences weren''t lost on him. The Grandmaster can bark if he wants, threaten me if he must ¨C the Mines need my ship. He''ll have to see me eventually. They need me to survive, don''t they?
"How does food get in here then?" Adam started stepping toward the armored soldiers with his chin raised high and chest puffed out. Tenver''s words rang in his head ¨C be a lord. "I don''t imagine you can grow food easily."
"Thanks to the Grandmaster, we can." Ferrero matched Adam''s pace. "But importing goods is still rather useful. Anyone would grow tired of eating the same thing over and over again, yes?"
"Yeah, of course," Adam offhandedly replied. So they can somehow grow crops here ...but only a limited sort. Or they just want more meat. Hard to tell. "Puppets need food, then? If you don''t mind me asking."
Ferrero nodded. "We won''t die without it, but we''ll...shut down?" He hesitated at the term, searching for another. "Think of marionettes whose strings were cut ¨C until we are fed again, upon which we regain our own strings."
As if afraid he''d just insulted himself, he added, "Of course, we are the ones guiding our own bodies. Our cores direct those strings. Which is fairly normal, actually, and not too unlike how a normal human brain would work," the Duelist added in a hurry.
The cores he spoke of housed their souls. Adam had witnessed the...surprising extent to which Puppets could effortlessly stay alive ¨C so long as their core was unharmed ¨C when Tenver lost his head during their fight with the Ghost. As his artificial arm remained intact, the knight had lived to fight another day.
Adam could see why Ferrero feared he''d take this information negatively. Especially since most people spoke of Puppets as bedtime stories to scare children with. At best.
"Sounds like a better deal than what humans get," he assured. "We''d just die instead of...hibernating. I''m almost jealous, really."
The Duelist chuckled in relief. "If that thought ever gets past the point of flattery and into the land of truthfulness, remember that it''s always an option, my lord."
Adam stopped walking.
"Lord of Painting?" Ferrero called out hesitantly. "Did I offend you?"
"No, no. On the contrary, I just...hadn''t considered that."
Truthfully, there were few downsides to becoming a Puppet. Adam would become physically stronger, his body reinforced by their strange technology, more durable than before. He would also be harder to kill, as his life would be condensed into a magical core, able to be hidden anywhere on his body.
Furthermore, it would likely make the Grandmaster more amenable. He''d certainly be more receptive to a Puppet King than a Human one. Stronger body, easier negotiations...
The prospect was incredibly tempting.
"I can''t," Adam said, as he heaved a heavy sigh. "I would love to...but I can''t."
"Why not?" Ferrero lifted a single eyebrow, his voice tensing. "You think something about the outcome to be undesirable?"
"Not to me," Adam grunted. "To Puppets ¨C to the Mines as a whole."
Ferrero maintained his raised eyebrow, now adding a tilted head to the mix. "I''m sorry?"
"The Empire isn''t fond of Puppets ¨C and I''m not just talking about the guy sitting on the throne. There are lots of people who would kneel and beg before the worst of human cruelty, yet perish in agony before accepting a Puppet''s kindness."
Adam frowned. "An alliance between two Puppet Rulers would give the Mines less negotiating power than an alliance between a human and a Puppet. If I''m human, I can gradually shape Penumbria into a haven for Puppets, slowly guide my people into not trying to burn you guys at the stake...but if they suddenly found themselves taken over by a Puppet Lord? Not so much."
He shook his head bitterly. "Advantageous as it might be, I''ll have to decline for now."
Ferrero straightened his neck and stretched the corners of his mouth. "You are a good man, Lord of Ink."
New name! I''ll take it. "I''m not. Just a boring, practical one."
"I''d take that over my stubborn Grandmaster, quite frankly. You wouldn''t think an old man would be so hot-blooded. He should retire soon, if you ask me¨C"
"FERRERO!"
One of the guards pointed a spear to his neck. "YOU DARE BLASPHEME AS SOON AS YOU SET FOOT UPON THE MINES?!"
They''d reached the end of the long walkway to the pier. Evidently, the men nearby had overheard the last part of their conversation. Adam tensed slightly, reflexively reaching for the Stained Ink inside of his veins before thinking better of it ¨C Puppets could sense the Rot.
Still smirking, Ferrero lazily pushed the pointed edge away from his face. "Ah, Derren! It''s good to see you again. Pray tell, your children ¨C are they still interested in dueling?"
"By the authority of the Grandmaster of the Puppet Kingdom, I declare you¨C"
Ferrero held up a flat hand. "TRIAL¨CBY¨CCOMBAT!" he shouted, in the same hurried, barely-intelligible tone a child would''ve used to yell ''safe!'' while playing baseball with friends. "I''ll report to the Workshop for my duel first thing in the morning." he cheerfully said. "But first, allow me to introduce my friend to the Mines. Or would you have us show no hospitality to our first human guest in ages?"
The dozens of sharp steel blades glaring at Adam''s neck from multiple directions said they would. Yet Ferrero, ever the fencer, wasn''t fluent in the language of spears. "Splendid! I''ll see you tomorrow then."
Though the soldiers'' spears did not pierce the duo as they walked past, the same couldn''t be said of the fiery gazes aimed at their backs. Adam felt compelled to apologize for Ferrero, despite the fact the Duelist was one of theirs and the Painter was the supposed invader.
I swear, it''s like they hate him more than me. Which was a hard sell, but...well. Could be true.
Ferrero moved through the twisting tunnels like a bard in a familiar inn, his steps precise, his manner casual. A faint glow of veins threaded through the stone like captured moonlight. The air buzzed faintly, alive with an ancient energy.
"These tunnels sing to me," he said softly, his tone rich with unspoken pride. Adam followed, uneasy, as though stepping into another''s personal sanctuary.
But the Duelist rejected sacredness and invited him to call it mundane.
"Can you see at all through the darkness?" Ferrero asked. "We have some of the Glow set here for newcomers, but very little compared to the living areas."
"No," Adam whispered ¨C only for his voice to echo much louder afterwards. Is the Glow whatever''s illuminating this? "I can make out some general details. Like when you''re alone in your room at night, and your eyes adjust...but that''s it. Can you see more than that?"
"Aye. While we Puppets have lost much to the dark, vision is not one of those things, bless our luck. We can see in darkness nearly as well as in the light. "
Like cats? "I imagine that makes the Mines far more defensible."
"Quite so," Ferrero proudly stated.
Adam thought it through. "The Imperial Army would have a hard time getting to the Mines to begin with. And even if they did...they would get slaughtered in these tunnels. You can''t fight if you can''t see."
"Oh?" The Duelist let out a sound of soft confusion that hummed through the moist cave. "I suppose that''s true."
The Painter''s eyes narrowed in the dark. "What were you thinking of, if not that?"
"Isn''t it obvious?" Ferrero laughed. "These tunnels are narrow. The Empire''s army would have to advance one at a time ¨C and I would be here."
I respect the confidence, but I don''t think you could stop an army by yourself. "I suppose you would be." Adam didn''t have to try hard to sound amused. "Are you taking me to the Grandmaster?"
"To his Workshop, eventually. But that''s the most I can do. Taking you to meet him is beyond me."
"That''s fine," Adam muttered. "I''ll make him see me somehow."
The Mines loomed around them, its jagged walls slick with moisture. Each step seemed louder than it should have, echoing briefly before fading into the suffocating stillness. The air was heavy with salt and damp, carrying a metallic bite of rusted chains long since discarded. Veins of faint light pulsed in the stone, uncanny and untrustworthy, as if the cave itself watched and waited.
"Where are we going first, then?" Adam asked, his voice more steady than his nerves. Stay calm. Need to learn as much about this place as I can. "Before you take me to the Grandmaster, I mean."
"I''ll tour you around our city for a bit. The tavern, the theater, the park ¨C there''s much to show!"
"Sounds fantastic." I hope Solara isn''t having a tough time right now, he thought, especially considering her history with Puppets. Maybe I should...
Eh, it''s fine. I''m sure she understands why we have to do things this way.
¨C
Solara was pissed.
Adam knew how much Puppets unnerved her, yet he still went out of his way to leave her alone with them. Sure, speaking with the Grandmaster was more important ¨C she wouldn''t argue against that. But would it have killed him to at least try to argue for her presence there? At least appear like you give a shit, fucking Painter. If he kept acting like this, it would make her plans of projecting her importance via association that much harder.
And, well, she also didn''t want to be left alone with Tenver.
I can either leave escorted by the Detective or stay behind with him. What the hell does Adam think I''m going to pick?
Not that she was sorry about the things she''d said, but, maybe she wouldn''t have said them in front of the man if he''d bothered to let her know he was a Puppet. And...it was his fault anyhow.
Nevertheless, it was only proper to express her regret at her choice of words. If she was feeling charitable, she could even acknowledge ¨C with some degree of honesty ¨C that maybe she''d started to feel differently after this trip.
With even more honesty, Solara could admit to Tenver that she''d screwed up, and was regretting much of what she had said and done.
That''s going to be awkward, though. I don''t want to do it. She had to. Not one bit. She still had to. Ah, burn it all to the blue hell! All of it! Every single¨C
"Lady Solara," Valeria said, with a bow. "I fear our disagreements aboard the ship seem rather meaningless now. Would you allow me to show you around as an apology?"
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
There was some edge to her tone, but Solara could detect no malice in it. She glanced at the Detective, then at the rest of the group ¨C which included Tenver ¨C and quickly thought over everything she knew.
I wouldn''t have gotten along with this one even if she wasn''t a Puppet. That she was a Puppet had only made things more tense between them. They''d both been open with their distaste of the other''s kind, and Solara wasn''t convinced that the Detective wouldn''t try to kill her the first chance she got.
Tenver and I have had...disagreements, yes, but he seems loyal to Adam, and he hasn''t really done anything wrong aside from being born. Valeria has been shady from the moment we met.
Going alone with the Detective means potentially being murdered in a dark, underwater cavern that I know nothing about, and where my body would never be found. It is tantamount to suicide. In contrast, staying behind with Tenver just means an awkward conversation and an even more awkward apology.
"I''d be glad to go with you, Detective." Solara wasted little time following Valeria into the Mines, sparing no glance behind as she left.
The two of them smoothly passed by the spear-wielding guards at the pier. Solara got the uneasy impression that they turned their weapons away far too quickly, and could swear she''d noticed one of them sweat upon seeing Valeria. What the hell did she do before? was her first thought.
Huh. I couldn''t even tell they weren''t human, was her second.
She chose not to dwell on it too much. Devoting her full attention to following the Detective made for an excellent excuse.
"Don''t try to lead me astray," Solara barked out. "I am the Heiress of Gama ¨C murdering me would have consequences."
"And they would be most tragic, too!" Valeria said, in a grave tone. "Who else would amuse me the way you do?"
Solara''s cheeks flushed. "Listen up you arrogant¨C"
Her complaint died as they exited the pier and entered a large tunnel presumably leading to the Puppets'' city. For a moment, the elf felt as if she couldn''t move at all, her body frozen in place. She felt a chill race down her spine as blue light touched her from head to toe.
Then the light faded, and the constricting feeling was gone. Valeria continued onward like nothing had happened. Solara could only follow, drawing upon every ounce of her noble upbringing so as to not lose composure.
To her surprise, the tunnel didn''t lead to the Mines proper. Instead, a rather long and dark hallway stretched before them with seemingly no end in sight.
"Oh, my apologies. I forgot!" Valeria spoke with the glee of someone who hadn''t, in fact, forgotten anything at all. "You can''t see in the dark, can you? We illuminate the entrance for the sake of now-extinct traders, and brighten most inner caves for the sake of new Puppets who aren''t used to it yet. The First Tunnel is different. It''s kept dark ¨C for the sake of defense, you see?"
"No, I don''t!" Solara snapped back. "That''s the problem!" More calmly, she asked, "The main hallway, you say? From what I''ve heard, the Mines are a network of tunnels."
"A labyrinth would be more accurate. The First Tunnel contains side doors leading into many other caves, most of which are large enough to fit several houses ¨C not unlike a human city. The only thing connecting them all is the First Tunnel."
Valeria laughed, extending her hand. "You wouldn''t want to get lost here. Hold my hand."
Solara looked at her hand hesitantly, then frowned. "I''ll pass."
Within moments, she''d nearly tripped trying to keep up with the Detective. By the forest, neither her shoes nor her dress were meant for hiking, much less cave exploring. While she''d packed a few other sets of clothes, her hobbies had admittedly taken up most of the luggage space. "You can''t be serious ¨C what is wrong with this place?"
"The last person who refused a guide was found thirteen days later, malnourished and deformed due to the numerous people who stepped on him without realizing. Our shoes tend to be quite thick in the Mines, you understand. Despite my autopsy, I could not confirm whether they perished from the stomping or the hunger."
She laughed again, flicking her hand forward. "Are you certain you will decline?"
"Burn in hell, Puppet," Solara cried out, bringing her hand down to slap the other''s away. This settled the matter¨C
Or so thought the Elf, until she noticed the Puppet''s infuriating grin had not faded, clear and taunting even in that near-pitch black darkness. An eerie echo reverberated through the tunnel, seeming to pitch itself higher, then lower, then higher again, creating an otherworldly sound that made Solara feel ill.
Dragons burn me, but I have no idea where we came from anymore. When did we turn? Did we ever turn at all?
"Please, my dear Elf," the Detective insisted, her voice suave and irritating. "I''m sure you don''t need my help...but entertain my request, if you will. Think of it as a favor to one of the inferior Puppets you despise so much."
"Understand this, you idiot. I don''t hate you because you''re a Puppet." Although admittedly, that didn''t help. "I hate you because you''re conceited, annoying, and actively trying to enrage me!"
She grabbed onto the Detective''s palm anyway. Solara recalled how a stray cat had looked at her once: accepting the offer of warm milk, while at the same time gazing up with murderous intent. She did her best to instill her eyes with that same energy.
"Apologies if I hurt your delicate hand, Puppet," the elf added, tightening her grip. Upon remembering that this was the Detective''s wooden limb, Solara felt guilty for the rudeness of what she''d said...and rather stupid for how solid the hand felt. It''s made of wood, but it''s like trying to crush a rock. "What are you trying to show me, exactly?"
Valeria''s mechanical, Puppet hand squeezed back, pulling Solara along as if dancing. "Forgive me for not putting a hand on your hip ¨C I would love to do so, but I am afraid I''ve yet to reattach my missing limb."
The very same arm that she''d lost during their battle with the Ghost of Waters. Whatever her faults were, the Detective had put her life on the line to solve that incident.
Well, I literally died, so she has no right to complain. Still, Solara hadn''t expected that level of determination from someone without a Talent like Resurrection. "Why are you willing to go so far in order to solve¨C"
The Elf almost fell once more, and the Puppet had to swing her around to keep her upright. "Ah, my dear tree lover ¨C your kind likes trees, yes? ¨C I understand your frustration, but remember that I have but one arm. So long as you hold my hand, I cannot bring any harm to you."
Solara exhaled, begrudgingly accepting her logic. "Just walk already, Pup¨C"
She cut herself off. It probably wouldn''t be wise to keep calling her ''Puppet'' in the Mines. By now, Solara knew that she and the Detective had a sort of...agreement. There was an accepted and implied permission that they could be less appropriate with their choices of words towards one another. Other Puppets, however, might take offense to it.
It''s time I started speaking properly, she thought. Remember that you represent Gama. Don''t forget everything you''ve practiced.
Solara was not, would never be, and never wished she could be a proper noble. Her manners were too rough, too casual, and too honest. But she had worked very hard at faking it when representing her city.
And so, she forced a smile. "Most kind of you, Valeria, to show an outsider like me the sights of your land, so shrouded in legend. Gama will not forget this courtesy."
To her surprise, Valeria sighed with more annoyance than she''d expressed thus far. "It''s not fun when you speak like that," she grunted. The Puppet then marched forward, dragging Solara by the hand with a softer grip than before.
The two marched in silence for several minutes, the all-enshrouding darkness their only companion. They must have walked for quite some time, as Solara felt her thighs protest ¨C but not too long, for her legs did not give out entirely. The Puppet certainly would''ve said exactly how long it took if asked, but Solara was just as certain it wouldn''t be worth giving her the satisfaction. Why, if she had her way, they''d¨C
"We''re here," Valeria announced. She opened a door, bright lights shooting out into the First Tunnel. "Here lies the Eleventh Cave. It''s the community I belong to. And...well, take a look."
Solara''s eyes needed time to adjust to the light. While the Puppets hadn''t replicated sunlight, there were a number of green stones placed upon tall wooden poles, evenly illuminating their surroundings and banishing any hints of darkness.
It was an especially impressive sight considering the sheer size of the area. The Eleventh Cave might not have been as tall as the entrance, but it was far wider, inhabited by many broad structures that took Solara a moment to identify.
Those are...houses. Valeria wasn''t exaggerating when she''d compared it to a regular city street. There were a number of buildings around, and while Solara couldn''t see precisely how many due to the curved nature of the cave, she was sure there were at least thirty houses just in her immediate field of vision.
They''re so large, too. How many people can they hold?
Speaking of people ¨C there were plenty of them around as well. Solara stared in wonderment at the crowded streets. She saw children at play, young men and women jogging, and older folk entertaining others with stories of their youth. It was all so...
Normal.
For some reason, the notion struck her like a bolt of lightning. If she hadn''t known they were inside the Mines, she wouldn''t have even contemplated the possibility that these people were Puppets. They looked just like anyone back home in Gama.
No, Solara thought with a frown. Not like Gama. But...what else could I be thinking of? This feels so familiar, so nostalgic. What''s¨C
Suddenly, it dawned on her. The children, the men and women, the older folk...they were...their ears...
"They''re elves," she muttered. "They''re ¨C they''re all elves!"
"Puppets, my lady," Valeria politely corrected. "But they used to be elves. I suppose you could consider them both, if you wanted. Some do. The Eleventh Cave is populated by former elves."
"Former." Solara spoke the word slowly, letting herself process it. No...they are still elves, whatever you call them. "Were they taken here against their will?"
"No. Some came here in ships like Baltsar''s, thinking the Mines were kinder to them than the Emperor. I''m sure that you of all people cannot blame them, Survivor of Greenisle."
Solara trembled at the thought. "The Dragons burn me if I ever blame my kind for anything they''ve done to protect themselves. Let them shower in sin, and I''ll defend them as saints. This barely warrants mentioning on the list of things of what I''d herald them as blameless over. After Greenisle, I could not cast a stone upon anyone who..."
She paused. "Some. You said ''some'' of them came here on ships like the Captain''s. What of the others?"
"The others came here as corpses," Valeria stated. "A person''s soul doesn''t always leave their body immediately after death. In fact, it often takes a few days or weeks. Some of our archives indicate the longest record was nearly seventeen months, though that was well over a hundred years ago."
Numerous questions battled within Solara''s mind for the right to be spoken aloud. In the midst of that turmoil, a new thought formed and snuck its way to her lips before the others could protest. "You said that this is the Eleventh Cave. Where former elves live."
"Yes."
"You also said...that this is your community." Solara widened her eyes. "Valeria, your ears¡ª!"
The Detective laughed. "They look human enough. Or rather, they''d better. It cost me quite a bundle to have them done this way."
Solara''s shock caught up before her understanding did. "Valeria, are you implying ¨C are you saying that you''re an elf?"
"Mayhap if you choose to view me that way. As I see it, the elf in me died fifteen years ago...and my job is to avenge her."
The Detective looked Solara dead in the eyes, dropping her voice lower. "Fifteen years. You understand what that implies, right? People are murdered every day, aye, yet..."
A mad idea came to her, and she could not stop it from leaving her mouth. "Greenisle?!" Solara cried out. "You were from Greenisle?!"
Valeria shrugged. "That''s just the question, isn''t it?" Her tone was calm and thoughtful. "I told you earlier that my memories of life before Puppetry are vague at best. See, my wounds matched the weapons used to butcher your ¨C our kind. Spears from your very own City of Gama, my dear elf. But...don''t you find that strange? That my corpse was brought from Greenisle all the way to the Mines?"
"How?" Solara demanded. "How did your body get moved here? I was with Father the entire time, no corpses were ¨C they helped us bury our dead! Father even personally stood with his ships to ensure no Imperial troops came to desecrate their corpses for a month while the evacuation was being done!"
At that, the detective held up her arm, gesturing to the clear prosthetic. It brought forth a memory of something she''d mentioned before on Baltsar''s ship.
"This is a replacement of my original arm," Valeria had said. "A thin layer of skin over simple wood, strung together into my nerves. It is the only real prosthetic we can manage on a living person. The rest of my body is not too dissimilar from your own, my lady elf. However, the method that gave me my new body only works when a Puppet is first reborn, so I cannot bet my arm again."
Solara''s eyes widened at her recollection. First, because of the realization the Puppet had been hinting at her true nature since the beginning. Second... "You lost your arm trying to figure out something with your Bloody Truth?"
The Detective''s Talent was as useful as it was terrifying. It strengthened her blade in proportion to whatever secret she unravelled ¨C at a heavy cost. If she guessed wrong, her body would be permanently injured as retribution for her mistakes. Even Puppet technology wouldn''t be able to reattach her arm if she lost it from a failed deduction.
Yet there was one way to exploit that flaw in her Talent. Theoretically, Valeria could simply make a guess without actually knowing the answer. If true, then it would confirm her hypothesis. If false...she could merely accept her punishment as evidence to the contrary. Right or wrong, she would still learn something.
But looking at the permanency and severity of her Talent''s self-induced injuries, it hardly seemed worth considering. Sacrificing your own limbs for scant crumbs of knowledge?
Who the hell would be insane enough to do that?
This detective would, apparently, Solara marveled. She traded her arm for information on how she died.
"Aye," Valeria nodded. An imperceptible emotion flashed within her eyes. "Rather mysterious, my death. And I''m willing to risk much to uncover more."
"Why are you telling me this?" Solara snapped, almost defensively. "Do you suspect Gama ¨C do you suspect father of having dealt with your corpses?"
"No." Again, the Detective raised her prosthetic. "I made sure of that much."
Solara winced. So that''s the Bloody Truth guess that cost her an arm.
Uncomfortably, she glanced at the stump where the Puppet ¨C blue hells, the elf ¨C had lost her other arm fighting against the Ghost. "I suppose you can''t get that back, either?"
"This one might be fine." Valeria sounded neither certain nor worried. "They may be able to reattach it, although my speed of movement could end up lesser than before. Losing a limb in battle is different from losing it to the Bloody Truth. Might even be able to avoid a prosthetic. I''d prefer to keep my sensation of touch, but..."
She let out a theatrical sigh. "Oh, the sacrifices we make for the truth."
"Your ears," Solara insisted. "Why did you do that? Why hide your identity?"
"Because my plan was to infiltrate and investigate human cities." She winced at some unvoiced memory. "The Grandmaster, ah, didn''t let me get that far."
Adam has no idea what he offered when he gave her citizenship, Solara realized. Back aboard the ship, he''d sworn to make her a citizen of Penumbria if she helped him, offering her the full protection his authority could project...
And unbeknownst to him, he had also offered her the chance to investigate her own death.
Of all the Puppets to make that offer to... "I ask again," the elf repeated. "Why tell me all of this?"
"Because my primary suspect ¨C albeit not my only one ¨C is the same man who ordered the slaying of your village. The same man who killed Tenver''s father."
Valeria''s gaze sharpened. "The same man who wishes to murder Lord Adam."
Chapter 64 (Book 3 Chapter 3)
The Frontier Lords had become aware of Adam''s Talent of Contracts that he''d stolen from Eric ¨C although they didn''t know it was a plagiarized ability. If anything, they likely believed it to be his original Talent, and that his Lord Talent was Aspreay''s, willingly passed down from father to son.
More convenient this way, Adam thought. His legs twitched with nervous anxiety as he awaited the Frontier Lords'' arrival. One of their conditions for this meeting was a simple yet deadly Contract:
Adam, Lord of Penumbria, may not use Divine Knowledge on the five visiting lords for the duration of their visit ¨C or he shall perish.
"It is common to arrange precautions like this," Aspreay muttered with a shrug. "That is why meeting in another lord''s territory is so rare, especially when they outrank you in Talent as you now outrank them."
Which meant that even back before they were reunited, and despite everything, Vasco and Aspreay had still trusted one another. Or else they wouldn''t have met in Penumbria.
"Suppose it''s fine," Adam said. "Probably works out in our favor that they insisted on this Contract."
"That it does. And forget not what we went over. The Frontier Lords flock behind Edmundo, so we must¨C"
"¨CShow them a bluer sky," Adam finished.
"¨CTrap them in a cage," Aspreay finished.
Both men looked at each other with raised eyebrows. A silence stretched on that neither was willing to break.
Most fortunate, then, that the Five Frontier Lords took that moment to enter the meeting room.
The lords and ladies moved with the ease of people who''d never been denied anything. They claimed their seats without acknowledgment, their focus already fixed. Aspreay stood just behind Adam, evoking a quiet menace that screamed at them not to dare try anything.
Adam sat still, ready to meet their scrutiny head-on ¨C and readier still to earn their loyalty.
One by one the Lords spoke, none offering so much as their name. They each acted with entrenched arrogance, the kind that came so naturally it wasn''t even accompanied by a taunt, as if their mere presence was enough of an introduction.
Adam hated that they were right. A single glance around the table was enough to confirm their identities, and the feeling was only reinforced when they spoke.
He went over his notes in his mind, matching them to each noble one at a time. It was an easy enough job, to be honest. Aspreay had given him a...perhaps colorful, but seemingly very accurate description of them all.
"War is hardly ever good business," said the oldest of the lords, "and these accommodations are hardly convincing me this time is the exception." His fingers tapped against the table with an almost unconscious rhythm, and his lips curled slightly as amusement flashed within his gaze.
The smile wasn''t kind. It was sharp, it was precise, it was a weapon ¨C and it was aimed at Adam. "I pray you convince me otherwise."
When you see a scarecrow dressed in old velvet, Aspreay had said, then your eyes are unfortunately gazing upon Greg¨®rio Montefrio, Lord of Nevoa. His face is stuck in a permanent scowl; probably because the old bastard thinks any other expression would cost too much.
"Now, now," said the noble Lady to his left. "Must you start a conversation like that? We could at least discuss the accommodations, make idle chatter first. Why are you like this?"
The fabric of her dress clung on to her like the ambition in her eyes ¨C smooth, deliberate, and rather on display. Her neckline dipped dangerously low, an invitation and a warning in equal measure. The Lady''s jewelry caught the light, casting shards of brilliance that seemed to cut the air around her. She crossed her legs, confident, unyielding¨C
And then slammed her heels onto the table, leaving a noticeable dent at the point of impact. "We''ve come a long way. Must we speak of business so soon, before even so much as a feast?"
If you wonder whether you''ve stepped into a brothel, fear not. The woman testing the limits of how much skin you can show ¨C while draping the rest in silk far too fine for her ilk ¨C is, unfortunately, Beatriz das Ondasfrias, Lady of Serramar.
Despite his venom, Aspreay''s tone had been surprisingly respectful that time. You''ll know her by her smile. It''s sharper than the knife she''s probably hiding.
Adam made a mental note to speak to Aspreay about how he chose to describe women, then recalled what he knew of Serramar. The port city was built nearly into the very mountain that separated Penumbria and Gama, yet dealt little with either due to poorly-maintained roads, focusing more on sea trade with the Imperial capital.
"It''s baffling that others complain of your city so much ¨C the food is amazing." This next lord spoke casually, smirking at Aspreay. "You there, could I have some more of that baked dessert from earlier?"
"I am not your servant," Aspreay fired back in disgust. "You may ask for more after the meeting. No one else is allowed in this room."
Adam hardly needed to confirm this one''s identity with his tablet. He was the Frontier Lord that Aspreay had described with the most disgust.
If the woman will make you question whether you''re in a brothel, then give her grace when you are burdened with witnessing Gaspar''s existence ¨C for discovering that his job was to sit upon a throne instead of a cock will make you want the Emperor hanged. He wears less than the woman...and of worse quality, too.
Adam almost felt ashamed to understand what Aspreay''s rant referred to, as if deciphering it meant agreeing with it. The young Gaspar das Cinzas, Lord of Asteria, wore an outfit that would have been considered too casual on Earth, let alone the Painted World.
His shirt wasn''t worn ¨C it was draped, slipping off one shoulder and revealing his bare, sculpted chest, not a single button done up. He lounged in his chair, one arm draped over the back, his posture so relaxed it bordered on disrespect. His smirk only deepened the impression.
Aspreay''s true distaste for the man went beyond how he dressed. The former Lord of Penumbria simply couldn''t admit his true reason, lest he come across as too earnestly interested in the good of the people.
Although he had admitted it to Adam, albeit reluctantly. Gaspar is a Lord in title, and in Talent, yet not in reality. The mongrel stays at Edmundo''s court nowadays, drinking and whoring as if he hadn''t allowed his entire city to be swallowed by the Rot. He ruled over Asteria, once...but you know what happened to it.
Adam was aware, in the vaguest of terms, and some quick research refreshed his mind. The City of Asteria, to the south of Penumbria, had fallen to the Rot very recently ¨C so recently that Adam was in Aspreay''s court when a refugee attempted to ask for mercy.
Which Aspreay had strongly denied, banishing the woman with a Royal Order and sending her flying into the wilderness.
Sometimes I forget that he''s a monster. Should keep that in mind.
"Now, now!" said another Lady, whose concerned eyes shifted between Gaspar and Beatriz. "Our time is limited, and this matter is serious. Mayhaps we can focus on the issue of the Emperor and the Rot?"
At some point, Aspreay had warned, you''ll look at that troupe of clowns and notice a normal human among them. She is Helena Terraforte, Lady of Almarades. Poor woman is better fit for a central court than one in the Frontier, but her elder sister inherited the city''s ancestral claim. This was her consolation prize.
Adam couldn''t help but marvel at how normal the woman seemed. She wore a dress of soft lavender; elegant, modest, and with flowing lines that didn''t betray the tension in her posture. Her fingers brushed against the edge of the table once, then twice, before finally settling into her lap.
In a room filled with exaggerated gestures and cutting words, her simple confusion felt like a calm amidst the storm. The others thrived on theatrics, chaos, and thinly-veiled threats. However, she looked ¨C at least outwardly ¨C as Adam himself felt: baffled at those around them. I deeply sympathize.
"How long of this farce must I endure," said the last Lord, "before you give me back my son''s bones?"
Silence shrouded the room. Adam needn''t have remembered Aspreay''s words to know who the final nobleman was. He was the last one to enter the room, yet had no difficulty sitting at the foot of the table ¨C none of the other four even tried taking the spot from him.
They all agreed the one sitting directly opposed to Adam would be him.
"Lord Edmundo Crepusculo, Ruler of Coimbargo," the Painter addressed, in a formal tone. "I am pleased you''ve found the time to join our meeting. It will be done when matters regarding the lives of thousands are dealt with, and not a moment sooner."
Crepusculo''s response wasn''t violent. "Then let us deal with it," he spat out, his voice frigid as winter. "Quickly, so I can ride to the capital and petition the Emperor." Not immediately violent, anyhow.
Adam closed his eyes. This man ¨C each of the five ¨C had the Talent of a Lord. All could call upon a Realm, and all save for Gaspar could conjure up armies with a hoisting of their banner.
Be a lord. Don''t let him push you around.
"You would do well to heed your words, Lord Crepusculo," Adam began, filling his wine glass with disinterest. He held the silence for a second, gazing into his cup, then looked up to extend the bottle toward Edmundo. "Right now, you stand before the King of the Frontier. Making jest about seeing the Emperor is akin to treason."
Edmundo Crepusculo smiled. "I do not have to acknowledge your ridiculous claims, my lord."
"Nostalgic," Adam said, pulling away the bottle and placing it on the table. "That response of yours. I heard it once before." Be a lord, said a voice in his mind. Be a king, said a louder one. "The bones of its owner will reunite with you soon, should you prove reasonable."
Crepusculo stood up. Aspreay''s training had been effective ¨C Adam could feel the other man''s Canvas stirring, his soul staining itself in preparation for violence. It was the same as if his hand had fallen on a sword handle, ready to draw, and just as offensive of a gesture.
Yet he had not unsheathed that blade. "Sit down, my lord," Adam warned him in a low voice. "Your poor manners are betraying your station."
Something about his raspy tone caused Beatriz and Gaspar to withdraw their feet from the table. Crepusculo, it seemed, needed more incentive. "You may have made your proclamation of Kingship, boy," said the Lord, "but it is my choice whether to acknowledge it or not. Coimbargo will kneel only if I decide."
"Correct to the former, wrong to the latter." Adam lowered his voice, yet projected it across the room. "You may acknowledge me or not ¨C but Coimbargo will kneel."
Crepusculo''s cheeks flushed in anger, his lips trembling with disgust. When he spoke, his tone was surprisingly calm. "Do you think I will serve under the man who murdered my son?"
"Aye," came Adam''s reply. "I do, indeed, think you would put the lives of your people ahead of personal revenge. Or do I presume too much of your qualities as a ruler?"
A sudden clap cut through the tension. "Insults and threats," started old, scowling Gregorio, so quietly that the others hushed themselves to hear him. "Ah, I have danced these steps before. The tune changes every decade or so, you see, but not the steps. No...the dance itself is always the same. Lords bicker, shouting of pride, duty, revenge, and goodness."
He shook his head. "Horseshit, all of it. Let us discuss business, first and foremost. Edmundo ¨C you need to hear him out in order to get your son''s bones, don''t you?"
"You would have me endure this indignity, Gregorio?"
"Yes," the old lord swiftly answered. "Better a quick indignity if it will avoid several slower ones. If the deal is bad, it''s not as though I''ll have any interest in it...and the threats will remain as coming from a Painter, not a king."
Adam picked up on what had gone unspoken. While the four lords deferred to the Lord of Coimbargo, he did not rule over them as Aspreay had alluded to. Moreover, there was another insinuation in Gregorio''s words ¨C that, given enough incentive, he could accept Adam as his king.
The weight of his implication grew heavier with every passing second. Adam decided to cut it off before it could settle. "Lord Gregorio speaks wisely. Tensions are high, but we might as well speak frankly."
Frankness was seemingly one of Gaspar''s favorite characteristics, judging by how he perked up in his chair. "By the Dragons," he said, "let''s get on with it then! What is your proposal?"
It stood out that he wasn''t addressing Adam as either a lord or a king. Considering his mannerisms, this could either be callousness or caution. His carefree smirk and lazy posture ¨C leaning back as far as his chair would allow ¨C left room for both options.
"Emperor Ciro does not care for the Frontier," Adam said. "This is no news to any of you. The Empire is to our west, the advancing Rot is to the east, and our doom is to our future if we refuse to do anything. Each year the Emperor taxes us more heavily for the Imperial inventions that stave off the Rot...and each year it becomes harder to prevent our territories from becoming swallowed whole."
Despite Penumbria being mostly protected, and despite how Adam had been hard at work to undo the Rot''s damage, many of the city''s buildings remained Stained. Prevention is so much easier than cure. The Frontier Cities simply didn''t have the economy to keep up with the Emperor''s increasing demands ¨C and even that technology had its limits.
Beatriz raised her chin. "Not all of us are in such dire straits. Serramar enjoys healthy trade with the Empire, second only to Almarades."
"Healthy so long as Ciro deems it so," Adam said. "You live beneath his whims."
"And yours would be better? What would make your whims less dangerous than his?"
Adam unfurled a map onto the table. "Geography," he said, meeting her eyes. I need more than words to win them over ¨C I need proof. "Penumbria is the eastmost city in the Frontier, aside from Almarades."
He glanced at Lady Helena when he said this, observing as she bit her lip in concern."Keeping the Rot away from Penumbria isn''t an option for me," Adam continued. "Were I to allow it to grow unfettered, it would reach my city. The Emperor is safe, far to the west from us; he can afford to let the frontier lands be swallowed whole. It wouldn''t affect him in the slightest."
"Pardon," said Gregorio, leaning forward ever so slightly. "But that isn''t quite true. The Emperor can damn our cities, true, but think of the financial loss ¨C the sheer amount of Orbs he would lose! I have a hard time believing he would go to such lengths...hard enough, in fact, that it makes me wonder why I''d wager my position in a desperate gamble for independence from the Empire."
Adam had prepared for that argument. "You will recall, Gregorio, that the Emperor had no trouble using your men in his last war against me. Do you think he will not do so again?" It was much cheaper for the Emperor to commandeer local levies than to march his armies down from the capital, and they both knew it. "How much did you lose in taxes when your men perished?"
"I suppose that is a fair point," Gregorio admitted. "Those men who died¨C"
"Died," Edmundo repeated angrily. "You make it sound so natural, my lord. As if it were an accident. Your men killed our men in war. Just like you killed my son."
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Adam grit his teeth. He understood the man''s anger, but he could not abide by his hypocrisy. "Why, yes, Lord Crepusculo ¨C we killed those who tried to raze my city to the ground. Have you forgotten that you assisted the Emperor in trying to destroy Penumbria? That hundreds of good men died because every single one of you lent your men to his mission of genocide?"
The Painter glared, his voice thundering. "Mistake not my forgiveness for meekness. That I have yet to execute you all on the spot is a charity!"
A silence fell that remained for long after Adam''s shout had finished echoing inside the room. Each of the lords appeared...if not ashamed, then at least hesitant.
They knew he had slain a Hangman in single combat, after all.
Gaspar''s hand shot up in the air. "I lent none of my men in that war," he said, with a heroic voice. Then, in a more honest tone ¨C but without wiping the smirk off his face ¨C he added, "Well, I didn''t really have any men to send. My city was destroyed, you see, as were most of my forces. So I don''t think this is a moral victory on my part. But it is a legal one, in case Your Highness is keen on executing people today."
"What did you just call him?" Edmundo grunted.
Lord Gaspar shrugged and yawned in response, which would have resulted in an argument had Adam not chosen to interrupt. "This isn''t a matter of titles, coin, or revenge!" he shouted. "We have wronged each other. We have bled each other. But should we do nothing, the Emperor will kill us and all the people we swore to protect. I have acquired the means to save us and Ciro wants me dead for it ¨C does that not tell you who you ought to follow?"
Gregorio heaved a long, heavy, and saddened sigh. "Were it only so simple...yet the world never is." He drew a deep breath. "You are young still, Lord Adam, and understand not the weight of a lord. I was young once too ¨C I understand the fiery appeal of rebellion, of dying for freedom, of the promise of better days. But with age you learn that sometimes it is better to live, even under painful compromise."
"It doesn''t matter what compromises you''re willing to make! You won''t live under the Emperor''s rule at all!"
"Ah, we will. There is no reason to panic. He will hang the threat of the Rot over our heads to extract more Orbs, of course, but he will not let us die ¨C that would be economically unwise! "Do you think he would sacrifice lives and the economy on a whim?"
Adam grabbed his own head in exasperation. "Yes! You already saw him do that!"
"That was as far as he''d go," Gregorio insisted stubbornly. "He wouldn''t do anything beyond that."
"Are you this much of a coward? Just looking for excuses to justify your cravenness? Surely you don''t believe that¨C"
Gregorio flashed a yellow smile at him. "But I do. You mistrust the Emperor because of his lofty claims, his trail of blood, and your past clash. Understandable, but much too naive. Everyone can be reasoned with ¨C we need not resort to war."
A disarming chuckle punctuated his words, as if Gregorio found the very notion of Imperial aggression absurd. "If anything, you might want to consider surrendering to the Emperor, oh Painter! I understand, yes, and even admire your desire to fight for a better tomorrow...but I am afraid reality is not so simple. This world is far more complex than your young eyes can see, and morality is hardly so black and white."
A crashing sound rang out. Aspreay had walked up behind Gregorio. He stomped his heel onto the desk ¨C dangerously close to the lord''s head. "Mayhaps we ought to drain the color from it, then."
"Aspreay¨C!" Edmundo cried out, rising to his feet once more. "You dare threaten us?"
The Head of the Arcanjo family went on as if he hadn''t heard him. His heel still on the desk, he slowly and gently lowered his hand onto the man''s bald skull¨C
Then enclosed his grip, tightening ever so slightly with each passing second.
"Dye the world black and white, or plainly admit you''ll let it die," Aspreay whispered, his voice carrying sweetness and murder both. "I care not which. It must be done, and it cannot stop. Not until we can again say that villains are villains and cowards are cowards."
He pushed the older Lord forward, nearly ¨C but not quite ¨C forcing his hand against the wooden surface. In the same breath, he started walking around the circular table as if studying his prey...until he stopped behind Adam, flashing a smirk that was equal parts amusement and challenge. "I, for one, cannot stand a world where such vermin are allowed to claim the titles of Emperor and Lord."
The room held its breath, each lord caught between their pride and their fear. Aspreay''s voice was sharper than any blade, and the tension that suffocated the room was another of the weapons he wielded. Their table seemed too small to contain the weight of the nobles'' thoughts, the suspense stretching thinner than glass.
"It is rather...precious to watch you stand by your son''s decisions so much," Edmundo said, with a derisive laugh. "I thought you too much of a lady to father a child ¨C I had fathered seven by the time you still invited men to your bedchambers. Outgrew that habit, I hope?"
Adam flinched as he felt Aspreay''s Canvas whirl in disarray. Easy, he thought, in a wordless plea. Don''t murder him. I get it, I really do, but please don''t.
With great effort, Aspreay put on a smile. "As you have pointed out, my lord, your famed virility has sired many heirs. I must congratulate and thank you for it."
Lord Crepusculo stiffened. "Why thank me for that? Do you have any ill intentions towards my¨C"
"Because it means keeping you alive is an option that Penumbria need not exercise. Your death would still result in another Frontier Lord inheriting your Lord Talent...and who''s to say? Mayhaps fate will be kind, and your Talent shall be the only thing they inherit from you."
He swept his gaze across the table. "Your Talents, Orbs, and Realms belong to the Frontier ¨C to its king." Aspreay gestured at Adam. "My ''son'' is too kind and inexperienced. On that, I agree with Gregorio. Allow me to make his point more succinctly."
The weight of his glare was stifling. "This is not an offer. It is an order. Bend the knee, or it shall be bent."
Edmundo stormed towards Aspreay. "Emperor Ciro will hear of this¨C "
"Kneel."
The command rippled through the air ¨C a threat to the lords, and a lesson to Adam. This, the action said, is how to Reconstruct your Realm without anyone noticing.
An invisible pressure pulled Edmundo downward, forcing him against his will. The Lord''s eyes widened in shock as he met Aspreay''s unyielding eyes.
Next came a sound ¨C a harsh, brutal crack that left no doubt as to the damage done. His leg buckled, folding grotesquely beneath him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Edmundo''s leg now rested at an impossible angle, his knee digging into the floor and his heel protruding in front of said knee. Fabric clung tightly around swollen joints, discoloration already spreading, strings of flesh dragged straight from knee to foot ¨C almost like a ghastly bow.
One that Aspreay would wield.
"Let us skip the horrified sputtering and jump to your meagre confusion, oh insolent upstarts! Are you confused that I can issue a Royal Order while Adam has my Lord Talent? Allow me to correct your assumption. The Heir of the House of Arcanjo is not like your filthy spawn ¨C he was born with the Talent of a Lord by himself! I still have mine!"
Aspreay knelt beside the agonized Edmundo and grabbed him by the neck. "I''ll repeat our orders, and I''ll do it slowly so that even you can understand," he began. "Here and now, you will pledge yourselves to my son Adam, to Penumbria, and to the House of Arcanjo. Your Orbs, armies, and cities shall belong to us. You will retain your ranks, and mayhaps your taxes shall even be lowered after the Empire relinquishes its claims on our lands...but only if you prove yourself a worthy vassal."
The room felt like a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. The lords'' eyes darted between each other, their unease palpable. Aspreay''s smirk lingered, fierce and unforgiving, as Adam''s jaw clenched. Only the faint creak of wood and the rustle of fabric dared to make a sound.
Only that, and the Lord of Penumbria.
Adam''s chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he leapt to his feet, his voice another weapon entering the battlefield. "FATHER!" The word echoed inside the chamber, unyielding in its intensity. He marched forward, every step deliberate. "I object to this slaughter!" His voice cracked like thunder. "I will not rule by fear."
"As you wish, my incompetent son. You are free to pick how to rule ¨C but only after I''ve secured your throne. Not a second before."
"With all due respect, father of mine, I don''t have to listen to your demands. I am king." He looked at Lord Crepusculo, crawling on the ground in pain. "Be healed."
A faint glow wove around Crepusculo''s leg, a warm hum that preceded the subtle realignment of bone and tissue. Time itself appeared to flow backwards as the swelling in his leg receded. The healing left him standing, though not whole, with a faint discoloration lingering like a reminder of what had transpired.
Every lord in the room was very surprised, and for two reasons. The first reason was that Adam possessed the capacity to heal others. A lord being able to heal someone besides himself was nearly unheard of.
The second ¨C and by far the most shocking of the two ¨C was that Adam had wanted to heal him.
"I will not rule through fear," Adam declared.
"Have it your way." Aspreay shrugged, turning to the others. "My son might suffer from kindness, yet you know better than to lay such accusations at my feet." He sneered. "Give us your loyalty, soldiers, and Orbs ¨C or I shall march onto your cities myself and burn them to the ground, just as the Dark Captain himself would."
Even without Divine Knowledge, Adam knew exactly what the lords were thinking. They''d heard the rumor that Aspreay single-handedly fought against the Dark Captain back in the Imperial capital. Had that been all, they could have dismissed it as propaganda or exaggerations...
Yet they''d personally confirmed Aspreay to have done so again during the last war.
While they didn''t witness the supposed clash, they would know from the chain of command that Valente was dispatched to kill Vasco''s troops ¨C and was once again, somehow, stopped by Aspreay alone.
The Frontier Lords had dealt with Aspreay for years as a nobleman. Never once had they clashed with him as a soldier.
They had no idea what he was capable of.
But Adam did. "I apologize for my father," the Painter said, looking at each of the Lords and Ladies.
"You''d better apologize, bastard," said Edmundo, scrambling to his feet. "If you can''t control your mad dog, boy, I''ll take that offense as if you had assaulted me yourself!"
"See, son of mine?" Aspreay said, with an air of annoyance. "Kindness is taken as weakness."
Edmundo''s Canvas stirred. "You will pay for what you have done, you whoreson lover of¨C"
"Forfeit your tongue."
Aspreay''s command was as delicate and as destructive as a warhammer meeting priceless stained glass. Edmundo''s mouth opened wide, his scream cut short as his tongue tore itself free. Blood pooled on the floor as he collapsed, eyes wide with terror, shoulders twitching in fear.
At long last, he finally had nothing to say ¨C though not by choice.
"When you cease this blubbering," Aspreay continued, "I pray that your eyes will be more eloquent than your mouth. Look at me with anything other than respect, and those will be forfeit too."
"ENOUGH!" Adam cried out. He stepped between Edmundo and Aspreay, as if shielding the fallen lord. "Be healed," he said again.
When that was finished, he let out a sigh, shifting his gaze to each and all of them. "I assure you that Aspreay will not harm you, no matter what you decide, so long as you are beneath our roof. Penumbria would not betray the sacred law of hospitality. Even should you choose to side with the Emperor. I won''t threaten you, nor will I force you to choose now. You may have three days to think on it."
Adam glared at his ''father''. "Leave." The Painter''s voice was flat, his finger steady as he pointed at the door. "They need clarity, and you''re fogging the room."
Aspreay didn''t argue. He didn''t have to. The smirk on his lips said everything as he turned and walked out, leaving a facsimile of a funeral in his wake.
He didn''t leave alone, however. Adam ¨C after apologizing to the lords once again ¨C exited with him.
A stillness crawled along the hallway, sticking to the walls like tar. Their footsteps were mismatched, Adam walking ahead with too much purpose, and Aspreay trailing behind like a shadow. Neither spoke. The silence was more than heavy ¨C it was alive, a third presence in the corridor, waiting to strike.
And then, when the quiet reached its loudest, it struck.
"I believe that''s far enough now," Aspreay began. "Are we alone?"
Adam closed his eyes, sensing the surrounding area with his Realm. "We are. Do you know how it went?"
Aspreay smirked. "Quite. Even if you can''t use Divine Knowledge to inspect their minds, I can. My Realm is still within the room. They would probably figure it out if they thought of it clearly, but I imagine they were too distracted by my breaking of Edmundo''s knee to do so."
And even if they could, it''s not like they could stop it at that point. "They were attempting to think in other languages," Aspreay noted, "but unfortunately for them, I speak them all ¨C and I do a better job of it."
Wait, aren''t some of those their native languages? Adam thought. Just how arrogant are you?
"The Ladies of Serramar and Almarades seem convinced," Aspreay continued. "Lord Gregorio of Montefirme appears undecided. Predictably, Edmundo is steadfastly against the idea, which hasn''t changed from the start."
Adam slowly nodded. "I suppose that''s as good of a result as we could''ve hoped for." He hadn''t expected the good cop / bad cop routine to be so effective, but alas.
"Thank you," he added. "It wasn''t part of the plan, but...you still went out of your way to act like a good father to me in front of them. I appreciate that."
Aspreay''s brow furrowed deeply. His head tilted slightly, and he studied Adam for a moment with confused fascination, as though his skin had suddenly turned another color. "You think that I was ¨C you think that was a good¨C"
His own confusion interrupted him. "Dragonfire burn me whole, you think that was good? That it was praise? I...you cannot be serious! I insulted you! I belittled you! I spoke of how incompetent you were!"
Adam stared at the nobleman blankly. What was he talking about? "But you also lashed out when Edmundo spoke ill of me," he pointed out. "And the negative things hardly count."
"HARDLY COUNT?" Aspreay''s face twisted with...horror, somehow? "What sort of devil do you hold as your reference to¨C"
He stopped himself with a firm shake of his head. "To hell with it! It matters not!" Aspreay said, as much to Adam as to himself. "This isn''t done yet. We''ve only swayed three and a half out of five."
Adam didn''t fully understand the man''s reaction, but he smirked nonetheless. Things were going quite well, after all.
Bonus Chapter 5
The air grew colder as the walls seemed to press closer, the jagged edges of stone unyielding against Adam''s hands and knees.
"I almost want to become a Puppet just so this doesn''t hurt as much," he muttered under his breath. A sharp corner snagged at his sleeve, tearing fabric and grazing skin.
Ferrero moved ahead without pause. His limbs twisted unnaturally as he went, joints dislocating and snapping back into place with a soft, audible pop. "That''s the spirit ¨C not far now!" the Duelist called, his cheerfulness serving as an unusual backdrop to the suffocating stone above them.
Adam growled in annoyance and kept walking...though by now he thought ''hiking'' to be a more fitting term. His breath was loud in that blue silence, a looping song that rose low and high, then high and low, broken only by the faint rasp of his skin against stone. The smell of damp rock filled his nose, each scrape and cut a quiet reminder of how the Mines tolled its pilgrims in blood.
Their journey through the dark should and would have been infused with pure horror, had it not been so impossibly jovial. At times Adam would hesitate, not knowing where he was, or where their last turn had been ¨C but the Duelist would tap on his back and laugh along, making the trip feel less of a terror and more of an adventure.
Adam even felt vaguely disappointed when they reached their destination sooner than expected. As they exited the pathway, Ferrero stepped aside and swept his arm out, inviting the Painter to gaze upon his homeland.
"Holy shit," Adam let escape, momentarily forgetting the lordly pretense he was trying to carry. "There are so many people here!"
"It pleases me that you call them people," Ferrero said. "Not everyone in the Empire would agree." He was being kind with his words ¨C most wouldn''t. "Are you surprised by the Seventh''s size?"
Adam nodded, gaping at the city before him.
The Seventh Cave felt closer to a shopping district than its namesake. It was technically still a cave, but the place seemed so supernaturally large that Adam wondered if it was even possible for its ceilings and walls to be so wide and far apart without some sort of magical influence.
Three men could have stood on each other''s shoulders without touching the hanging stalactites on the ceiling. Adam could just barely see the cave''s walls at the edge of his vision. He couldn''t see its horizon, his vision blocked by a number of wooden huts of varying heights, situated beside each other in a zigzagging pattern that tired his eyes like an optical illusion.
"Stay close with me," Ferrero reminded, as they stepped forward into the main district. "I''m sure you understand by now, but it''s quite the maze if you aren''t used to it."
Adam smiled in silent agreement. His mind wandered to the many Talents he''d seen, some of them capable of reshaping architecture at an incredible pace. Maybe a cave like this could exist somewhere in the world, but this is still too convenient to be a happy accident.
The Grandmaster had moved his people here after their last city was razed by the Dark Captain. He wouldn''t have had the time to find a subterranean ecosystem this perfect for hiding an entire civilization.
This was the work of a Talent, no doubt about it. That said, it did look far beyond what Adam had seen of people ¨C beyond even what he''d seen the Ghosts accomplish. Only someone with an Emperor-Ranked Talent could have created a city like this.
Knowing that the creator of the sight before him was the man he needed to best in negotiations sent a chill down Adam''s spine. "The Grandmaster must be strong," he remarked.
"Strong enough that he''d likely be able to face the Emperor," replied the Duelist. "Were it not for the Hangmen, I think our Grandmaster would''ve tried for war a long time ago. But facing the Emperor and the Dark Captain...that is a tough task."
And perhaps one I will have to accomplish, Adam thought. Somehow. "Only three people in the whole world have ever evolved their Talent to the Rank of Emperor. It''s interesting to see what each of them did with it. Ciro expanded his Empire and oversaw the slaughter of thousands. The Dark Captain heeds the Crown as if it were the voice of God. And the Grandmaster..."
"The Grandmaster made this," Ferrero finished. "Does it impress you?"
"Aye," said Adam, nodding. "It does."
In some ways, the Seventh Cave felt like a distorted mirror of Penumbria. This particular alcove was the market distract.
Its existence felt like a fragile chaos. Stalls tottered on uneven rock, wares displayed with a care that seemed at odds with their precarious setup. The air hummed with voices, each one layered atop the faint whispers of the Glow, reflecting off the glossy, damp stones around the ceiling.
Adam paused by a stand selling tiny carved figurines, their features etched so finely he wondered if they remembered the hands that made them. It felt alive, and yet... transient.
I know they can''t have been hiding in the Mines for that long, but it''s as if they''ve been living here forever. Another thought stabbed at him with uncomfortable sharpness. Or that they''ve grown accustomed to moving from place to place, forcing themselves to get comfortable quickly...lest nowhere ever feel like home.
Seeing an old man shout ''Apples! Come and buy some ¨C they''re fresh!'' in a wooden stand that tilted sideways due to the uneven, rocky terrain felt just familiar enough to be unsettling. Like watching a family portrait subtly modified to hide a monster in the background.
"Here you go," Ferrero said, handing the Painter some meat on a skewer. "Traditional Puppet fare. The beef comes from the surface, mind you, but the cooking is unique."
How traditional can it be? How long has Puppet society existed? "Thank you." Adam accepted the meat, pulling the first chunk out with his teeth. "Huh. Tastes damn good. What''s the seasoning?"
Ferrero shrugged. Adam was unsurprised that he wasn''t the kind of man to take an interest in food, yet still felt annoyed. How could you taste something, like it, and then show no interest in how to replicate its flavor later?
He was about to voice this thought when he heard a sound. Is that...?
Ferrero sat up beside him and let out a low, amused laugh. "Are you surprised?" he asked. "I would have expected that the sight of children playing is quite normal."
"I''m not disputing the norm here, but..." Adam trailed off.
No one was born a Puppet. The very recently deceased ¨C or in rarer cases, the desperate ¨C could undergo the Grandmaster''s mysterious process and be reborn, often missing memories of their past life. There being children here meant that...
Ferrero sighed. "Children die too." His voice dropped to a more somber version of itself as he took a bite of his skewer. "And even when they don''t, some parents are desperate enough to make them into Puppets instead of letting them fall to the Rot."
Adam opened his mouth, then closed it again. He thought better than to share what he thought ¨C that the current state of the world was unjust. That people should never be so poor, so desperate that they''d willingly resort to transforming their children into what they considered monsters.
There was no way to phrase that without it sounding like some form of insult.
But the Duelist read his intention nonetheless, nodding quietly as if Adam had spoken it aloud. "Don''t mistake my sadness for self-loathing, Lord Painter. I feel no shame in what I am. But knowing that the surface despises us...how terrified must one need to be in order to join us?"
Adam shook his head. "There has to be a better way. Magic, technology ¨C anything that staves off the Rot. The Empire has managed it somehow."
He could hardly forget one of his first encounters after arriving in the Painted World; a literal goddamn vending machine where one exchanged Orbs for safety from the eldritch darkness that threatened to swallow them whole.
"Emperor Ciro clearly has the means to keep the Rot at bay...and he taxes people for the privilege of not being corrupted into a monster," Adam muttered, biting back a curse. He watched the children playing without a care in the world, noting that nearly all of them had a hasty wooden prosthetic in place of limbs. "I wonder if I can convince him otherwise."
Ferrero barked out a laugh. "He ordered the genocide of my people ¨C I doubt kindness is among his qualities."
"Me too," Adam answered, with no small amount of bitterness.
There was a long, heavy pause.
"This needle is quite tricky to thread, you understand," Ferrero began, his tone uneasy.
Adam turned to face him. "I don''t. What needle, and what thread?"
"I want you to see my city and be impressed at our resilience," said the Puppet Duelist. "To marvel at how we have constructed a society, formed our own culture, even whilst attempting to survive annihilation. Yet..."
He interlocked his fingers and rested his chin upon them. "Yet neither do I wish to romanticize our suffering. To make the wanton genocide more palpable whenever bards sing of our beauty. By the Dragons, I wish not for Puppets to be sung of as monsters ¨C but nor do I yearn for a day where this bloodshed is given any meaning beyond the whims of a tyrant who wielded too large of a blade for his sinful hands."
At first, Adam thought there was nothing he could say in response...but that wasn''t right. When someone shows their wounds to you, even if you didn''t have anything to soothe their pain, the least you could do was to show that you listened and cared.
"I can''t even begin to imagine what that feels like," he said, with honesty.
Ferrero laughed weakly. "Hardly blame you for that, my lord! How could you?" He shook his head. "But I do wish there was a way to explain it to others. Maybe then things would be easier."
"Giving a shape to feeling is what art is," came Adam''s reply. At his throat was¨C ''I could make a painting of the Puppets!'' yet there it died. It wouldn''t have felt right. "I could teach you to paint, if you wanted to. Maybe that would help get those feelings out, in a way."
"Me? Paint?" The Duelist asked, his tone incredulous. "You''d sooner learn how to duel."
"I could learn to duel," Adam fired back, a sudden competitiveness about him. "And you could learn how to paint. It doesn''t matter what Talent you were given ¨C I hate that idea, anyway!"
His face twisted into a grimace. "The idea that you can only do something you were born good at is disgusting."
Ferrero held a curious gaze for a long moment. When he finally blinked, it was accompanied by a soft laugh, and a shrug that relaxed his shoulders more than he''d ever shown before. "Very well then, Lord of Paint. I shall take you to my master ¨C and you will learn the basics of dueling."
"Wait, you mean now? Today?" Adam''s voice pitched higher with every word. "Seriously?"
"Not quite so immediately. I must show you the rest of the Puppet Mines first." Ferrero grinned, rising to his feet. "But today, yes."
I had meant it more like a...after this war is settled, sort of deal. Then again, Adam was far too used to ''tomorrow'' turning into ''never.'' He might as well. "Fine. But then I''ll teach you to paint, alright?"
"Of course," the Duelist laughed. "And...I appreciate you wanting me to carve out my own feelings rather than describing them for me. However, don''t mistake respect for passivity. You are Lord of Penumbria; there is too much power in your hands not to use it."
"I''ll use whatever power I have as lord to help Puppets ¨C to help everyone. Art is something else, though. I don''t have any special power there."
Ferrero stared at him blankly. "My lord, you can literally trap the souls of people inside your paintings."
"Yeah, yeah!" Adam grunted. "But, come on, you know what I meant!"
"I do," he answered, with evident amusement. "And I will remind you of what you told me aboard the ship, before the Ghost of Waters attacked: Art has power."
Adam winced. He had said something along those lines. "But you said earlier that you didn''t want bards to make your suffering more palatable."
The Duelist gave a heavy shrug and a sheepish grin. "As I said earlier, my lord, it is a difficult line to thread."
Adam had no response other than a sigh and a smile of his own. "You got me there." He nodded at the busy market. "So ¨C you have more to show me?"
"Aye, my lord!"
¨C
It only took fifteen minutes to move to the Eleventh Cavern, yet Adam felt his breath grow ragged with the numerous climbs and descents ¨C without any visible pattern ¨C he had to undertake. By the end of this visit, I''ll either be in great shape...or dead.
Deep inside, he realized that he was more worried about his exhaustion than the Grandmaster potentially ordering his execution. He was also too tired to care. "Where...are we now?" he asked, hands on his knees and words coming between ragged breaths.
"The Forge District!" Ferrero proudly exclaimed. "If you ever lose a limb ¨C or just feel like modifying yours ¨C this is the place to go!"
A number of wooden stalls were lined up side-by-side, creating a single corridor through the cavern. Hundreds of people had stopped by them, as if casually deciding whether to buy some new jewelry at a local crafts shop.
Except they were buying new arms. Or if not that, they were sitting on wooden chairs and having their seemingly fleshy limbs opened up, then accessorized in a myriad of unusual ways.
Did I just see a man put a knife inside his shoulder? Adam was about to ask for clarification when he saw a woman flex her mechanical arm, watch it emit a blue light, then flex it again for a greener hue as her friends cheered. Parties must be crazy here.
"If we can''t escape what we were born as..." Ferrero trailed off, waiting until Adam met his mischievous eyes. "Might as well have fun with it, eh?"
Only now did Adam consider that Tenver''s giant Puppet arm ¨C the one that, when unconstrained by his heavy armor, unfurled into a limb so large it reached the ground ¨C could have been intentional in some fashion.
Then again...he wanted to hide his Puppetry more badly than anyone else. I don''t think he would''ve done that just to fire off giant warbows. "Do you have any unique attachments?" Adam asked.
"Me?" Ferrero''s surprise was plain. "My lord, I could never! That would be cheating in a duel."
Adam chose not to engage this logic, accepting that he would never understand it. "Of course."
¨C
The next place they visited was, blessedly, less exhausting to get to.
"Welcome to the Pool of Memories," Ferrero declared, as if standing on a stage. "Where we dream of our past lives!"
"Really?" Adam''s eyebrow shot up as he shifted his neck to peer past the Puppet''s shoulder. "I ¨C that''s a lot to drop on me all of a sudden. How? I thought that if you lost your memories after becoming a Puppet, then they were gone for good."
Ferrero brushed the back of his head and chuckled awkwardly. "When you ask me to explain it like that...I can offer you no answer, Lord of Paint." He turned to gaze at the water, his eyes sparkling with nostalgia. "I have no idea. But sometimes we receive visions ¨C memories, I like to think, of who we were back then."
This cave was narrower than the last ones. When combined with the large crowds gathering around the pool, it created an oppressive, claustrophobic atmosphere. "We picked a bad time to come here," Ferrero apologized, although he didn''t hesitate in dragging Adam forward by the arm and pushing through the crowd. "But it will be worth it!"
It''d better be, Adam grumbled. Not a fan of crowds.
When the pair had finally pushed past enough people to get a good view, Adam hesitated. The underground lake was filled with shimmering, phosphorescent water, as if eternally in motion from invisible souls swimming through its gentle glow. But there was no one in the water ¨C you had to make appointments to swim there, Ferrero told him.
No one knows how this works...but it''s a part of their lives, Adam marveled. It''s only been hours since I stepped off the boat, and I''ve already witnessed a sight unlike anything on the surface.
And the day was still young.
¨C
There was so much more than he could comprehend in a single quick overview of the city. Adam knew he would need years to learn everything about this place, and that he would never fully see all of it as a visitor. It was just how life worked.
If his knowledge of the caves was to be eternally incomplete, however, then it wouldn''t be because Ferrero didn''t try hard enough. The Duelist was dedicated to showing him everything possible ¨C Adam''s exhaustion be damned.
He took him to the Cavern of Growth, where towering mushrooms as tall as any tree on the surface, and surrounded by a small forest of plants, emitted a soft, fluorescent glow. How are those growing here? Is that giant fungus working like a substitute sun?
"Nothing like fresh fruit," Ferrero said, smirking as he handed Adam some strange approximation of a coconut. The Painter hesitantly took a bite out of it, thinking, Huh. It''s actually not bad.
He took him to the Singing Stones, a cavern colder than any other ¨C and the only one to feature a constant, chilly breeze of wind that sent a chill down his spine from the moment he set foot there. That sound...is it the wind blowing against the rock? It must be. It can''t be anything else. But it feels...weird. Different.
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"The Older Puppets tell many a tale of this melody," Ferrero said. "They herald it as the souls of those lost to the Rot, singing from their eternal damnation, warning us not to suffer the same fate."
He took him to the First Hearth, a sort of communal cavern where they were all served food without having to pay a single Orb. It''s like a tavern, Adam thought, admiring the wooden tables and seats arranged near a single bar counter.
"Making a living is quite difficult for those of us who can''t recall what their Talent is," Ferrero explained. "The Grandmaster thought it better that food be free here ¨C even if it''s not the most delicious. It isn''t unusual to celebrate and spend time with your friends here...though if you have the Orbs, you''d likely prefer going somewhere that has more unique food and drink."
Adam was practically bursting with curiosity about that, and the Puppet was more than happy to oblige ¨C so much so that sometimes the Painter hadn''t even finished thinking of a question before getting an answer.
They soon went to a medical cavern of sorts, whereupon newborn Puppets were given care to acclimatize to their new reality. Afterwards, they headed to a wide, albeit not particularly tall cavern, where Puppets laughed, ordered drinks and...tossed axes at targets?
"It''s a hobby," Ferrero explained, almost apologetically.
"No, I get it ¨C I''m fond of axe throwing myself," Adam said quickly. "I just didn''t expect the city to have so much...entertainment."
He silently clenched his fist remembering Penumbria ¨C remembering his city. They barely have enough food to last through winter. The Puppets are living much better than them...and they''re not just surviving, they''re thriving.
As someone who used to be a poor college student sinking into debt, Adam knew the stark difference between the two.
"If it''s entertainment you want to see, my lord," Ferrero said, smirking, "then I know just where to take you ¨C the Theater of Echoes!"
Adam could immediately tell that this was where Ferrero had wanted to take him all along. Everything else had been a prelude to not make seem biased towards the place...especially since he clearly was. The Painter would''ve known that from any amount of ways.
From the posters indicating that the Theater of Echoes was about not only music, plays, and the like, but also swordsmanship ¨C duels took place on the stage here, as well as lessons.
From how the Puppet''s eyes beamed with happiness as he flashed his identification, leading Adam through a set of grumpy, armored soldiers.
And most of all, from the man who stood on stage...and the aura surrounding him.
But to speak of the man was to speak of the stage, for they felt one and the same. It would be fairer for a man of his artistic inclinations to describe that hallowed ground before speaking of the first time Adam laid his eyes on the Master of Steel.
The theater itself was both luxurious and rugged, with furniture reminiscent enough of the surface to feel imported rather than local. Always expensive, no matter the country. Rows of tiered, elegant benches stretched out in a semicircular embrace. Each was level carved from the cavern''s stone, and each seat was individualized with a set of bright, scarlet velvet-like material that felt plush and unaffected by the moisture surrounding them all. It all glimmered faintly and invitingly.
Such elegance was made for the audience to surround, encompass, and witness the grand stage overlooking the middle ¨C a tall platform of polished, raised obsidian that reflected a soft light to draw the eyes of every man and woman towards the players on-stage. Adam had to force himself to tear his eyes away from the center to look what surrounded the actors, for his brains to understand what his eyes only wanted to marvel at.
Behind the stage, the cavern wall served as a natural backdrop, its surface covered in that strange fungus which illuminated the entirety of the Puppet Mines. The wall itself felt alive, subtly shifting with every movement of the actors, like it drank in the sound and reflected it back in faint whispers.
Adam''s mouth hung open for a moment and spoke without his permission. "I wish I could paint it," he muttered.
At first he regretted saying the words ¨C then relaxed upon seeing the gladdened, satisfied look on Ferrero''s face. An insistent voice in the back of his mind warned him to look more regal, refined, dignified: You are the Lord of Penumbria. Act like it. Lords can''t be seen admiring the works of commoners.
He silenced the voice with fire. I am a painter before I am a lord, he thought, banishing the obligation. I am an artist, and I will admire artistry.
And what artistry it was.
Adam''s attention rose upward to the ceiling. Higher than even the tallness of the docks, this one was more beautiful than functional. The walls did not simply reach the ceiling; they curved in impossibly symmetrical beauty, flowing lines of gold and silver trailing along the edges and crevices like constellations shining bright in a night sky.
Do those help with the acoustics of the place? Is it easier to hear the performers even if they''re way up top? Is this physics, magic, or some type of Puppet technology?
A soft, gentle breeze touched Adam''s face, refreshing yet not cold. It hummed with an energy he couldn''t quite place, a reverberation that lived in the stone itself. Every step sang faint echoes, summoning sounds that lingered long past when their memory should have died. As if the theater itself clung on to every sound, every motion, every life that had stood upon it like a proud memory.
"I can almost hear it," Adam found himself whispering. "The sounds of past performances. The applause. The laughter. The crying." It felt so real, so present. He was certain that if he reached out into the air itself, he could grasp the ghosts of a time long past.
And yet, despite everything, despite the stage''s mystique and grandeur...it failed to hide the rough edges of the cavern.
All of the technology, all of the magic, all of the effort in the world couldn''t hide the bittersweetness that came with having to live so far beneath the surface ¨C so distant from the warm touch of the sun. Not even the Grandmaster''s overwhelming might could''ve erased that burning sensation from them.
But he could.
"Ladies and gentleman," said the man on the stage. "I welcome you to today''s performance." His voice was booming, to the point it would have echoed even outside of the Scarlet Theater. "Be silent, and gaze upon my most beautiful work!"
Adam watched as curtains rose, the play unfolding in a silent awe that overshadowed his confusion.
He should have wondered why he found himself so enthralled by the man, so captivated by his mannerisms, or even what kind of play he was about to watch. Instead he merely leaned forward and immersed himself, not wanting to miss a single second.
The man unsheathed his sword. In one scene he danced between opponents, a whirlwind of flashing steel. In another scene he declared his undying love for his wife, baring a soul full of passion.
He was talented in both respects, yet the swordsmanship took Adam''s notice moreso than the acting itself. This man was a believable, charismatic performer with the rare gift of being able to make you cheer for him. The audience believed in his every word, regardless of how melodramatic his proclamations may have been.
And they were very over the top.
"Fiends die, devils cry, and my blade takes your heart, foul monster!" the man cried out, dancing his blade around his opponent and disarming them, before parrying a blow from another. "Do you think yourself able to best me? Then mayhaps thou does not think!"
Each absurd, dramatic line was delivered in a tone that should have taken them out of the moment ¨C yet with an earnestness that kept them there regardless. The man believed in his absurdities...and Adam found himself believing in him.
It was only when the play paused for a short intermission that the Painter''s thoughts caught up to him. With belated realization, he understood why the man''s swordsmanship had felt so astounding.
"That stage fighting..." Adam said. "It isn''t really staged fighting, is it?"
Ferrero grinned. "No. It''s part of why this play is so exciting. That''s a real swordfight, and the plot is decided by how the actors fight. Should the hero lose, we will watch him and his loved ones die. Should he win, we''ll see him overcome the monster and save the princess."
Adam lifted an eyebrow. That was a rather novel approach. It made for less choreographed fighting, which meant the audience would have a harder time parsing their movements if sitting in the back rows.
But the very real tension that the hero could lose and fail his quest...it made every ambush feel threatening, every twist that much heavier.
And this sensation only grew stronger as the plot progressed. By the time the play reached its climax, with the heroic Champion having to face an unfair fight against five different duelists clad in white, Adam found himself joining the crowd in crying out, "NO! DODGE!"
It was too late.
The Hero gasped, clutching at his side as blood seeped through his tunic. His sword slipped from his fingers, hitting the stage with a metallic clang. The five duelists surrounded him, their practiced steps forming a deadly promise. Each blade gleamed, their reflections flickering in the stage.
No¨C! Adam felt a cauldron of frustration and anxiety boiling within. Of all the days ¨C I want to see a happy ending! Come on, that''s not, don''t do this to me!
"They called you the Sword of the Dragons," the first villain said, circling like a vulture. "But a scion of the gods should not bleed like a man."
The second sneered, pointing his blade at the Champion''s chest. "Is this all you have, Dragonblade? A puddle of blood and some broken pride?"
The third chuckled darkly, the chain in his hands spinning furiously, getting faster with every rotation, humming with a sound that promised it would be thrown in his direction at any moment.
Blood trailed from the Hero''s side, his breathing shallow yet steady. His grip tightened on nothing, as if preparing to summon more than just his strength.
"They call you Champion," taunted one of the men in white. "Yet it appears that even your brilliance has met its match."
"They call me Champion," said the Hero, "for that is the title my blade has earned in my hometown!"
"If you are truly deserving of the title," said the man in white, "then why do you kneel on the ground, watching evil triumph over you?"
The Man in White''s longsword descended¨C
"It is quite simple," said the Hero calmly. "It is precisely because I am Champion."
¨Cand met the ground.
It happened in the scarcest blink of an eye. The Hero sidestepped the attack with a challenging elegance, making a show of the motion. He watched as the Villain''s steel sank into the stage...then placed one foot on it.
Then another.
The Villain lifted his blade high in the air, attempting to free it from beneath the Hero''s foot. He succeeded in raising the sword, yet...
"It is because a Champion''s duel," he cried out, "MUST¨CBE¨CEN¨CTER¨CTAIN-ING!"
The Hero stood with both feet on the Villain''s sword, his arms wide and his smile earnest, drinking in the crowd''s cheers.
"Do you always have to do this shit, Merry Man?!" The Villain swung his blade, attempting to throw him off.
The Hero ¨C no, the Champion ¨C leaped off, flipping mid-air and landing with one knee to the ground, and his sword arm extended towards the empty air by his side. "Aye. Always! For entertainment isn''t merely a luxury ¨C it is a necessity!"
All five swordsmen rushed up at once, but the Champion showed no sign of fear. "I ought to let the world think I can lose before proving otherwise, at least." He revealed a smirk at the same time he revealed his lost sword, regained during the last clash. "And now¨C! My job¨C! Is¨C!"
His lips said little else.
His sword''s voice thundered across the theatre.
One by one, as if the Champion had been waiting for the deafening cheering from the crowd, each villain fell in a single stroke of his blade.
Immediately, from the depths of his soul, Adam could tell that they''d truly been trying to best him. They weren''t purely acting.
But the Champion was. He was acting injured, acting unsure, herding the crowd''s emotions to where he wanted before displaying his true skill. None of his dueling was particularly pragmatic ¨C it all felt as choreographed and ludicrous as a regular stage play.
Such was the gap between their ability.
Such was¨C
"MERRIVALE!" cried the man, bowing to greet the deafening applause as curtains fell. "This world heralds me as the Merry Man, and most known me by Merrivale. I stand today honored to have given you this show."
The theater roared with approval, a cacophony of hands and voices merging into a single, overpowering force. Adam clapped until the sting shot through his palms, a grin carving its way across his face. The sound was too much, too loud, too alive, too strong. He wanted to remain detached from it, to keep his composure until he at least spoke to the Grandmaster. A thousand reasons to help him not care about the story unfolding before him came to mind¨C
And he burned them all. Adam let the passion wash over him, embracing the moment and forgetting about everything else.
Suddenly, Merrivale closed his hand. The crowd fell silent. For a moment Adam thought this to be some kind of Talent, yet after inspecting himself found nothing of the sort controlling his voice.
"I have three announcements to make."
A hush fell over the crowd. It was the kind of silence that only a mixture of curiosity and anticipation could spawn. Adam didn''t need to look around to know every person in the crowd had reacted much like himself; leaning far enough forward as to be slightly hunched, neck raised for their eyes to stay focused on the handsome man on stage.
This silence, he felt, wasn''t oppressive ¨C it was electric.
"My first announcement is simple. My dear Puppet Mines!" Merrivale boomed with a sudden loudness. For one long second, he held a strong silence and a stronger gaze. "KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, their applause rolling like a wave through the cavern. Adam felt the sound vibrate in his chest, its energy unrelenting, lifting the air with shared exhilaration. Part of him wanted to question how the hell that qualified as an announcement.
The other part wanted to join in on the cheer.
"My second announcement! Thanks to the efforts of a set of brave warriors ¨C including my disciple Ferrero Acerro ¨C the accursed Ghost of Waters which had damned so many ships has been DESTROYED!"
Adam clapped, rather animatedly too, although his excitement was no match for the rest of the crowd. Little surprise that they would celebrate the death of a Ghost.
He paused mid-clap. Wait...did he just say Ferrero is his apprentice? That¨C
"And by my count...why, I have one last announcement to give, don''t I?"
Merrivale let the silence stretch, his gaze sweeping over the crowd as if savoring their anticipation. He raised a hand, prompting every murmur and whisper to fade away.
"Finally..." he began, his voice low and measured, drawing the words out. "For the third announcement..." He paused again, a small sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Merrivale''s hand extended, slicing through the air with deliberate grace. His gaze swept past the crowd, honing in on Adam as if the rest of the world had fallen away.
"You," he declared, his voice like thunder.
Before Adam could react, the Swordmaster delivered the lightning. "At the request of my disciple, I will personally train Adam Arcanjo, Lord of Penumbria, the one directly responsible for the slaying of the Ghosts of Flames and Waters!"
Like a thousand swords drawn in unison ¨C and feeling every bit as dangerous ¨C every gaze in the theater fell on Adam.
He gave them a frozen smile, the kind he''d hoped to save for an existential crisis, or before accepting his impending demise. It was the type of smile that said, I''m handling this terribly, but we all agree to pretend otherwise, yes?
Slowly, he turned to look at Ferrero. I''m supposed to keep a low profile! Bragging about killing the Ghost of Waters isn''t going to make the Grandmaster like me any more. Adam sent him a wordless gaze, one that was both an explanation and a silent plea for help.
The Duelist responded with a thumbs up and a proud grin. As if he genuinely thought there was nothing wrong with having arranged this ¨C or worse, as if he''d done an actual favor.
Adam''s lips tightened as he peered around, glancing at the theatre, then Ferrero, and then finally at the Swordmaster on stage. A hundred concerns stabbed at his soul, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind, and a single, nearly inaudible word left his lips.
"Fuck."
Bonus Chapter 6
With a wary heart, Adam stood up to the chorus of a thousand cheers. Not for me, he reminded himself. The Puppets wouldn''t have cheered for an Imperial Lord if threatened or bribed. Those cheers are for Merrivale...and for the curtain rising on a new show.
Their fervor was a joyous threat. Adam couldn''t stay in his seat lest he offend them and further worsen his negotiating position with the Grandmaster. Not that dueling the Puppets'' Champion would be much better for his reputation ¨C chances were he was going to make a fool out of himself.
But I still have to try.
Adam took his first step onto the stage, feeling the weight of a thousand eyes and the enmity of a thousand wronged citizens. The cheers were deafening, almost enough to drown out the voice in his head that screamed, ''This is a mistake! Run, now!''
One step. Then another. He focused not on the impossible stakes, not on his unlikely chances, and not on the deafening sound so loud it shook the ground beneath his feet ¨C but solely on the path forward.
Though the sound was especially difficult to ignore.. The Puppets'' cheers rolled like thunder, a cacophony of faceless animals with endless hunger and boundless thirst.
My blood. That''s what they want ¨C the blood of an Imperial Lord. A vengeance that would normally be impossible to them...unless one delivered himself right to their doorstep.
Merrivale grinned like a devil, his sword twirling in a performative rhythm. Their eyes locked. The Painter felt the stage tilt underneath and his world tremble, understanding that he had entered a realm that was not his own.
I may be a Lord, but he rules this stage.
It was an acknowledgment, not a stutter of fear. He accepted his reality ¨C and chose to defy it. There''s too much on the line to let something like this overwhelm me.
"I''ve heard much about you," said Merrivale, tilting his neck backwards, but never shifting away his eyes. "Ah, to be so young...and already so legendary!"
Adam laughed politely. "You flatter me, Champion. There can''t have been that much you''ve heard about me."
"Easy there. Show care when speaking of impossibilities ¨C life has a way of making us fools, Young Lord! For example..."
Merrival''s whimsical tone took a sharp turn into seriousness. "Bards sing that you were not raised as a Lord."
The silence dropped like a guillotine, sudden and absolute. Adam fought the urge to shift his weight or glance away. He could feel the crowd''s focus tighten around him.
Swallowing his fear and summoning his duty, he forced a mask of confidence onto his face. "Bards sing of many things," the Painter quietly said.
"They sing of many things, they do!" Merrivale replied, in a much more boisterous voice. His words were deliberately simple, purposefully repeating what Adam had said, but louder, more memorably, with wild arm gestures to ensure that even those seated far away could understand the importance of his words.
This isn''t a conversation; it''s a spectacle. At that moment, Adam hated the man for putting so much pressure on him...but at same time, he couldn''t avoid ¨C hell, he didn''t even want to avoid ¨C feeling impressed by Merrivale''s professionalism and dedication to his craft.
And this professional was devoted to putting on a show. "Know this, my dear Lord of Penumbria! This tongue of mine speaks no idle gossip, only the truth! My sources extend beyond mere songs, don''t you know? Different people, from different areas of life, they all confirm it¨C! You were Aspreay''s son, raised not as a noble but as one of the common people, and you took over Penumbrian rule after your father tragically fell ill."
The murmurs in the crowd began low and rose steadily like a tide. Adam caught no words, but he did feel the atmosphere...and contrary to his expectations, it wasn''t one of hatred. Perhaps ''curiosity'' was a closer feeling to that elusive sound, if not a touch of ¨C could it be? ¨C approval, somehow.
How did the story of my lineage spread to the Puppet Mines? A false story, at that. In reality, Adam had trapped Lord Aspreay''s soul in a painting, stolen both his Talent and title as Lord of Penumbria, then conspired with Tenver to spread lies of his ancestry in order to legitimize his title.
Except...those lies had just started making the rounds above-ground. They weren''t commonly known even within the Empire. While Adam should''ve been pleased that his fabricated ancestry was gaining traction, he only felt unnerved that the rumors had reached Merrivale''s ears at all. Well, at least he believes them.
A sudden glimmer in the Champion''s eye stabbed at the Painter''s fears. Or...does he? Is he just playing along for some reason?
Adam curled his hand into a fist, yet maintained a level expression. "Why speak of my birth, dear Champion? Does it matter if my mother was without title?"
What''s your game, Merrivale?
Anyone versed in noble gossip would''ve realized that the important distinction was not Adam''s upbringing, or what his mother''s title was, but rather the existence of a mother at all. Aspreay''s preferences were the worst-kept secret in the Empire. Someone with the connections to receive obscure news from the surface would be well-aware of that.
Maybe he was overthinking things. Maybe he was reading too much into a single glance. But no matter how much Adam tried to quell his paranoia, he couldn''t shake the impression that Merrivale already knew the truth.
If so...
Adam''s smile was polite. His voice was pleasant. And his eyes were a raised blade ready to duel. If you want to play this game, I''ll do you one better ¨C I''ll beat you at it.
Do your worst, Champion.
"Surely!" Adam repeated the word as if it were a whole sentence, projecting his voice so the entire theater would hear its echo. "That I was not educated as a noble should hardly be a problem. Not when I have capable advisors and trusted friends."
He waited a beat to strengthen his verbal blow. "Your disciple among them."
"And I am most pleased for your acquaintanceship," Merrivale replied, without so much as a pause. "I mention your birth not to blame ¨C but to praise. The word amongst the Penumbrian people is that you are a kinder lord than Aspreay ever was. That you forsook parties, banished nobles, and used your own personal treasury to prepare your people for this oncoming winter."
So you do know everything. What he''d just said was true, but it wasn''t included in the stories Adam had chosen to spread to neighbouring cities. The other Lords would''ve taken offense if he''d made them look bad, and his position was tenuous enough as it was. Still, he couldn''t simply let his people starve to death, so having the bards downplay his support of the common folk had been necessary.
Why lie about my parentage, then? Is this a power play? Do you want to hold it over my head? Threaten to expose me to the Grandmaster? Or¨C
The noise around him surged once more, jagged, raw, and unstoppable. It went beyond cheering ¨C this was adulation akin to a religious sermon. What the hell had Merrivale done to have the crowd so invested in his every word?
Merrivale bowed. "If anything, my Lord, I believe your common birth is why you care so much more for the common people than those others. If only the Empire could have more lords like yourself...! Ah, to imagine¨C!"
This man could sell rain to a storm, Adam thought, half in awe, half in dread. Merrivale''s words weren''t just convincing ¨C they were undeniable, even to a crowd filled with people wronged by the Empire.
Nearly every Puppet here was once an Imperial Citizen. All of them had either died in bitterness, abandoned by their own Emperor, or had sought out the Mines in despair when their City Lord responded to desperate pleas with a careless shrug. They hated the Empire, the nobles, and the world that drove them to their choices.
But someone who was, in many ways, like them? Who had merely happened to grasp his power by chance? Who was already saving people in desperate need ¨C just as they wished someone had done for them, so long ago?
That, they could cheer for.
And Merrivale is...damn, saying he''s ''popular'' would be underselling it. The Champion basked in their cheers, his arms wide and his closed eyes aimed at the ceiling, as if embracing a torrential rain. He suddenly stood straighter and spun his blade in a graceful arc, feeding the crowd''s fervor with practiced precision.
It was with this same precision that he had mentioned Ferrero and Adam''s joint efforts against the Ghost of Waters ¨C to make the people think of Adam as someone aligned with him.
Merrivale''s steps echoed across the cavern, his sword trailing sparks of the strange glimmering light that bathed the Mines in an ethereal glow. The Champion walked from one side of the stage to another, seemingly trying to make eye contact with every single person in a theatre that could house hundreds; welcoming the crowd''s adoration like an old friend he often saw, yet never grew weary of spending time with.
He repeated this fervent dance across the stage twice, three times, and encouraged the crowd to scream again before he appeared satisfied enough. Then, whilst the deafening sound of the crowd still shattered the theater, Merrivale approached Adam casually. The man leaned in with an almost conspiratorial grin, whispering in a tone that was far too conversational:
"Earth. A fascinating place, I hear?"
Like a cold grip of ice, Adam''s breath froze in his throat.
He knows. His pulse quickened. He knows I''m not from this world. Somehow, he''s the very first person who ¨C how?
Instinctively, Adam leapt away from Merrivale as if he were a Stained Creature, a monster from the Rot itself. His nerves were more aflame than if the man had struck at him with steel. Do I have to fight him? Do I have to kill him? Do I¨C
Merrivale clapped his hands and called for the crowd''s silence. "Lord Adam of Penumbria has accepted my invitation for a lesson! WE SHALL NOW BEGIN!"
"YOU''RE TRYING TO MAKE THIS PART OF THE SHOW?!"
Adam''s shout was completely muffled by the audience''s thunderous response. Electricity crackled in the air, the thrill and tension cutting like steel. The stage beneath him felt alive, thrumming with energy.
He wasn''t ready. He''d never be ready. But he moved anyway, knowing only one thing ¨C that he was at peace with being a challenger, with aspiring to reach a Champion he couldn''t possibly best.
It''s your right as a genius to not take me seriously...and it''s my right as a common person to want to take you down anyway.
Adam let the crowd''s fervor infect him. A smile came unbidden to his face. He refused to be overwhelmed, intending to make the so-called Champion pay for every inch he took.
It wasn''t because looking weak in front of a huge audience would erode his position as Lord of Penumbria. That was part of it, to be sure...but just the rational part. His driving voice, the loudest voice, was much simpler¨C
If I''m standing on a stage, he thought, his Stained Ink swirling beneath his sleeves, then I refuse to be anything but the leading character!
Only one thing held him back, and even then only barely: the fact that his Stained Ink would make him look like a monster born of the Rot. He couldn''t let them know that¨C
Merrivale swept his blade through the air, his voice carrying above the roaring wave of the crowd''s emotions. "Oh, behold, dear audience! The mighty Lord of Ink graces us! Shall we witness the brilliance of his Talent, the artistry of his soul?"
His words were a symphony of drama and flair ¨C no, worse. He was the conductor, and the people were his orchestra, his instruments.
"Do not think that we know not," Merrivale went on, his voice carrying an odd rhythm. "This is a city of Puppets! This very audience is filled with beings crafted by the Grandmaster himself ¨C do you think they''ve failed to detect the Rot within you? They haven''t simply heard the rumors, they know of it!"
There...was so much to unpack in what the Swordmaster had just said that Adam didn''t even know where to start.
One, he was implying there were rumors of Adam''s Stained ability. How? The Painter had used it while aboard the ship with his allies, but they hadn''t been allowed outside until very recently.
I have the Captain''s Talent, and I know for a fact that no one left the ship until I did, Adam thought. Not even a raven carrying a letter.
Two, he was loudly stating that everyone was aware of Adam''s Stained influence. A mild level of suspicion was to be expected ¨C Puppets were able to sense the Rot, and had been created partially for that purpose. But they couldn''t have known for sure until the Swordsmaster declared it so brazenly.
Third, and perhaps most importantly...
He said I tamed it. Not that it infected me, but that I tamed it, then used it to defeat the Ghost troubling the Mines.
Actually, if Adam was thinking charitably...perhaps there''d been no way of hiding his ability from the Puppets long-term. The Champion, aware of this, chose to instead shape the narrative of how they perceived it.
Considering how popular he seemed, maybe this approach would¨C
"Show us!" Merrivale''s sudden roar cut Adam''s thoughts short. "Do you think the people of the Mines so cowardly as to be afraid of it? What do you say, my dear audience?"
He twirled his rapier to conduct their roars like an orchestra. "Show us the horror that you''ve smithed into your steel!"
Adam took a moment to process the situation.
Between being betrayed by his best friend, transported into another world, stealing a Lord''s soul, becoming a lord, killing two ghosts ¨C all in all, he liked to think that he was fairly adaptable. The fact that he hadn''t crumbled under the weight of it all, even when overwhelmed by a barrage of disquieting information, meant that he was reasonably good at rolling with the punches.
Which meant that despite his frustration over being subjected to so many surprises in a row...he was still more excited than anything else.
After all ¨C the show must go on.
Stained Ink coiled and uncoiled like living vines, wrapping around his arms in a dance of defiance. It twisted with an eerie glow, a dark energy that pulsed in the same tempo as his heartbeat. Ink raced inside his veins, pumping oxygen through his body faster than blood ever could, accelerating his movements, his speed of thought, and most of all, the raw power behind his strike.
The Ink spurred his legs to leap faster and longer than what any normal person could have accomplished. His vault was paired with unnatural, otherworldly ink swirling around his arm, like vines stretching forward and sharpening into a blade. It was an attack far quicker, far stronger, and far more sudden than what any person or Puppet should''ve been able to deliver.
And then¨C
Merrivale parried it.
He didn''t seem to use a special Talent or magic to match Adam''s power. In fact, there wasn''t any power in his move at all. The Swordmaster had encircled the Painter''s Inkblade from underneath, using the strong part of his rapier to gently tap the middle of the weapon to the side, like a gentle touch on someone''s back as they ran past you.
Adam certainly felt like that, as his attack ended with him missing Merrivale entirely. The two of them ended their exchange on the opposite ends of the stage, having traded places, neither looking worse for the wear.
He didn''t attack me when my back was turned...so he doesn''t really mean to kill me. That was good news, at least.
"Timing is more important than strength," Merrivale told him, in a strangely kind tone. "Remember this, if nothing else, Lord of Penumbria."
Adam reached for his Stained Ink. Merrivale may have managed to evade him once, but that didn''t matter. This world had strict rules about how Talents and Ranks interacted ¨C no amount of skill could change that. If I make the Ink flow faster in my veins...if I convert more of my blood¨C
"Careful," Merrivale said, his voice almost scholarly as he lunged with deadly precision. "You don''t know how your Talents work, do you?"
Adam used his enhanced speed to retreat with frantic backsteps, feeling the rapier briefly touch his neck before he could put himself at a safe distance. "Lecture me or kill me ¨C but for the love of god, not both."
"You must use your Talents wisely," Merrivale continued. "Do you not feel the staining of your Canvas?"
His voice was quiet now, too muffled by the crowd''s own cheers for them to hear his words. Immediately upon locking eyes with the Swordmaster, Adam understood ¨C everything up until now had been for the people of the Mines.
This part was for him.
"Don''t feel ashamed, I was much the same way," Merrivale jovially confessed. "People grow up with their Talents, their Canvases. To them, it''s such a natural feeling they don''t know how to explain it to you ¨C nay, worse! They simply cannot explain it. Such ability is beyond them."
His roguish grin said what the Swordmaster thought, as plainly as if he''d said it aloud.
''But there is nothing beyond me.''
"The inside of your soul is a canvas, my dear lord. Does that not please an artist such as yourself? Knowing that this world behaves according to what you, specifically, value the most? What a stroke of good fortune!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Adam cried out, advancing with his sword at the man once again.
Merrivale nonchalantly pushed the Painter''s blade away. "Think again ¨C have you ever been inside your Canvas?"
The memory struck him like a sudden burn upon a scar that hadn''t fully healed. Adam remembered a vast, formless expanse, white as far as the eye could see. The Ghost of Waters had met him there to speak of his ''Canvas'', gesturing at the other creatures that resided there.
The souls that I trapped, he thought. Nothing else. Just pure white.
"I...once." Adam''s response came between his own attacks. He no longer expected them to land, and didn''t even feel any animosity towards Merrivale. His attacks were now part of the dance ¨C a rhythmic performance for the crowd. "I met the Ghost of Waters there."
"And it wasn''t full of the darkened blob of Ink that my lovely people call Rot, was it?" Merrivale asked, between a parry and a riposte. "It was colored after your soul."
Adam stumbled as the Swordmaster drew a slight pinprick of blood from him. "I...sort of. It was blank. There...was nothing there."
"Ah. Well, you are young. It is normal for your soul to be unpainted."
Despite not understanding the full meaning of those words, Adam felt their stab nonetheless. It was enough that his grip on his Inkblade relaxed by a sliver ¨C allowing Merrivale to disarm him and approach, suddenly using his blade as a shield to spin around the Painter and end up behind him.
The Swordmaster easily outwrestled him in that distance, holding his arms around his neck, yet the Stained Ink inside Adam''s veins gave him the strength to fight back. Neither could overpower the other, both of them locked in a standstill.
"It''s alright," Merrivale whispered into his ear. "You don''t know what you''re doing, who you are, or even what you like." His voice was soft and paternal in a way that Adam had scarcely heard before. "Your canvas will be full of color soon enough ¨C you won''t have to put up with the loneliness for much longer."
Adam felt a necessary urge to push the man away. When he wrestled to free himself from Merrivale''s grip, his desperation was not because he feared for his life, but because he feared having to answer the man honestly.
I don''t want to think about things like that ¨C I need to focus on Penumbria! My duty to those people living there! I can''t waste time worrying about¨C
His thoughts were cut short by an approaching blade. "When you use a Talent," Merrivale explained, falling into a fencing stance and speaking casually, "you temporarily Stain your Canvas with something similar to the Rot. So long as you don''t overuse it, this should be temporary. A day or two at the most. But it means you cannot, must not, and will not overuse it."
That...mostly made sense. Cities like Penumbria possessed magical Realm Walls to protect them from Stained Monsters. If there wasn''t a limitation on the overuse of Talents, Lords would be able to freely remove and rebuild the Walls without issue, and Simon hadn''t seen anything like that yet.
Tenver mentioned before that Lords could quickly remove and rebuild Walls in case of emergency, but that it was something they liked to avoid. Thought it was because they were afraid of monsters getting into their city and attacking people ¨C should''ve known it''s more selfish than that. They''re just afraid of dying from overusing their Canvases. It''s probably extremely difficult for them to reconstruct their Realms right after undoing them.
However, one detail didn''t add up. "Why are you telling me all of this?" Adam asked. ''How do you know this?'' was another, arguably more important question, but also one he didn''t expect to be answered. "You could have traded this information with me instead of giving it away for free. I''m a Lord. I have a lot to give."
"You do," Merrivale acknowledged, "and you already have. Our trade was finished aboard that ship of yours, where you fulfilled your side of the deal. This is merely a rendering of payment owed unto you."
Adam inhaled deeply, although it didn''t steady his mind as he''d hoped. Merrivale was neither toying nor killing him. Instead, he had a third motivation...one that the Painter couldn''t quite piece together.
"Oh, forgive me," Merrivale apologized. "I thought your apparent confusion was intentional on your part ¨C that you thought it would make for a better show." He rolled his shoulders back, arms loose at his sides as if he were warming up for a duel, like the two of them hadn''t been crossing blades until now.
The tilt of his chin was confident, the subtle arch of his brows challenging, and the smooth flick of his wrist commanding. His blade caught a shining glimmer of stage light, erupting the crowd into applause once more. "It''s simple, truly. My dear disciple is alive thanks to your intervention. More than gratitude, I owe you a debt no normal person could afford to repay."
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Adam shook his head nervously. "That''s not¨C"
"But there is nothing I cannot afford, and as such, I shall enrich you today. Were I the Grandmaster, you''d have all the coin you requested. Were I some master of the arcane, I would gift you magic to solve your problems. But I am neither of those ¨C I am a duelist and a performer. And so what I give to you is skill and love."
He raised his sword. "Skill from me." He gestured to the crowd. "Love from them."
With a smile on his face, Merrivale advanced yet again.
Adam couldn''t have said how long the show went for. Five minutes? Fifty minutes? A day? All answers felt reasonable. Sweat dripped from his brow, his legs screamed in agony, his shoulder pulsed with soreness ¨C and yet the crowd''s cheers prompted him to ignore his own body.
Their sword practice continued on and on, an elegant cycle of attacks, lessons, and showing off for the audience.
And...briefly...if only for a single moment...
Adam felt light. As if the responsibility weighing on his shoulders had ceased to exist. On that stage, he was no longer a lord, or a man desperate to survive, or even an actor putting on a performance.
He was just a guy having fun learning about swordsmanship. Merrivale didn''t give the Painter free wins, but neither did he seek to embarrass him. The Champion fought with the intent to teach, instructing Adam in-between each exchange, highlighting strengths and weaknesses while building up his foundation.
This...probably feels like playing catch with your father, he thought, absently.
Stab, parry, dodge, lunge. They fell into a rhythm of footwork and steel. The adulation of the crowd became secondary to the comforting burn of Adam''s muscles. His responsibilities would still be there when this dance finally concluded, but right now, they all seemed so very distant. It almost felt like this moment would last forever.
Maybe he wouldn''t have minded if it did.
¨C
"Shit, I wasted my time," Adam said, wincing in pain as he sat on Ferrero''s couch. "Where''d your master go, anyway?"
The Duelist shrugged, handing him a glass of water. "No idea. We''ll find him soon, he always comes back."
Adam winced again, this time less in pain, and more in shame. The Painter had been so absorbed by their little practice ¨C and everything else going on ¨C that he''d allowed Merrivale to leave after the curtains fell...without finding out how the hell he knew about Earth! And all because he got too emotionally invested in their show.
Well, not just because of that, Adam thought, his desire for accuracy surpassing his self-loathing. There''s also how I was so tired that I collapsed on the floor and couldn''t say anything while the annoying dude just smiled and walked off.
Now, several hours later, he was at Ferrero''s house, collapsed on his couch and regretting ¨C if only outwardly ¨C his decisions.
"Would you believe how many Puppets are speaking about you?" Ferrero excitedly asked.
"All good, of course," Adam replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light, as if even that would exhaust him further.
Ferrero laughed. "You know some will be torn between hatred and fear of you regardless," he said, far too jovially. "But most people are speaking about how you''ve tamed the Rot and bent it to your will, how you''re a rare heroic lord who cares about his citizens...honestly, Master Merrivale helped you make quite the impression."
"Great," Adam grumbled ¨C though he knew his sarcasm was unfair. This had been helpful. "Strange that they''re willing to think positively of me just based on a stage drama. Aren''t I still a nobleman infected by the very thing that''s destroying the world?"
"Do you think anyone is sure of how the Rot works? Because if so, I must confess to being dumber than the average Puppet, for I don''t know either. Master said you tamed it, rather than being infected by it, so that''s what the people believe in."
Adam sat up to look the Duelist in the eye. "Why?"
"Because they believe in Master," Ferrero replied. "Isn''t that good enough?"
It really wasn''t. People shouldn''t heed a man''s word just because they admired him and he stated it with confidence ¨C especially when it wasn''t even related to his specialty! The man was an actor and a swordsman, not a scholar. He shouldn''t be any more trustworthy than your average lunatic enjoying a late night drink in the tavern.
But Adam knew he shouldn''t complain. This was essentially the best scenario he could''ve asked for. A Puppet of great renown was vouching for him, when in all likelihood he should have been viewed as a Stained aberration.
Some of his displeasure must''ve still shown on his face, however, as Ferrero leaned forward and said, with an apologetic tone, "Your slaying of two Ghosts is also to do with it. Do you know how much we Puppets loathed their existence?"
"A lot?"
"A lot. They were spawned by the Dark Sorcerer to spread Rot and kill those who sought to combat it ¨C Puppets most of all. Think of how the Ghost of Waters isolated the Mines, draining us of trade and new blood both. Every single living being here has ample reason to hate the Four Ghosts."
Adam nodded. Technically speaking, he hadn''t killed two Ghosts ¨C he''d trapped the Ghost of Flames inside his tablet, and had later cornered the Ghost of Waters into a position where Valeria could slay him. Then again...why fuss over details that benefited him?
"So killing two Ghosts has earned me the Puppets'' appreciation," he began. "What if I kill the other two?"
Ferrero scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes darting to Adam before quickly diverting away. "Ah...I believe you did mention not having all your memories, correct?"
"I did." I did lie about that, yes. "Why do you ask?"
"Because the other two Ghosts are already..." He paused, grimaced, then smiled. "I know how to explain this better. Allow me a second or seven."
Ferrero moved with purpose, his boots scuffing against the stone floor as he searched. "Just a moment," he said, waving Adam off when the Painter tried to stand up and follow. His hands hovered over a series of drawers as though they could sense its contents before his eyes would. Maybe they can, Adam thought, remembering the man''s Puppetry.
When the Duelist returned, he did so with two large glimmering orbs. They were as large as human heads, balancing precariously on each of his hands. Between Ferrero''s odd behavior and the ethereal light emanating from the orbs, Adam was certain they must contain something truly unique.
He still wasn''t prepared for what he saw. Light danced inside the orbs, shapes twisted into coherent figures, and a history was told anew.
The Lord of Penumbria saw a pair of battles forming within. Each orb featured the same man, yet each contained a different abomination that Adam immediately recognized as a Ghost. Both scenes endlessly replayed, seamless and haunting.
He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing his disbelief. "That''s...that''s a vide¨C a moving picture," the Painter corrected himself.
"I would wager my Lord of Paint has never seen something like this before," Ferrero said confidently, as if half-bragging about the Puppet''s incredible technology.
"That would be a fair bet," Adam responded, punctuating his response with a gasp of amazement. And one you would lose. It''s almost like...a literal video. Something I''d have seen on Earth.
"It''s part of Serena''s Talent," Ferrero explained. "The hooded woman who was aboard your ship," he added, as if afraid the Painter had forgotten that detail. "She''s our Master of Communications for a reason."
Adam''s thoughts whirled. Communication ¨C messages, coordination, control. In a place like the Mines, where whispers could mean survival or death, such a Talent would be invaluable.
But why had someone so important as Serena gone to the surface? Wasn''t that too risky of a move for the Mines? What if she was caught by the Emperor or killed by the Ghost of Waters?
His brow furrowed. Something was wrong, even if he didn''t know what.
"Is this...what happened to the Ghosts?" Adam asked, staring again at the two video Orbs. Ferrero nodded, gestured down at the devices.
Adam watched as the footage revealed a battlefield beyond comprehension. On the first sphere, the Ghost of Earth towered above, a mountain that moved with terrifying purpose, its form crushing everything beneath it. It looked like a man that had been stretched sideways and filled his limbs with rocks. On the second sphere, the Ghost of Wind danced as a storm incarnate, a delicate, malformed humanlike figure with edges sharp enough to carve through stone.
The man they faced showed little hesitation and less mercy. He moved with a steady rhythm, each of his steps weaving through the chaos like a song building to its crescendo. His presence was undeniable, his actions effortless. He was not merely fighting the Ghosts; he was executing them.
This man is a Hangman, came the thought.
Then his hand flickered out, just the slightest of gestures in their direction, his hands making a gesture so subtle the spheres couldn''t catch it¨C
And suddenly, they were dead.
But not just them. The world itself recoiled from his attack, the land an unfortunate bystander of his strength. Mountains in the distance trembled, their peaks shearing off. The ground cracked and groaned, splitting into massive chasms. The man stood amidst the chaos, unflinching, his smile serene as though there was nothing to be concerned about at all.
Hangman. The word again rang in Adam''s mind.
Not long ago, he''d tricked an Imperial Hangman to dispose of Belmordo ¨C a rival nobleman who made an attempt on Solara''s life. Suddenly, all the warnings he''d been given about their kind made sense: he couldn''t possibly fight one of them and expect to live.
They were less fighters, and more heralds of death.
I can''t get involved with Hangmen, Adam thought. If they send one of those to Penumbria, I ¨C we''re dead.
He bottled up his dread and stored it away for later. There were more pressing panics to focus on. "Who was that?" Adam asked, his index finger aimed at the spheres like a weapon. "Those Ghosts seemed far stronger than the ones we fought, and he just...wiped them out. Like nothing."
"Those Ghosts made the mistake of venturing too close to the Capital," Ferrero said, with some bitterness. "So Emperor Ciro sent his strongest soldier to meet them ¨C Valente, the Dark Captain of the Hangmen."
Valente.
Adam had heard that name before. Aspreay and other natives of this world had used it almost like a curse, the same way one would invoke the devil on Earth.
''May the Dark Captain take him!''
''Valente cut this bastard!''
''Careful. You don''t want Valente to get you, do you?''
And now...now, Adam could put a face to the name behind the legend.
A face that was too gentle and too young. Valente wasn''t what Adam would have expected from the monster that single-handedly demolished a Puppet city so many years ago. It didn''t feel real that a man with such an innocent smile could''ve been responsible for all of this.
Yet it was true. The slaughter he''d committed was proof of that.
He destroyed everything around him, Adam thought, with creeping horror. It wasn''t just that he killed the Ghosts. When he attacked, it was like he forever reshaped the land itself.
A sudden understanding dawned on him. "Wait, so I killed two of the Ghosts." Technically. "And Valente killed the other two."
Adam gestured at the recordings, his voice filling with exasperation. "Does that mean that people in the Mines think I can do that?"
Ferrero glanced at the spheres, then back at him. "Oh, that could be playing a part in their reaction, yes," he absently replied. "And they might think that it''s easier to accept the notion of you as a burgeoning hero. If you''re as strong as Valente, better you be a man of virtue than some dastardly villain."
Adam wanted to shout many things in response. ''I''m not anywhere near as strong as him! Do you expect me to fight THAT? Are you trying to get me killed?!'' was the runner-up.
The winner was a more urgent matter. "There are three people with Emperor-Ranked Talents in the world," he began, repeating what he already knew. Somehow, speaking it aloud made it feel more real. "The Emperor himself, Ciro...the Dark Captain of the Hangmen...and our Grandmaster of Puppets."
The man that Adam had to defeat ¨C even if only with words rather than combat.
Just imagining meeting someone with a power to rival that force of nature he''d just witnessed...goddamn, it wasn''t easy. He would need some time to wrap his mind around the concept.
Adam drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes in concentration. For the first time, I''m glad we''re not meeting with the Grandmaster yet, he mused, somewhat guiltily. I was annoyed initially, but this whole tour of the Mines should give me time to prepare myself before¨C
Ferrero clapped his hands. "My apologies for making you wait for so long. How about I take you to the Grandmaster''s workshop now?"
The Painter smiled weakly. "That...uh..."
His chest tightened as he watched Ferrero''s eager expression, eyes glimmering with sincerity. Adam''s fear of the Grandmaster clashed against his guilt over the Puppet''s genuine desire to help, both wrestling for control of his mouth.
"Yeah, sure," said the Painter''s guilt, unfortunately victorious.
¨C
Haven''t felt this nervous since the contest''s deadline.
It was a grim thought, considering how that debacle had ended. Adam tried not to think of it further. Instead he focused on the King''s Cave, where the Grandmaster''s Workshop resided.
The King''s Cave wasn''t just a place ¨C it was an idea carved into stone. The barracks screamed functionality, the kind of brutalist architecture that didn''t ask if you liked it but demanded your respect. The noble houses told a different story: ambition draped in crystal light, beautiful and threatening all at once. Their set of auspicious buildings wouldn''t have looked out of place in a city like Penumbria...at least if they hadn''t been so opulent in comparison to Adam''s own destitute city.
And then there was the Workshop.
It felt like the equivalent to a Lord''s manor, or to a King''s castle, and that was before Adam even took in its structural design. The mere aura of the building exuded that feeling, made it feel like the seat of the Puppet Grandmaster.
A true marvel. One that evoked beauty and inspiration in equal measures.
"Are you...painting?" Ferrero asked. "Nevermind that, my lord, another question ¨C I see the paintbrush, but where did you even get the paint from?"
"It''s my Talent," Adam lied, setting up his tablet and sliding his stylus across the screen. People of the Painted World always perceived it as a regular canvas and paintbrush. Rather useful not having to explain what the hell a tablet is. "And you can''t blame me for wanting to paint this."
"No," Ferrero conceded, with a sigh. "I suppose not."
The Grandmaster''s Workshop dominated the cavern like a forgotten relic of a future yet to pass. The walls were intricate and seamless, a mosaic of spinning gears and polished brass pipes that gleamed in the faint crystal light. It seemed alien, like a fusion between a factory and a castle.
Only one entrance was visible. A narrow tunnel arched like the maw of a beast, radiating authority, dread, and anticipation.
The Grandmaster''s Workshop wasn''t architecture, Adam realized. It was an ideology made real; one he had yet to decipher.
"Hey," Adam pointed out. "That guy looks like he''s trying to enter the Workshop." He gestured at a lone figure near the tunnel''s entrance. The person wasn''t just nervous ¨C they were terrified, and rightly so.
The Painter glanced around. "No guards around. Who do we call?"
"Hmm. Poor bastard wears murder on his eyes." Ferrero shook his head sadly. "Shifting gaze, nervous sweat...evil intentions, that one."
He frowned. "Classic case. Some people come to the Mines in an attempt to kill the Grandmaster, hoping to earn a reward from the Emperor rather than embrace their new life as a Puppet. This one must''ve journeyed here on what is now your ship, Lord Painter."
Adam narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Then I should stop him. If he rode aboard my ship, then he''s my responsibility."
He attempted to step forward, but Ferrero held him back. "There is no need," he promised. "Watch."
The man in front of the workshop allowed himself one last moment of hesitation. It only served to highlight his macabre end. One step into the tunnel and his body froze mid-motion, as though held in place by...
Strings. The word rang in Adam''s mind. But nothing of the kind existed, at least not in the physical sense.
What followed wasn''t dramatic, but it was horrifying. As the man stepped into the tunnel, reality seemed to fold him out of existence. No light show, no grand gesture. One moment he was there; the next, he wasn''t. The Workshop didn''t kill him ¨C it erased him, as if he''d been a mistake.
Only a cut-off part of his cloak remained, flickering in and out of existence for a moment...until it too blinked out.
Adam was immediately struck by a remarkable sense of isolation. The shock churning inside his gut ¨C like a clenching fist had gripped his heart ¨C wasn''t shared with any of the Puppets around him. They merely stared, vague disinterest plain on their features.
To them, this sight was expected, normal. They were used to it.
How is no one reacting? Why is no one trying to shield their children''s eyes from this? Why¨C?
There was no gore, no screams, but Adam still felt sick. "What the fuck was that?"
Ferrero''s hand on his shoulder was unnervingly calm, his voice patient. "Look up, my lord."
Adam did, his eyes catching on the words carved above the tunnel ¨C each one heavy with finality.
This world has not and will not ever spawn any Puppet, Human, Dragon, Stained Monster, living creature, or facsimile of life that may enter my domain without my permission.
¨C The Grandmaster''s First Law
"That''s why I said that trying to force your way in would be ill-advised." Ferrero whispered apologetically. "Didn''t think that you would have to see a demonstration like this, but...I believe you understand now."
"Yeah," Adam admitted. The oppressive aura of the Workshop felt like a checkmate on his very soul. Every strategy he''d painstakingly crafted for this meeting, every Talent he''d stolen and honed ¨C they all seemed laughably small in the face of such overwhelming magic. It was like trying to move a mountain with a whisper. "I get it. Won''t try to force my way in."
The Painter stood there for a time, hollowed out by the realization that everything he''d built was fragile, a sandcastle before the tide.
He would''ve stood for a longer had Ferrero not put a hand on his shoulder and gripped it tightly. "Fear not," he said, with an encouraging tone. "Mayhaps Master can arrange a meeting for you regardless."
Adam nodded and forced himself to smile, even though he didn''t truly believe in the possibility. "That would be great," he said. "But I can''t impose on your master more than I already have. I¨C"
A sudden chill cut his words short.
"Lord of Paint?" Ferrero asked, confused. "Is anything the matter? Believe me, my master will help you with your issue. You need not fear for Penumbria! The Grandmaster will..."
Ferrero''s voice faded, but not because he''d stopped speaking. Adam simply couldn''t hear him anymore. A voice entered his mind like a slow-moving shadow that danced with the setting sun, creeping into the spaces between thoughts.
It wasn''t loud, but it didn''t need to be.
Its presence was enough.
Its sheer weight was too much.
Its sound was torture.
You wish to meet with me?
He did, but dared not think it.
For my boon to save your humans?
It was his greatest desire, but he dared not say it.
That is not impossible.
The voice was softer now, almost tauntingly so. This time, Adam found the nerve to take up its challenge and respond.
If you can hear me¨C
A sudden laugh ¨C someone else''s laugh ¨C echoed in his mind, answering the query before it finished. Adam bit his lip and shook his head, perhaps in fear, perhaps in anger. He refused to think through the emotion and inform the Grandmaster more of himself.
Tell me. What do you want in exchange? What can someone as strong as you need of me?
A soul.
Adam''s eyes widened. He could see Ferrero''s concerned expression, his quick lips inferring at words he could not hear. You want me...to steal someone''s soul for you?
I need not the soul to fall into my hands ¨C I only need its owner to no longer possess it. Rather, it would please me more if you were to destroy it thereafter.
Who? Adam demanded. Who do you hate so much that you need me to steal their goddamn soul?
The Merry Man from the Vale ¨C Merrivale. Steal and destroy his soul, and you shall have your reward, Painter.
The voice vanished as abruptly as it had come, its suffocating presence now gone. Yet Adam still felt a suffocating oppression on his thoughts, the cracking weight of having brushed against the surface of something distinctly above him.
"Lord Painter? Lord of Paint? Lord of...Ink? Lord of...hmm...Adam?" Ferrero attempted. "Ah, there you are! Can you hear me now? Are you feeling sick? Did you overexert yourself again?"
Adam pushed a smile onto his face. "No. Everything is fine."
Chapter 65 (Book 3 Chapter 4) (Part 1)
Lord Gaspar waited by the manor gate, a ragged bearskin cloak hastily tossed over a single shoulder ¨C his only protection from the Penumbrian winter. He greeted Adam with a lazy gesture and a grin. "Wonderful to see you, my lord!"
"I am the King of the Frontier," Adam said, calmly but firmly. "To all of those not guilty of treason."
"Forgive me," Gaspar replied with a bow. His tone would have sounded genuine, had his smile ever left his face. "My tongue is not yet used to addressing one as king."
"Yet it must ¨C and soon, should you want to keep it."
Adam took little pleasure in uttering an empty threat, and even less in uttering real ones. Hesitate as he might, Tenver would see that this punishment came to pass.
And I wouldn''t try to stop him. Preventing a necessary justice would be kindness to strangers at the cost of cruelty to his subjects. Penumbria needed to look strong to the world ¨C and to the Frontier Lords most of all.
"Three days have passed, Gaspar. Do you accept me as your king?" Adam asked bluntly. "Should knowledge of your allies sway you, I must inform you that Lady Beatriz das Ondasfrias of Serramar and Lady Helena Terraforte of Almarades have already bent their knees to House Arcanjo. They know that our path is the one of honor, justice, and righteousness."
Admittedly, there was more to it than that. While the merits of not serving the Emperor likely played no small part, Aspreay''s brutal display of violence had undoubtedly influenced their decisions. None wished to incur the wrath of an untethered Lord with few fucks left to give.
Especially so for Lady Helena, who ¨C frankly speaking ¨C was almost too normal of a person to be a Lord. She''d been in something of a daze when she agreed to serve. It was questionable whether or not she even understood the implications of war.
Lady Beatriz, meanwhile, was plenty abnormal enough to fit in among the Noble Lords that Adam had become acquainted with. Much like the others, she''d felt aghast at the ghoulish sight of Aspreay''s demonstration, but that stalwart knee of hers still only bent after being promised financial incentive.
Adam saw no need to share those details with the Fallen Lord. He was better-off making it seem like a matter of justice, and Gaspar appeared to agree with him.
Appeared to agree, at least. Because when the man nodded, his smile came with an amused chuckle, his softly curled lips hinting at something of an apology. "I can call you King, if you care that much about it. It means fuckall, really, but if it makes you happy¡hey, happiness is in short supply these days."
I should know better by now than to expect someone to play along, Adam thought, with a sharp spark of irritation that was quickly smothered by a deep, tired sigh. "Yet you find the distinction important enough to summon your king to a meeting. Explain yourself ¨C quickly."
The roguish man laughed heartily. "Ah, my lord king!" Gaspar let the words hang, his face seemingly pleased with the phrasing. "I called for no meeting. Had I done so, we would be inside your manor, would we not?"
Aspreay''s warning rang in Adam''s mind. ''Be wary of the Lord of Mongrels,'' he''d cautioned. ''The man behaves less like a lord and more like an alley rat.'' His False-Father''s words were often exaggerated, nearly always rude¡
And had yet to be proven incorrect. "What did you summon me for, then?" Adam inquired, regarding the Lord with naked suspicion.
"A walk." Gaspar''s tone was animated, his expression bright and unguarded.. "I would like you to show me around Penumbria."
The Painter waited almost five seconds for the rest of the man''s demands, and five more to realize that this was the extent of them. "Of course," Adam courteously replied. Tenver had helped him prepare for this in advance. By exhibiting the city''s most attractive features, they could project a sense of power and grandeur onto the visiting lords.
"It will be my pleasure, Lord Gaspar. Let me start by showing you the Penumbrian Theater. Our art has improved rapidly ever since¨C"
"My apologies," Gaspar interjected. "Truthfully, I already have a place in mind. Forgive my uncultured mind for admitting it bears little artistry ¨C and that the little it bears might be of the evil type."
Adam didn''t frown or act surprised. Perhaps he wants to see a tavern or a brothel, he wondered. No matter. I planned for that too.
Although he wouldn''t offer it outright. Better to let the other man speak of his desires first, for politeness''s sake.
"My desired destination is, ah¡" Gaspar shifted around nervously. "A little bit of an awkward admission, you see."
Adam smiled. "Worry not. None can overhear us here."
"Even still," Gaspar insisted, "would you mind if I whispered it to you, my king?"
That felt like a breach of etiquette in some way Adam couldn''t quite parse, yet the man had called him king. It felt wise not to rebuff his request here. "Go ahead."
As if sharing a morsel of juicy gossip, Gaspar leaned closer and cupped a hand around his mouth. "I want to see the areas infected by Rot," he whispered.
Time stood still.
Adan''s face remained impassive. He couldn''t afford to appear shocked, couldn''t afford to appear weak¡yet neither could he hide the surprise glinting in his eyes.
Mind racing, he empowered the speed of his thoughts with the Realm cast over the City of Penumbria. First to reach his conscious mind was, Why would anyone want to see the Rot? Second ¨C and superseding the first ¨C was, Why would Gaspar, of all people want to see it?
Gaspar das Cinzas was the Lord of the Fallen City of Asteria. Shortly before Adam arrived in the Painted World, the entire city had become enveloped by Rot, its citizens turned either into Stained Monsters or fleeing refugees.
The Lord himself wasn''t doing much better than them. He''d been forced to reside in Edmundo''s court after losing his own, walking around in rags more befitting an impoverished commoner than a fallen nobleman. Which was bizarre, because even as a refugee, he should''ve possessed far more Orbs than the average person.
This was a man who didn''t care to dress or act like a lord anymore. In fact, until now, Adam''s impression had been that Gaspar no longer cared about anything at all.
Why would he wish to gaze upon something that haunts his nightmares every day? Is there a trick to this? I should speak with Tenver and Solara before¨C
The Lord of Mongrels placed a firm hand on Adam''s shoulder. "My king," he repeated. "Please." A sudden spark of sincerity flickered in his eyes ¨C perhaps the first one he''d shown since arriving in Penumbria.
Adam''s reservations didn''t fully fade away, but they did give way to acceptance. It wasn''t often that a nobleman willingly expressed any sort of vulnerability. Whatever Gaspar may have been thinking or plotting¡honesty should be rewarded.
"As you wish," the Painter acquiesced.
¨C
The abandoned streets were an unexpected source of nostalgia for Adam. Tenver marched me through here when I first arrived in the Painted World, he recalled, unable to fight off the smile that crept onto his face. It''s been nearly a year since then. So much has changed.
For the better, he hoped. Were that not the case, the Painter could never forgive himself for endangering his city.
Fortunately, the sight before him was a soothing one.
In the past, the district had been abandoned as ¨C despite Aspreay''s best effort ¨C small amounts of Rot managed to find their way inside. They were pustules of squirming black ink, fastened to the side of buildings like leeches, gradually devouring objects and people both. An infection of reality itself.
Now, though? As if they were tumors in remission, the city''s Stains had noticeably shrunk. The ink-blobs were reduced, diminishing the ever-present aura of contamination that accompanied Rot. People could walk the streets with less fear than before.
Things were better. Not perfect. Not even great.
But certainly better.
"Remarkable," Gaspar muttered. "I can see signs of the Rot receding. It would''ve taken millions of Orbs to achieve this with the Imperial method¡if at all. And I suppose we have your mighty discoveries to thank for this?"
"Correct," Adam answered, deciding that he would say no more.
The knowledge had come neither cheaply nor easily. Hundreds of Penumbria''s soldiers had been slaughtered when Adam ventured inside the Fallen City of the Santuario das Chamas. Their sacrifice paved the way forward, allowing him to steal the anti-Rot ability from the Puppet Grandmaster''s original, shambling body ¨C long divorced from his soul.
It had also cost Eric''s life. And I still don''t know whether to grieve or celebrate that.
The disparate feelings had alternated inside of him for a long while after their duel, sorrow and joy wrestling for control of his heart. Yet eventually, with time, thoughts of Eric started to dull altogether. Adam seldom reflected on his death nowadays.
On the rare occasions that the Painter''s mind did wander to the Gryphon, though¡it ventured much further than that. Back to when the two of them were once friends.
Why couldn''t things between us have stayed as they were? What if he''d been able to find his own passions instead of growing to hate mine? What if he''d opened up to me before his resentment festered? What if¡what if¡
Adam pushed his ruminations aside. The past was full of ''what ifs'' that would never be realized. The present, however, was still malleable ¨C and the connections he made today would shape the course of his future.
"Do you want to see anything in particular?" Adam asked, with a cautious tone. "I wouldn''t recommend we tread any closer to the Rot, lest we risk infection."
"No, this is enough." He turned to face the Painter Lord of Penumbria. "Do I have your word that you will use this power to shield the people from Rot?"
"Yes," Adam promised.
"Good. Then the Emperor can shove a freakishly large log up his royal ass, for all I care."
Gaspar''s treason was spoken with a wide grin and a joyous shrug. "As for Edmundo, the man''s a terrible ruler, with less deaths to his name. The log should be considerably smaller ¨C yet I dare not suggest that its destination changes."
His grin deepened. "As for Your Highness¡well, I have yet to determine the nature of that which I''d like to introduce to your shapely rear."
Adam blinked slowly and refused to smile. He would not reward this terrible flirting and encourage this man to think of himself as smooth. "Not the attitude I''ve come to expect from lords. I thought you would show more political aspiration, for the sake of restoring your city."
"Why? The Asteria I ruled is dead, never to once again rise. Reshape its bricks as you wish, dress me in the finest cloaks you can think of ¨C it will mean nothing. Everyone who died shall remain dead. ''Twoud be a ghoulish replica to soothe my ego; not an otherworldly resurrection."
Adam locked eyes with the man, searching the depths of his heartbreak. He includes himself in that description, he realized. He thinks of himself as a dead relic of a past long gone. "You speak grimly, yet you still draw breath. What for?"
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The Painter asked the question with sincerity and the Fallen Lord took it without insult¡yet his pained silence was punctuated by a bitter laugh at the end, showing that he had no answer to give. "It all sounds so petty," Gaspar muttered, gazing at the pulsing, tumorous blobs of ink. "To fight over empires and kingdoms when this monstrosity exists."
"It is," Adam admitted. "And it isn''t a fight I engage in by choice. I only fight so that I can protect Penumbria from the Rot ¨C the real fight."
They stayed silent for a time. Both men observed the Rot, taking in its abhorrent appearance. Diminished, reduced, but not gone. Only contained, concentrated, confined. A small improvement in the grand scheme of things.
Yet it inspired hope that yet shone brighter than the high noon sun above.
Eventually, Gaspar asked, "And does Your Highness speak truthfully?" His voice was jovial, almost joking ¨C but his eyes were burning with the severity of the moment. "I heard many of your legends, Your Highness. I''ve even witnessed some of them myself. You rose to the Penumbrian Throne, slew the Ghost of Flames, bested the Gryphon in battle, and much more."
He drew himself up. "Among your impressive talents, do you have the ability to convince me of your priorities? To promise me that you value the fight against the Rot over the fight against the Emperor?"
I could, but what would it matter? In truth, Gaspar would make for a substandard ally. Even if he swore eternal loyalty, he was an impoverished lord with few allies and fewer resources. His fealty would amount to little.
Still, Adam felt impelled to respond to the man''s earnest passion. He''d earned that much. And as the Painter thought¡an idea came to him.
Were any of them to hear of this, Solara would call me reckless, Tenver would stop me, and Aspreay would name me treasonous against myself. But none of them were the King of the Frontier.
Adam was.
"Your city fell, but you still have the Talent of a Lord," Adam began. "Reconstruct your Realm around me. Make it small to maximize its strength, and I promise not to fight back. At that point, you''ll be able to use Divine Knowledge to read my unfiltered thoughts as if they were an open book. You''d know for sure that I speak true."
Gaspar''s gaze hardened. "You would allow me into your mind? That does not seem prudent."
"It isn''t." Adam shrugged. "What of it?"
"Seems irresponsible for a leader to put his people in danger like that. To allow a potential enemy to peruse your secrets."
"True ¨C but it''s just as true that if I were to rule through fear alone, I would end up no better than Ciro. I want you to trust me."
Gaspar nodded with satisfaction, as if in admiration of Adam''s nobility. "Your Highness, that is¡"
His voice dropped lower, and his smirk rose up. "Such bullshit. Like hell you''d endanger your people like that. You plan to read my mind at the same time as I''m reading yours. And if there''s a threat lurking within my thoughts, then I believe I''ll find murder in yours."
Adam smiled. "Are you opposed to my terms?"
"Hardly. If anything, it just makes me more willing to trust you. Enough so, actually¡"
Gaspar paused. "Enough so that I should mention your plan has a flaw."
"Which is?" When no response came, Adam asked again, "Come on, what is it?"
"I''d rather you find out yourself." Gaspar''s tone sounded oddly excited. He took several steps away from Adam, bouncing on the heels of his feet, like a boxer warming themselves up. "Forgive this screwup of a lord, Your Highness, but even a wretch such as myself likes adhering to the old ways on occasion ¨C to live as the Dragons of Old once heralded our kind to."
Adam narrowed his eyes. "Meaning?"
"Meaning, Your Highness, that if you want to know¡" His smirk turned just a little darker. "You''re going to have to force the knowledge out of me. A harsh task; it''s difficult to force someone who''s already lost everything."
Gaspar has no city ¨C no one left to protect. Unlike Adam, he wasn''t bound by the restriction of keeping up Walls for his peoples'' safety.
The Painter shook his head. "We don''t have to do anything stupid. Let''s¨C"
But Gaspar had already brought his hands together. With a faint blue light crackling between his palms, he spoke in a gentle tone, "Realm Reconstruction."
--
It was an odd feeling to use Divine Knowledge at the same time it was being employed against you.
The sensation created a sort of overwhelming feedback loop that Adam had never quite experienced before. His brain was being...inundated with the Fallen Lord''s memories. Every time he thought he''d gotten used to the constant stream of information, its immaterial wavelength grew thicker, more familiar by the second as his own memories started mixing with Gaspar''s.
Like a cauldron set to boil, nausea writhed inside the Painter. It was nearly enough to make him end their sharing of Divine Knowledge. Maybe try again later.
Not giving up that easily, Adam thought stubbornly. I am Lord of Penumbria, and I''ve dealt with far worse than this.
Their Realm Clash was akin to a back-and-forth wrestling match. Neither man was actively trying to keep the other out, but their Talents were responding automatically, instinctively attempting to expel the intruder, kill them ¨C or both.
Despite their difference in Ranks, the Painter''s Realm was much larger than the Fallen Lord''s, encompassing all of Penumbria. That made it less effective than the small, concentrated Realm one could make when they didn''t have to worry about protecting a city. When coupled with Adam''s relative inexperience with using his Lord Talent, he should have lost the Clash.
And he would have ¨C until recently, that is.
¨C
Weeks ago, Adam had struggled to his feet, managing to prop up on a single knee while desperately attempting to catch his breath. "What should I do," he''d asked, "when I''m overwhelmed in a Realm Clash by a more skilled Lord?"
Aspreay sneered. "What should one do when looked down upon? Stand taller and look at them from above! If they exceed you, Painter, simply become strong enough to overwhelm them! Sharpen your Realm''s construction. Polish your vision of it."
"Figured," Adam muttered. "You do realize the Lords here have decades of experience on me? It''s not exactly something I can learn in less than half a year."
"The alternative is to give up."
Adam stared at him blankly, his eyebrows twitching. "Has anyone ever mentioned how downright inspirational you can be at times?"
"Why would anyone tell me that?" Aspreay asked, lifting an eyebrow. He spoke on without waiting for a reply. "It''s not a matter of inspiration ¨C it''s a matter of truth. If you struggle to match someone''s Realm, then give up on defense and kill yourself instead."
"Really, really curious how you intend to finish this lesson."
"If you''re inside your Realm, then Noble Guard should keep you alive even if you die."
"Still curious."
A note of annoyance entered Aspreay''s voice. "You insolent brat, do you not get it? In a Realm Clash against an inferior, yet more skilled Lord, your physical stamina is more of a limitation than your Canvas. They''ll try to drag it out, to tire you ¨C understand?"
"Now that you''re actually making sense, yes," Adam told him in deadpan.
Aspreay grunted angrily, hands running through his hair as if cursing fate itself. "Think, Painter. If stamina is your limiting factor, not your Canvas, and you have Noble Guard to bring you back to life...then to the Dragons with your wounds!"
Adam nodded, his face a mask of solemnity. He didn''t know enough about the Dragons of Old to fully grasp what that phrase meant ¨C though he could make an educated guess.
"Don''t bother with protecting yourself from wounds," Aspreay went on, speaking through his teeth as if each word caused him physical pain. "Make sure your Realm is competent enough to resurrect you, then focus on offense. And when you feel your attacks begin to slow due to injuries, tiredness, or the like...''
Aspreay tapped the side of his skull. "Kill yourself."
¨C
I''d always thought that Aspreay''s method of fighting was insane, Adam thought. Something a reckless egomaniac like him could create.
The Painter''s knees trembled, blood seeping out of his eyes and ears as the Clash of Realms intensified. But I think I''m beginning to understand why he was the most skilled Lord at the Academy ¨C you need to be a little bit crazy to fight people like this.
His exhaustion was catching up to him, its mental whirlpool becoming harder to resist, his whole body gradually swallowed up by the current of Gaspar''s thoughts. He wouldn''t last much longer.
"Die," Adam ordered to himself.
Very briefly, he caught sight of Gaspar standing just a few steps away. The Fallen Lord''s face was blank with horror, burdened by the obvious fear that the order was directed at him.
It was followed by an incongruent image of Adam''s blood slowly returning to his body. Lines of red poured backwards through the air, like a macabre river flowing upstream.
The Painter felt only a slight gap of consciousness between his order and his resurrection. This was a different type of death and rebirth from when he''d borrowed Solara''s Talent. One moment he was issuing the order; the next, he was back. The transition was so seamless that Adam didn''t even experience his own death.
Meaning he picked up their Realm Clash exactly where they''d left off ¨C as if he''d never died at all.
Except this time he was no longer tired. His Canvas was still just as Stained, but his physical exhaustion was what had troubled him the most, and it was now gone.
The change seemed to catch Gaspar off-guard. He failed to react in time as Adam''s mental waves of ink coursed faster through the air, coiling around the Fallen Lord like a serpent of pitch-black hue, driving the man to his knees.
Got you. Adam brought both hands up, thumbs and index fingers forming a makeshift frame, tilting his head slightly as if sizing up a canvas. "Read my memories," the Painter Lord commanded, "but only the ones I want you to." Best to keep him from finding out that Aspreay wasn''t his father, for example.
Gaspar didn''t surrender just yet. He kept struggling, even when it was clear that his efforts would be in vain. A polluted jet of water crashed against the Ink ¨C to no avail. He sent out another attack, then another, like a prisoner fruitlessly rattling the bars of his cage.
Yet eventually, the Fallen Lord lowered his head. Either his energy was spent, his willpower, or both. "Do as you will," he mumbled, his tone hollow.
This was it.
Adam had won the clash.
And now...it was time to collect his prize. Show me what you''re hiding, the Painter thought, with a smile. Let''s see who you are.
Chapter 65 (Book 3 Chapter 4) (Part 2)
The first of the Fallen Lord''s memories was also the first time Adam gazed upon the royal Academy.
Before him stood the institution where Vasco and Aspreay had learned to use their Lord powers. Ciro''s Imperial-funded Academy was a noble, extravagant building. It was too luxurious to feel reminiscent of an Earth college, yet too extravagant not to.
''Most impressive, Young Gaspar!'' said one of the Professors. ''I''ve yet to see someone else who can produce a Realm that moves alongside them ¨C and without the need for Reconstruction!"
''Such praise is unbecoming of me,'' Gaspar replied. ''What use would there be for moving your Realm in such a manner? It should always be positioned over your city; a protective shield for those within.''
Were it not the man''s own memories, Adam would have questioned if the person whose eyes he saw the past through was truly Gaspar. Everything from his clothes to his mannerisms were different, showing a stern, calm man, as well-mannered as he was well-dressed. The kind of person so accustomed to stoicism you couldn''t even imagine them frowning, much less smirking.
A young woman slapped Gaspar''s back and laughed enthusiastically. ''Just take the praise, mate,'' she advised. Her name was Ode, Adam instinctively knew, and there was a bittersweetness in the memory of her.
''Come on now,'' Ode continued. ''You shattered half the records in the Academy ¨C be proud! No one''s achieved that many since...uh...the guy who did that a few years ago. He''s before our time? Damn, almost got it, his name was¨C''
¨C
''Aspreay,'' Gaspar greeted, from inside a large hall. ''It is my honor to meet you...but I''m afraid we cannot afford to share any Orbs with Penumbria.''
''Speak not of honor,'' Aspreay told him, in a tone bridging between disdain and outright disgust. ''Not when you brag so much about breaking my records.''
Suddenly Adam understood why Aspreay appeared to dislike Gaspar so much more than the other Frontier Lords.
''I only broke about half, and the others still stand tall. And I do not brag.''
There was no note of apology, regret, or even politeness in his tone ¨C but neither was there rudeness. Gaspar spoke with complete, professional impassivity. ''Ode is the one who boasts on my account. I hardly speak of it to anyone.''
''Control your whore!''
''Would that I could.''
Blink.
¨C
The next memory was set a bit before that, when Gaspar was in the midst of being crowned Lord of Asteria. The ceremony itself was unremarkable, with the Young Noble receiving numerous gifts from fellow Frontier Lords ¨C including, ironically, Aspreay ¨C and having a short feast. He promptly retreated to his chambers afterwards, having scarcely touched his drink.
''What''s wrong?'' Ode asked, sitting beside him in bed. She threw an arm over Gaspar''s shoulder, poking at his blank expression. ''Wouldn''t hurt you to crack a smile once in a while. This is your feast, you know?''
In his memory, Gaspar said nothing, but thought plenty. He thought of his responsibilities as Lord. He thought of what perils the future might hold. He thought of how he could honor and live up to his father''s legacy.
Gaspar often wondered about living up to his father, Adam noticed. It was always in the background of his mind, no matter what he did, an ever-present, sometimes-malevolent shadow.
On that point, Adam could strongly relate.
Gaspar dearly missed his father. Every day, sometimes more than once a day. He wasn''t sure if there was ever a time he didn''t miss him, only times he became more acutely aware of its sting.
The only thing that soothed that pain, however little, was the quiet dignity he felt for his father, who''d died overexerting himself to protect the City from Rot. It was a death worthy of the title of Lord. The shadow of Gaspar''s grief followed him everywhere ¨C but so did his pride.
On that point, Adam could not relate. Not even slightly.
The Young Lord had taken over the throne in a hurry after his father''s untimely death, far too young for the responsibility, the fears and hopes of his people all too apparent. Gaspar faced it with what he always had ¨C a solemn expression, still as stone, and with consistent effort that he wished would create peace in the hearts of the people.
''There is nothing wrong at all,'' he told Ode.
¨C
Judging by the dates on the documents, this next memory was only a few months before Adam''s own arrival in the Painted World. The City of Asteria was throwing a feast to celebrate their valiant Lord Gaspar, who''d fought back an onslaught of Stained Monsters that rained down on the city, led by the Ghost of Wind.
The hero of the hour felt less than heroic, however. He declined to partake in the celebrations.
''I didn''t win,'' Gaspar grunted. ''I only managed to push the Ghost and the monsters away from our city.''
Ode laughed. ''Ah, shut the fuck up already, will you?'' The woman''s smile was wide, and it soothed the Lord''s heart. ''You''ve managed to save us from the monster that killed your father...Dragons burn me, mate, you held back almost a hundred of those with your Walls! I don''t think most Lords could''ve kept their Realms up and survived without a scratch on them.''
Gaspar gave a bitter chuckle. ''On that, I agree,'' he said, his voice sarcastic.
It was so rare for the man to express emotion at all that Ode practically fell backwards in surprise. ''Well look at that! Finally feeling proud of yourself. Which makes you the last person to realize how amazing you are, asshole.''
At times, in his childhood, Gaspar had cursed himself for being serious to the point of apathy. He just couldn''t laugh like other people did. It wasn''t that he was incapable of it, just that nothing ever seemed actually funny enough for him to laugh at, or pleasant enough for him to smile over. Those things didn''t come naturally to him; they were practiced, rather than reflexes.
Now, however...now he was glad of his inability to emote.
Or else Ode would''ve seen the flicker of fear pass through his face ¨C the pang of guilt that would betray what he hoped to keep secret.
Oh, Adam thought, as he gradually understood the memory. Oh no. He felt the aching pain that Gaspar had immortalized within his soul, sensed the corruptive wrongness in his chest. He had driven the Ghost away, true, but that victory had come at a heavy cost.
Gaspar was infected with Rot.
¨C
''Do you think the Emperor''s aid will arrive soon?'' Ode asked casually. She didn''t seem legitimately concerned. ''Not that I don''t think you can handle it alone. Just hoping you don''t overwork yourself much.''
''I''m sure it''ll be here shortly,'' Gaspar lied. In truth, the Emperor had sounded noncommittal about supplying Asteria with either Orbs or troops, and Gaspar had already exhausted its treasury by holding out for this long already. ''I can handle things until then.''
He had to. Ashes to ashes, help would have to come. And if it didn''t, he''d endure anyhow. Someone had to.
Who else, if not him?
He ignored the vile sensation spreading inside his chest. To his surprise, even his Talent of a Lord ¨C an ability that could cure even death ¨C had proven unable able to heal it. This was a wound inflicted upon his very soul.
Didn''t matter. Gaspar would deal with it, he would live up to his duty, to his legacy, to¨C
''Just don''t pile your burdens too heavily, alright?'' Ode said, her smile warming the cold rot within his chest. ''No point in saving the world if you can''t enjoy it.''
¨CTo the man Ode thought he was.
¨C
Gaspar peered at the city from his balcony and felt his efforts rewarded. His father''s people ¨C his people, now ¨C lived peacefully. They were blissfully unaware of the chaotic battles he''d fight with the monsters outside, and the even harsher battles in meeting rooms as he pleaded with the Empire for more financial support.
By Imperial protocol, a lord was not to inform his citizens of how close the Rot was to their home city. Officially, this was to prevent unnecessary panic amongst the common folk.
Cynically, Gaspar had always believed its purpose to be so that the Empire''s economy wouldn''t be disrupted. So that the masses would keep spending as usual while their demise inexorably approached. The Imperial policy had likely been enacted for such a reason.
Still, as he gazed down at the people walking through the market, seeing their happy smiles, watching as they chatted with neighbors like there wasn''t anything wrong in the world...he found that he had a different reason for following this policy.
I want to protect their daily lives. Their routines. Their chance to go to work, come home every day, and not think about how close death truly is. Worrying over such matters wasn''t their job.
It was Gaspar''s.
¨C
He was alone in the throne room. Gaspar was surrounded by a darkness that was thick, foreboding, relentless ¨C and most of all, a choice. The palace servants would''ve lit candles, had he not demanded solitude and ordered them away. While this darkness was unkind to his spiraling thoughts, it demanded no explanations from him.
Just what he wanted.
Just what he could take.
"Burn it all," he cursed in a hoarse mutter, coughing out a dark substance onto his palms. "It matters not how many I kill, they ¨C they keep coming back. Every day." Once, his heart would have answered with ''And so shall I.''
Once.
Each breath seared his lungs. Each movement salted his wounds. His throne room loomed large around him, cold and unyielding. Not long ago its grandeur had inspired him; now it simply felt mocking, like a taunt from an unknown, uncaring divinity.
The throne creaked beneath his weight. It was the only witness to his solitary anguish. Pain clawed at him, but he didn''t fight back. Not anymore.
"Forgive me," said a new voice. "You suffer due to my mistake."
Gaspar didn''t recognize the newcomer. He demanded explanations that he would never receive. But Adam, looking through his memory, knew exactly who that man was ¨C and what ''mistake'' he was referring to.
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Lawrence. The First Painter.
He who had created the Painted World, attempting to freeze it like a snapshot of a universe. Lawrence wished for a world where none were born, none would die, and none would ever suffer the cruelty of impermanence. A land unchanging and eternal, free of pain or doubt.
Only for the Second to act against his wishes. The Second Painter, the Sculptor of Mist, had brought Rot ¨C brought death ¨C unto this world. Lawrence''s frozen snapshot of a universe was irrevocably tainted, like droplets of decay soaking into the fabric of reality.
The Second Painter had even been responsible for bringing Adam to the Painted World as well.
"I am no one," said the First Painter, "and yet everyone at once. Forgive me, for I cannot save you. But...I can stop the progress of your disease, at least."
"What do you speak of?" Gaspar fired back. Rising from his throne, he staggered forward, his legs trembling beneath the weight of it all. Sweat poured from his hair, long and matted, glistening in the gloom as he collapsed to one knee.
Lawrence slowly stepped towards him, the sound of his boots against the marble floor echoing across the empty room. "You were infected by the Rot while fighting the Stained Beasts, were you not?" he asked in a low voice.
A confirmation of what Adam already knew. Which means that Gaspar is still infected, even now in present-day Penumbria.
"I cannot forever halt your infection," Lawrence sang, "but I can grant you more time. Enough to give a more dignified ending for your city."
"Wait," Gaspar managed weakly, "E¨Cexplain more. W-what do you...no! I don''t want a dignified end! I want to live ¨C I want to save the city! To be a lord worthy of my father''s legacy, to¨C"
His memory faded violently, a sudden blackness overtaking it as the First Painter reached out and touched his chest.
The pain started almost ten seconds later.
¨C
"You seem to be doing much better," Ode observed, setting down a teacup. "I thought you were reaching your limit earlier, but you really are holding on strong, it seems."
"Suppose I am." Gaspar studied the back of his palm as if it held the answers he sought. Who was that man? And what sorcery did he use upon me? Could that...could that knowledge help me save Asteria somehow?
He had fully admitted ¨C if only to himself ¨C that Emperor Ciro would never send the promised aid. No miracle would come stampeding over the horizon to rescue their city in its hour of most dire need.
Which meant that the task of protecting everyone fell to him, and him alone.
Mercifully, Gaspar''s Rot was holding steady, albeit for now. He still felt as much pain as the day before ¨C which was a victory in and of itself. It''s not progressing. If so...
The Lord closed his palm into a determined fist. "I''m going to keep us safe," he promised, to both Ode and himself. "No matter what."
¨C
"Have the battles caused Lord Gaspar to lose his mind?"
"Surely it isn''t appropriate for a lord to speak so freely of evil sorcery like that, yes?"
"Allow him some vices! Even if the man is crazy, he''s been fighting nonstop to keep the city safe from legions of Stained Monsters!"
"If you ask me, all this sorcery is why there''s so many monsters lately! They''re attracted by whatever unholy experiments he''s concocting!!"
"You think so?"
"Yes, of course! I mean, the Emperor''s Taboo exists for a reason. The Dark Sorcerer and¨C"
"Silence! I think he can hear us!"
Gaspar could, yet he found it difficult to care. Dragons of Old, let them speak ill of me if they desire. Let them hate me if they must. But let me keep those same fools alive, oh please!
It occurred to him that the Dragons of Old might not approve of his doings any more than his courtiers. It also mattered not. He had to keep the city from falling to Rot ¨C at any costs. And if that needed to be a lonely endeavor...well, what of it?
"Hey," Ode asked him one day. "Can you tell me what''s going on with that whole sorcery thing?" There was no subterfuge or hidden layers to her question. The woman was concerned, plain and simple; a fact that Gaspar knew well. "Please, I know something is going on. Let me help."
The Lord forced himself to smile. "There''s nothing to help with. Just enjoy life as you have been, old friend."
¨C
His next memory was incomplete. Adam immediately recognized why.
Pain. The Painter winced as secondhand agony pierced inside his body. His past was so painful that his mind tried to erase it from his memory. To protect him.
Alas, the human mind is rarely so perfectly efficient. It had butchered the memory, chopped it into pieces, smothered it in a cloudy haze of sorts...
But there was still enough to remember. Still enough to invoke a sense of sadness so supreme that Adam felt his body trembling when he touched the fragmented recollection.
He''d been dreading reaching this memory. The time had now come, it seemed.
A Lord was running through a burning city.
Gaspar tore through streets set ablaze, his lungs burning with each ragged breath. The Rot churned in his veins, a molten tide threatening to overtake him, a monster that yearned to reunite with its brethren.
Around him, the city had been transformed into a macabre carnival. Stained Monsters crawled and slithered, their misshapen forms dripping with viscous rot. They tore into the fleeing townsfolk, claws rending flesh, mouths full of gnashing teeth swallowing screams. The buildings were no better, their walls bubbling with corrupted growths, beams snapping like bones.
Gaspar stumbled on a severed arm. He glanced back, seeing that the limb was twitching, blackened tendrils sprouting from its stump.
My fault, was the thought that leapt to him. This ¨C this is my fault!
The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and the acrid stench of rotting flesh. Gaspar''s feet slammed against half-shattered cobblestone, dodging twisted corpses and bodies that writhed with unnatural life.
"Help me!" cried a young man missing both arms. "My lord ¨C help me!"
I cannot heal you. I lack the ability to do so. I''m sorry.
"Please!" begged a white haired, frail man. "My child is still inside! Save her, my lord!"
That building has been consumed by the Rot. It''s too late.
Voices rose and fell, each one representing a life he had failed to preserve.
I''m sorry. Forgive me. Please...
Please, forgive me.
The Rot surged in him. It sang a cruel invitation ¨C a primal desire, whispering for him to embrace the tranquil blessing of death.
Not yet. He wasn''t allowed to die just yet. How could he take the easy way out when buildings pulsated like breathing organs, their windows weeping with a noxious black sludge?
I have to do something¨Cto help people evacuate¨Cto help¨C
A child screamed, only to be silenced as a monster slammed it into a wall, the sickening crunch reverberating through Gaspar''s ears.
His vision blurred, but not enough to keep him from the horrors abound. A merchant''s cart melted into a puddle of organic ooze, tendrils sprouting from its wheels to lash out at anything nearby. A man begged for help as a monster tore into his stomach, his entrails unraveling in steaming loops.
The creature turned. Its too-many eyes locked onto Gaspar. He stumbled, the infection nearly breaking him, but terror and duty kept him standing upright.
"Realm...Recons..tru..ction..." Useless words. His Canvas was hopelessly stained by now. There was little he could do. "I...have to...keep..."
A pulsating liquid shaped like a nightmarish mantis approached him. The monster''s limb raised high above its head, forming into a facsimile of a blade. It had no face, yet Gaspar would have sworn it was smiling.
"¨CLOOK OUT!"
Gaspar''s memory flickered like a faulty film reel, the past overlaying the present with jagged, imperfect images. The sight of Ode cutting down the monster, her blade gleaming with impossible precision, froze his thoughts and sent his brain into overdrive. She was grinning ¨C grinning like a damned hero, like this was all a game to her.
"What are you...doing here?" Gaspar asked, with a weak, faltering voice. "I ordered you to evacuate first when¨Cwhen¨C"
"Like hell I was going to listen to that," Ode laughed. "To be certain, you''re still in the habit of trying to solve everything yourself...but why should I let you do that?"
Gaspar smiled. Heavens, he''d been foolish. He should''ve talked to Ode before, trusted her sooner. "Next time, I swear I''ll rely on you a little more."
Ode''s cocky smirk shifted into something warmer. "I would like that, old friend. Even if¨C"
An ink-black claw, slick and writhing, pierced through her chest.
The jagged, unnatural limb twisted, pulling her backward with a sickening lurch. Blood spilled freely down her front, an unfinished sentence lost in a gasp.
Ode''s smirk never quite left her face as Gaspar''s world was shaded in red.
¨C
Lord Gaspar gazed down at the ruins of his fallen city of Asteria.
"My lord, please," said the messenger of Lord Edmundo, trying and failing to grab his attention. "I have orders to bring you to a safe location."
"Why?" Gaspar asked bitterly. "Look upon my mighty city, and despair with me! Look at what I did to my father''s legacy, what I did to...to the people who lived there."
Could I have saved them if I''d learned more about the man who visited me that night? "Did Edmundo tell you why I should bother trying to live?"
The Messenger hastily read out his instructions, stumbled awkwardly over his words. "Lord Edmundo says that you have no heir." I did have one. He died saving me. "And that it would be bad for the Frontier if you died without passing your Talent."
With shaking hands, the messenger lowered his paper. "He...he said you have duties yet to fulfill."
Duties. Obligations. Even now, I cannot rest.
For the first time of his life, Gaspar laughed.
Chapter 66 (Book 3 Chapter 5)
Adam had never seen what happened to a city fully consumed by Rot.
Read about it. Heard about it. But never seen.
This could be what awaits Penumbria if I fail, he realized, with startling clarity. The worst of three possible fates. Either his people would starve, Ciro''s armies would sack the city and raze it to the ground...
Or the Rot would overwhelm all.
Compared to what he''d witnessed happen to Asteria City, starvation or slaughter almost seemed a mercy by comparison.
He''d barely had time to process that before the Fallen Lord''s memories continued. They weren''t quite done with him yet.
As if imploring him to bear witness, visions of another life surged up once more.
¨C
In the halls of Edmundo Crepusculo''s opulent court, the Fallen Lord was little more than a relic ¨C a trophy to showcase the Lord of Coimbargo''s kindness.
He sat in a far off corner, his hunched-over silhouette more akin to the ancient artifacts hanging on the wall than a person. The goblet of wine in his hands, cheap by the court''s standards but extravagant by his new ones, trembled slightly.
Yet not from fear. The Fallen Lord was past fear ¨C past most things, really. All that remained was his wine, the infatuating atmosphere of a fanciful feast, and the knowledge that every sip drowned the man once known as Lord Gaspar.
A week ago, his city had Rotted. His noble duty, his bloodright, his home. Gone. Reduced to blood, ash, and the faint, Stained screams of those whom he''d sworn to protect.
He survived, though.
Survived, Gaspar thought, rolling the word around his feverish brain like the dregs of wine at the bottom of the cup. Survival felt too strong a term for his present state of being. He was no more than a smoldering, hollowed-out husk, walking through the gilded cage of another man''s palace.
And what a palace it was. Once, Gaspar would have held a quiet contempt for it ¨C for anything that wasted coin better spent on the people''s safety.
Exotic dancers fluttered about, swinging on vines from one end of the room to the other. Nobles exchanged clipped words with one another, careful conversations that danced over politics, it was a place of orbs, honor, and titles.
This used to be where he was most feared. A place where his sternness would earn him enemies and admirers alike.
''Have you no shame?'' Gaspar may have said, in another life. ''To waste yourself in luxuries, when that drink in your hands could''ve saved even one more life?''
But he wasn''t that person today.
He wasn''t that person anymore.
Now...now, the Fallen Lord was just a man. A man who drank before noon, unable to recognize the hoarse sound coming out of his throat as his own voice.
Another sip. Another layer of himself he could forget about.
"Why are you still wearing clothes, damned you!" Gaspar slurred at the dancers, amidst a cough that nearly suffocated him in his cup. "Come on, we''ve been waiting all night!"
The dancers smiled back at him. Some nobles raised a toast in response, and the Fallen Lord laughed with them. It was an unfamiliar gesture, something almost foreign to his body ¨C and mayhaps that was why he found it easier than if he''d acted truer to himself.
To what had once been himself, his mind corrected.
Gaspar watched the show for a while longer, his smile a performance for the sake of the rare curious courtier that aimed a glance in his direction. Slowly, as the dancers'' performance heated up and the palace''s fervor reached its peak, he retreated inside his own mind just long enough to think of a most alluring thought.
Perhaps it would be better to die.
The thought wasn''t a new enemy. It had been following him like a stray cat ever since he''d stumbled through the gates of Coimbargo, bloodied, coughing ash, and clutching the remains of his dignity. Gaspar has never been much for cats, but this one ¨C the ever-present option of death ¨C had dulled the worst of his pain. There was something soothing about it.
When it gets too much, I''ll find the nearest balcony.
It was only the knowledge that he could die at any moment that kept him sane. But why? Was he not just delaying the inevitable? It would be better for everyone, himself included, if he just excused himself from this feast, retreated to nowhere special, and quietly took care of things. Who would miss him?
Not the few of his surviving citizens ¨C they served other lords now, and cursed his incompetence. Not his loved ones ¨C he had none left. Not other lords ¨C why would they care for a rival?
Gaspar had nothing unresolved, none alive who depended on him, and nothing else to¨C
The First Painter. Lawrence.
This thought froze him like a dose of sobriety through his veins. The Fallen Lord''s hands trembled as he set down his wine cup. His lips quivered as he dared to think, to summon whatever remained of the man once called Gaspar.
I''m the only one who knows of the First Painter. He...he might know of a way to save more people.
Not his people. It was too late for them. But there were others who could yet be saved by what Lawrence knew.
Dragons of Old...burn me to cinders, he begged. Reduce me to nothing. Do not do this.
Do not give me a reason I must live.
As always, his prayers went unanswered.
Mayhaps this was punishment for his failures. To live just a little longer, and to find out more about the First Painter.
Lawrence''s existence was a fraying thread keeping Gaspar from falling into an abyss. The Fallen Lord knew not whether his weak hand clasped it desperately...or whether the string had chained itself around him mercilessly.
¨C
For many nights, Gaspar lay awake, every blink summoning him to an enveloping darkness that threatened to swallow whatever remained of his soul. Sleep refused to come ¨C nor did it accept any invitations, offer as he might. Wine could blunt the conscious mind, sure, but the unconscious?
No drink has the power to dull your dreams. Instead, it merely arms them with sharper blades than your mind is ready to parry. Nightmares bled through the Lord''s every moment, waking and not, a riot of ash and fire.
The city''s death. He could hardly even think of it without breaking.
Ode''s death. He couldn''t think of it without breaking.
Memories twisted and snarled, clawing at the inside of his skull like wild animals demanding freedom. They were more relentless than any Ghost that ever haunted his old city''s walls.
"No," he thought, gripping the edges of his cot as if to anchor himself. The word came sharp and bitter, like a shard of glass lodged in his throat. I can''t...I can''t forget.
But forgetting was all he desired, wasn''t it? To scrape the memories away like old paint, to be new ¨C to be clean. His trembling fingers reached for the bottle at his bedside, but he stopped. The wine couldn''t fix this.
His birthright could. His Talent could.
His Divine Knowledge could.
Gaspar hesitated. Even in this state, he remembered the warnings he was taught at the Academy. Divine Knowledge wasn''t meant for things like this. It wasn''t meant to be turned inward.
It wasn''t meant to rewrite.
I should only use it to read or observe. Never to alter. By Imperial Law, forcing or stealing knowledge from another was forbidden.
And for good reason. Most targets of a forced Divine Knowledge ended up with their brains damaged beyond repair. Throughout history, even Lords backed by the Noble Guard had fallen comatose, as such alterations were not necessarily viewed as an injury by the Realm''s own definition of what it should heal. Such definitions were flimsily defined, hard to study, and impossible to play with.
All of those rare cases where Lords paid the price for their hubris had happened hundreds of years in the past. Gaspar had heard of only one man mad enough to play with this taboo.
''You''re a goddamn genius!'' Ode had once told him. ''No one''s ever learned things as fast as you in the Academy!''
''Aspreay did,'' he replied, gesturing at the parchment with every written record of the last few years. ''If anything, Lord Arcanjo learned faster than I.''
''Not traditionally, mind you,'' Ode whispered. ''I heard that he got so frustrated with his lack of progress that he started forcing information into his own brain with Divine Knowledge...then killing himself to ensure Noble Guard triggers.''
Just hearing that gave him shivers. ''What a lunatic. A person''s Canvas disappears after death. You''d need to construct a Noble Guard that operates fast enough to resurrect yourself after you die, but before your Canvas vanishes. That''s not even getting into how perfectly you''d have to time the Divine Knowledge ¨C as well as your own ''murder'' for any ''lessons'' to stick in your brain. The margin of error would be thinner than a needle!"
Ode shook her head in bemusement. ''Well, how would you do it, Gaspy?'' she asked, with a smile. ''Using Divine Knowledge to forcibly modify your own mind, I mean.''
''If I had to do it...suppose I would focus on getting it right the first try. Implant the Knowledge without harming myself. There''d be no need to heal or resurrect myself if I incurred no damage in the first place. It would be monstrously difficult, but...''
She sent him an encouraging grin. ''But you can¨C''
¨C
I can do it, thought the Fallen Lord. I can...stash those thoughts away. Make them not hurt as much. I can visit them later, I won''t forget, they just...won''t be as painful.
A quiet voice ¨C a faint echo of who he once was ¨C whispered caution. Imagining himself able to do it was arrogance. Wishing himself able to do it was cowardice.
You''re going to destroy yourself, was its final warning.
Gaspar silenced the voice with a snarl. What was there left to destroy? The man he''d been, the woman he''d loved ¨C all of that was already ash and rot.
Thus, with the grim determination of a man carving his own epitaph, and with the nonchalance of a hopeless drunk reaching for what he half-knows and half-wishes could be his last bottle...Gaspar turned his Divine Knowledge upon himself. He felt the weight of it, the celestial rewiring of his brain circuitry, the sacred logic folding over his thoughts like a blacksmith''s hammer.
A hammer he himself wielded.
He sifted through the wreckage of his memories with brutal efficiency. Gaspar couldn''t erase them entirely ¨C no, that was beyond him.
But he could compartmentalize. Box the worst of it up. Hide it away in some dark corner of his mind where it wouldn''t scream at him every time he closed his eyes.
Bury the man you used to be. Think of him as another person. Forget the pain. Remember your missions, the little you can still do...
And most of all, forget how much you wish you were dead.
When it was done, Gaspar felt lighter.
Not better, exactly. Not healed. But bearable.
He could exist.
The worst of it ¨C the city, Ode, the person he used to be ¨C was now stashed away. He could forget how much he had loved her, how much he had failed her. He could forget the man who would''ve once died before breaking this law. That man was gone now; just another thing left behind in the rubble.
Gaspar took a deep, shuddering breath. His hands steadied. His gaze lifted. He wasn''t whole, but he was still here. That would have to be enough.
For now, it was.
¨C
The Fallen Lord managed to acquire a semblance of normality over the following weeks. Some nearly thought of him as a different person, and he couldn''t blame them. No longer was there a haunting seriousness to his voice, instead replaced by an undying smirk that must''ve seemed callous after the death of his people.
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Do they think I can keep on being the same person I always was, after he killed so many with his sinful incompetence?
"Yes, yes, we should absolutely look for a bard, Edmundo," he told his host one day. "The Lord of Coimbargo deserves the best!"
"Would that I could," Edmundo grumbled. "Bards are wary of traveling right now, what with the business in Penumbria."
"Penumbria?" The Fallen Lord laughed dismissively, though he lifted an eyebrow with curiosity. "What did old Aspreay do this time? Has he lost his city to the Rot already? Would be nice if I wasn''t the only living lord doomed to be known by that title."
"No. He fell ill and had his duties taken over by his son." Edmundo smirked. "His bastard son at that. Mayhaps that''s why he agreed to allow mine to waste his coin." The Lord shook his head. "Can you believe that thing fathered a child?"
It was difficult to imagine Aspreay as a father, caring or not, but that wasn''t the most curious point at the moment. "His son," the Fallen Lord began. A spark of curiosity ¨C a measure of the old Gaspar ¨C screamed back at him. "What do we know of him?"
"He''s not well educated, for one." Edmundo shrugged. "Seems like before this incident, Aspreay had been hiding him in his court as a painter."
The word kindled a flame in Gaspar''s heart. Painter? Could it be...?
¨C
Emperor Ciro stood before the kneeling Frontier Lords with a haughty look about him.
"The Painter is a pretender," Ciro told them. "He is no more Aspreay''s son than I, and he must answer for his crime against the Empire."
The Frontier Lords all responded with a resounding cry of affirmation, promising to make good on their vows to the Empire ¨C yet each lord stirred with a different motivation. Beatriz with hesitance, Helena with fear, Edmundo with excitement at the chance to obtain his revenge...
And Gaspar with concern. A no-name Painter faked being Aspreay''s son and usurped Penumbria from him?
But then how would he have the Talent of a Lord?
¨C
Adam, the Painter Lord of Penumbria, eventually proved victorious.
He had survived and won what would become known as the Battle of the Santuario, personally slaying an Imperial Hangman in single combat. Furthermore, the Heiress of Gama had carved out her own legend by taking yet another Hangman prisoner and announcing to the world her ability to use a Genius Realm.
Little surprise that Gaspar was called upon by Ciro again. He soon found himself kneeling before the Emperor once more, together with his host Edmundo.
"Your mission is to assassinate the Painter," Ciro ordered them. "Worry not, as your recompensation will be plentiful ¨C Orbs shall be dispensed so as to improve your Lordly Rank. Accept his invitation into his city, pretend to consider his offer of rebellion, then slay him."
"It will be my pleasure," Edmundo solemnly promised him.
Gaspar was not so quick. "We''ll be inside his Realm. Will he not find out everything we''re planning the second our Canvases pass through his Walls? Divine Knowledge should allow him to¨C"
The Emperor yawned lazily. "Not with a casual glimpse. He would have to dive deep into the recesses of your mind to uncover your designs. At that point, open aggression on his part would prompt Gregorio and the others to rally behind your cause."
It wasn''t a convincing notion, yet it didn''t need to be. Ciro''s meaning was plain ¨C he wanted the Painter dead, and he cared not whether Gaspar and Edmundo would need to risk their lives to do so.
"Even so," Gaspar insisted, "I think there is no reason to assume the Pretender won''t immediately guess our plans. Merely stashing our thoughts away isn''t a secure enough measure."
"It isn''t," the Emperor agreed. "But using Divine Knowledge to forcibly make yourself forget...that is secure. You would know, wouldn''t you?"
Ciro''s question was mocking, his smirk a dagger. "Every time before you meet with me, you prune your memories so as to not make your motives easy to discern."
That wasn''t entirely true. Gaspar liked his privacy, yes, and he misliked his chances of keeping something hidden from the Emperor of the World when it came to a matter of Realms. Yet his real reason for burrowing his memories was much simpler.
He just didn''t want Asteria''s destruction to haunt his nightmares every night.
"I am the Emperor of the World," Ciro warned him. "I will ensure that your true intentions are hidden in the farthest corners of your mind ¨C for the first few days you are there. After that...mount the Painter''s head on the Penumbria castle ramparts, you hear me?"
Gaspar glanced over at the excited, would-be avenger in the shape of a Lord beside him. Edmundo''s intentions to murder Adam were so clear that there was a good chance the Painter might mistake the Emperor''s orders for the Lord of Coimbargo''s own natural bloodlust. Stashing away the most damning of his memories might give them a chance to survive.
"Ah, fine," said the Fallen Lord, with a resigned shrug of his shoulders. "We''ll try it. Onwards to our death, then."
¨C
Gaspar arrived in Penumbria with half-a mind to fulfill the Emperor''s request, half-a mind to question the new Lord of Penumbria about the First Painter ¨C and a full mind that wished to die.
His emotions were long detached from his heart, his memories carefully sealed away. Even his sense of duty had started to fade, like a faint threat ready to snap.
By the Dragons...have I not punished myself enough yet?
But the flickering embers of his soul ¨C of the person he used to be ¨C burned ever brighter when he first laid his eyes upon the new Lord of Penumbria.
He and I aren''t so far apart in age, Gaspar mused. We both took over our father''s territories quite young. Arguably too young.
"I am pleased you''ve found the time to join our meeting," were the first words spoken by Adam the Painter. "It will be done when matters regarding the lives of thousands are dealt with, and not a moment sooner."
He somewhat reminds me of how I used to be. The notion brought a faint smile to the Fallen Lord''s face. Sweet at first, although the bitterness reached him soon afterward, as it always did.
For a moment he thought of speaking with Adam privately. To warn him of the Emperor''s treachery, and to see if the rumors of his ability to fight against the Rot were true. Maybe there would be something good that could come out of that still.
Another moment, he thought of killing him as was ordered by Ciro.
The two versions of himself he''d crafted in his mind swirled within a dark whirlpool that threatened to pull him under. Gaspar made no effort to fight against it. Mayhaps the carefree opportunist would win. Mayhaps the ghosts of promises he once made would manifest once more.
He didn''t care either way.
So tired. I...I just want it to be done.
When he spoke to the Painter again, it was with the intention of finding out more about the man''s intentions. If Adam truly was capable of saving the innocent from the Rot, then it was Gaspar''s duty to fight alongside him.
But no. That wasn''t the whole story.
Truthfully, deep inside his mind...deeper even than where he''d buried the worst of his memories...there was a part of him that wished for a different outcome.
A part of him that wished for Adam to kill him.
"You''re going to have to force the knowledge out of me." I already know he can help people. Why am I even fighting him? "A harsh task, that one. It''s rather difficult to force someone who''s already lost everything." I...I don''t want to fight anymore. "Realm Reconstruction." Just end this.
Just end me.
¨C
Adam stood over the fallen lord.
Gaspar remained crumpled on the floor like a toppled statue. His impressive Realm had been shattered in the Clash, and his Canvas was now too Stained to attempt at lifting a finger, let alone reconstruct a Realm.
Yet the Painter didn''t feel relaxed. Gaspar was defeated, true ¨C but so was Adam. Exhausted. Worn down to the bone.
This is where my job actually begins.
"You have won, my lord..." Gaspar rasped, his voice like cracked marble; elegant despite its fractures. He coughed and spat out something near to laughter, though it came out closer to a fragmented wheeze. "No, that''s not very fair of me. My father would be ashamed of this behavior."
He shifted on the cold stone floor, the smirk on his lips too faint to reach his eyes. "In the name of my bloodline, of the beautiful city of Asteria, I admit it. You have bested me, Adam Arcanjo of Penumbria, King of the Frontier."
The words hung in the air like incense, heavy and strange. Gaspar''s tone was smooth ¨C too smooth for a man laying atop what could be his grave.
Yet it felt...earnest. Earnest in a way that was almost worse than defiance.
"I accepted the Emperor''s treasonous order of murdering you," Gaspar said, the confession slipping from his mouth as casually as one would admit to a jest. "For this transgression, and for the crime of violating Penumbria''s hospitality, I am prepared to be executed under the rightful authority of your rule, my King."
Adam fell into thought. His hands flexed at his sides, the weight of Gaspar''s words settling onto his shoulders like a yoke.
Killing him would solve a few of my problems, he thought. More than a few. The Empire would respect him more. His enemies would whisper of his ruthlessness. The other Frontier Lords, the ones that actually had Orbs and soldiers to their name, would pledge themselves more readily out of fear. A neat, clean conclusion to a messy, bloody chapter.
But Adam wasn''t the sort of man who loved neat endings.
Gaspar looked up at him, eyes dull and tired. As if he''d accepted this was how he would die ¨C and was almost annoyed that it hadn''t happened yet.
Am I supposed to just let his life...end, like that? Adam wondered. He went through so much. Way too much. And now I''m supposed to just kill him?
Well, that is what a lord would do, wouldn''t they? A real lord. A lord bereft of doubts. The kind of lord people sang songs about.
That was fine by Adam. He meant to be remembered by his own art ¨C not the music others wrote of him.
Aspreay is going to hate me for this. So is Tenver. Probably Solara, too.
Adam sighed. Even I''m going to hate me for this.
"As your life belongs to the Kingdom of the Frontier," Adam began, each word slow, deliberate, and heavy, "it falls onto the crown to decide what to do with it."
He paused, the weight of his own voice surprising him. "And I have another fate in mind for you."
Gaspar blinked, confusion flashing across his face. The smirk was gone now, replaced by something brittle and wary. Disappointment, perhaps.
"Pray tell, Your Majesty," Gaspar murmured, his weak voice dripping with a defiant sarcasm. "What would you punish me with?" Unspoken yet plain in his tone was, ''What could you punish me with that I haven''t unfortunately survived already?''
Adam met his gaze. "Knowledge."
The word landed like a stone in a quiet pond, ripples of implication spreading out between them.
Gaspar frowned, his confusion deepening. "What do you¨C"
His scream echoed throughout the hall. It wasn''t the scream of a man in pain ¨C it was the scream of a man being remade against his will.
"I will curse you with a reason to live," Adam said. "You will know everything you''ve wanted to know about the First Painter, ever since the day you first learned his name."
Divine Knowledge crashed onto Gaspar like a tidal wave.
Bonus Chapter 7
My choices are to either steal the soul of a kind man adored by all ¨C or to allow thousands of my people to die gruesome deaths, the Painter mused.
Penumbria''s treasury had been a fuller vault, before. It was once filled not only with Orbs, but with the City''s hopes for the future. Though under Aspreay''s rule it had never been so flush with riches as to stave off the Rot completely, there''d still been enough to prevent the infection from subsuming everything. Enough to keep at least some people alive.
Now, under the Lord Painter''s rule? The vault was nearly empty ¨C sacrificed on the pyre of a decision that Adam had made with shaking hands and a heart full of doubt.
Orbs meant to keep his people fed throughout winter were instead used to raise his Talent''s Rank. He''d bought power with the coin intended to support his city''s livelihood, all to ensure that the Ghost of Waters was slain. It had been necessary, logical, and left him with a disgusting feeling in the pits of his stomach.
What will my people say of me, if I can''t save them? The thought haunted him. That their Lord ¨C the one who''d sworn to protect them ¨C had gutted their lifeline for one desperate victory¡
Necessity did not justify his actions.
Now, as winter''s frost loomed on the horizon, the consequences of that choice was beginning to sharpen their claws. Penumbria''s coffers were close to empty. Without Orbs, the Empire''s wards against Stained beasts would fail. There would be no more shipments of Halfwood, and those accursed monsters would slip through like water through a broken dam.
Every citizen, every child, they''d all freeze or bleed before spring arrived ¨C and that''s if the monsters didn''t get them first.
Had Adam not reached for the noble treasury during his battle against the Ghost, Penumbria would have been left without a Lord, the city immediately taken over by the Rot. Yet the threat now was no less deadly. Without Orbs, the city wouldn''t last another season.
Penumbria needed the support of the Puppet Grandmaster to make it through winter¡and he wouldn''t even see Adam unless the Painter agreed to take the soul of a man who''d just shown him a surprising amount of kindness.
Maybe there''s a reason the Grandmaster wants Merrivale''s soul, he tried to tell himself. Something that makes him a terrible person.
The Swordmaster''s very existence parried that notion.
A day later, Adam found himself sitting in the Theater, arms crossed over his chest. He watched quietly as Merrivale and Ferrero taught fencing to a group of kids. The children wore carefree, joyous smiles, the kind that could only belong to those who had been allowed to retain a sliver of innocence in a world determined to stamp it out.
One of them stumbled, falling onto his knees, and Merrivale helped him up with a laugh. Adam''s eyes caught something strange ¨C one of the children''s fingers didn''t bend right.
Wood? He blinked, but the thought stayed. It followed naturally that the Puppets'' missing flesh was replaced with Halfwood during their transformation. But¡that a child so young had already gone through the process¡
What kind of life did they lead to turn into a Puppet so early? Adam didn''t like the idea. He wished it hadn''t occurred to him.
Precisely because of that, he decided to carve it deep into his mind lest he ever forget it out of convenience. These children had been killed and resurrected as Puppets ¨C victims of the Empire''s rapacious hunger for Orbs. Even this fate could be considered a mercy, as they were outnumbered still by the many, many more who hadn''t gotten a second chance at life.
It must have been hard for them. Incredibly hard. Some might not even have their families anymore. Maybe they went through the process alone ¨C or forgot their family afterwards, and ended up alone anyway. Ferrero said that your memories would fade if you''d been dead for too long before becoming a Puppet.
One of the children was gripping their rapier, eyes shining with glee, as if he wished to swing it with reckless abandon. Merrivale helpfully adjusted his grip, careful to avoid the seams of the young boy''s wrist.
Adam noticed it immediately: the faint line where wood met flesh, smoothed so meticulously that it was nearly invisible. Not every Puppet had the benefit of an unblemished, nearly human-like body. Some looked wooden, blatantly artificial, closer to walking automatons than a person.
And the Swordmaster made each of them laugh equally.
Solara sat down beside Adam, raising an eyebrow. "If you ask me, that looks flat-out adorable," she told him. The elf gestured at the stage, where Merrivale was gently guiding a child''s grip around a rapier longer than the child was tall, almost causing the kid to topple over from the weight. "So why do you look so miserable?"
"I''m miserable because it looks adorable," the Painter grunted. He paused to consider how much to tell her ¨C should he trust Solara with this?
Yeah. I painted her soul earlier. I know she''s not planning to betray me. "Keep it secret, but the Grandmaster wants me to paint Merrivale''s soul."
"Really?" the elf asked with surprise. Her gaze turned first to the Swordmaster dramatically encouraging a child to lift up their blade, and then back to Adam. "That guy? That''s his number one priority?"
"The Grandmaster won''t meet with me otherwise."
"And is the problem that you can''t¡or that you won''t?"
"Both?" he answered hesitantly. "I haven''t learned enough about the man yet, so even if I wanted to, I doubt I could make an accurate painting of him. But I also don''t know if I want to. So far, everyone whose soul I''ve trapped with my Talent has been¡" Adam trailed off with a mild frown, searching for the right word.
"Sort of evil?" Solara nodded. "Yes, I understand."
I mean, not quite. I did Paint you ¨C but only to excise the Ghost of Flames and remove Belmordo''s Curse.. "Besides, I don''t think that taking the soul of the most popular man in the Mines would be great for human-puppet relations."
Solara blinked, taken aback. "You want Puppets and people to get along? Adam, that''s¨C"
"Going to be hard, I know." He cut her off, waving away the elf''s concerns with a flick of his wrist. "But we''ve been here for days now ¨C you''re seeing the same things I am, yeah?"
His hand swept across the vast cavern that encompassed the theater. They saw an intricate latticework of stone bridges, the ceiling decorated by hanging lanterns that cast dancing shadows everywhere. The walls shimmered faintly, lined with veins of silver and gold.
"The Puppets have spent all of their second life being hunted by the Empire," Adam grimly pointed out. "They''d be slaughtered in an instant if they set foot above ground. But they''re still¡thriving, you know? And it goes beyond just this theatre."
Solara shifted uncomfortably. "Yes," she mumbled, "I know."
"I get that you used to not be a fan of Puppets until recently," Adam continued. He emphasized the word, letting the silence hang for a moment. "But they aren''t monsters hiding in the dark, waiting for a chance to take someone and replace them with a husk of their former self. They''re just¡"
He shrugged and laughed. "They''re just goddamn people, you know?"
"Yes," Solara mumbled again, more annoyedly than last time. "I know."
She sighed and looked down, turning her annoyance at herself. "But it took a lot for me to see that. My circumstances were unique and¡not easily repeatable. It isn''t like you can make every person in the Empire find out that one of their closest allies was a Puppet all along, or have them watch as the creatures they despised so fiercely then battled a Ghost to protect them, or be given a tour of the Mines to see how Puppets live just like us."
It was Adam''s turn to nod slowly. "True, that''s¨C"
"¨COr discover that some of her dead friends were resurrected into Puppets, granted new identities, and then protected from the real asshole who killed them."
Adam stared at her blankly. "Come again?"
"Forget it." Solara''s reply came in a low, bittersweet tone that Adam couldn''t quite place. "I''ll tell you later, promise. Now is¡not the time, though. You''ve got far too much to deal with already."
She touched his shoulder softly, catching his gaze before offering a brief smile and tilting her head toward the stage. The Swordmaster''s mock parry drew a burst of cheers from the awestruck children surrounding him. "So¡what are you doing about that?"
Adam closed his eyes and sighed into his hands. When he looked up again, his eyes were not of the Painter from Another World, but of the Lord of Penumbria, gaze sharpening with renewed focus.
"First I''ll find out more about Merrivale," he said firmly. "I can make a decision on whether to paint him or not later. If it does come to that, I''ll need to know everything I can about who he is for my Painting Talent to succeed. Learning more will also help me figure out if there''s anything wrong with him."
"And if there isn''t?" Solara insisted. "What if there''s nothing wrong with him? What if he''s just a¡good man, whom the Grandmaster of Puppets hates because he doesn''t want to share power with anyone?"
Penumbria needs the Grandmaster''s Orbs.
That thought anchored Adam and held him prisoner. It kept him steady with its weight, making the choices to come feel all the heavier.
In his memories, he saw the faces of the people ¨C his people, who had welcomed him at his crowning as the Lord of Penumbria. They''d been hopeful, determined, unaware of how he would wager their very lives, arrogantly presuming he could make things better.
Unaware that he too would bloody his hands like Aspreay before him.
Captain Baltsar resurfaced in his mind, as he often did, and as he likely always would. Adam hadn''t hesitated then, nor would he regret it now. But until his dying day, he would hear those echoes ¨C that sickening sound as one clean stroke had separated the man''s head from his body in front of a cheering crowd.
"I''ll cross that bridge when we get to it," he answered.
¨C
Devoid of sunlight and plentiful in uncertainty, the Mines seemed to blur time. Only a short hour later, the warmth of the Puppet children''s laughter had faded, replaced by the more foreboding ¨C yet no less happy ¨C laughter of Ferrero''s training square.
"I don''t think I need to learn how to handle a sword," Adam protested sharply, though resignation had already crept into his tone. He barely caught the rapier flung vaguely in his direction, its weight heavier than anticipated.
The weapon glimmered beneath the artificial cavern light, reflected at the Painter with elegance that bordered on a taunt. You should be honored to use me, it seemed to suggest. "Shouldn''t I at least get a wooden sword to start?" he asked.
Ferrero''s joyous cackle came from deep within his gut, as if he''d just been told the most wonderful joke. "I fence with rapiers. Why could I use a thick, wooden sword to teach you a quick thrusting weapon?" He shook his head. "No, it''s about balance ¨C you''ll learn as we go. Come now, oh Lord of Paint!"
Adam couldn''t help but crack a smile beneath his tired sigh. He wanted to be annoyed at the man, but it was impossible not to be swept up in someone''s enthusiasm when they shared a passion they held most dearly.
It reminded him of Earth in some ways. Of art school, of¡
Eric.
Before their paths diverged..
If I hadn''t lost that contest¡if Eric hadn''t done what he did¡I never would''ve wandered into the old man''s art shop, Adam mused. Never would have come to this world at all.
How many things had changed because of his supposed best friend? Where would he be right now, if Eric hadn''t¨C
Ferrero''s blade shot forward like a bullet. It went just over Adam''s shoulder, less than an inch away from his neck. "This is why you need to hold your stance," Ferrero warned him, his tone that of a guest lecturer. "You were wide open, my lord."
Adam stared in horror at how close the blade had come to his face. "This is why I wanted us to use wooden swords!" he protested. "If you had missed, I''d be dead!"
The Duelist tilted his head in a confusion so genuine that it was almost childish. "But my lord, why would I miss?"
I¡can''t even get mad at him. Exasperation was another feeling altogether. "Just give me a sec to get my head in the game," Adam muttered. "Before we begin."
"Aye," Ferrero nodded. "A most fair request, my lord. Master Merrivale always said that non-Puppets should warm up before exercise."
Merrivale''s existence was enough to banish Adam''s exasperation and replace it with the grim reality he''d been avoiding. I have to learn more about Merrivale. There''s no avoiding that.
Whether it would be to paint his soul, or to recoil in horror at the mere suggestion of the idea¡Adam knew not yet.
"Merrivale appears to be quite the local celebrity," Adam said after a pause. "Does he ever get a moment of peace?"
"Several." Ferrero adjusted his gloves with deliberate precision. "Whenever he isn''t here ¨C and the man is gone often enough." The Swordsman puffed his chest with pride. "When Master is here, though¡well, he is showered with the love he deserves, of course! And if I may be candid with you?"
Forget asking for a vow of secrecy; he didn''t wait for Adam to blink before continuing. "People love him more than the Grandmaster himself. He''s not the one keeping us alive, but he''s damn sure one of the reasons we have for wanting to stay alive, you understand? He offered up his own Orbs to fund the Theater of Echoes, can you believe it? And that''s just one of the many reasons he''s so beloved here."
Huh. Didn''t think it would be that easy. Adam hadn''t expected to find out why the Grandmaster wanted him gone so quickly. It made things simpler, even if only by just a little bit.
"You seem very proud of your master," the Painter slowly said.
"How could I not be?" Ferrero answered, with a gleam in his eye and hands on his hips, as if bragging about his father. "Master Merrivale did more than give me a goal to aspire to ¨C did more than give me his skill with the blade. He gave me someone to live up to."
The Duelist laughed awkwardly and cast his eyes downward. He blushed at his admission, but did not shy from it. "A swordsman can cut down the enemies that threaten your flesh, and an artist can cut away the concerns that threaten your soul. Merrivale went further than that. He spends his own fortune to grant us hope, drains his own coffers to paint a brighter future."
For a moment, he faltered. "I¡I can only hope I''ve become a man he can be proud of."
Adam nodded quietly, his mind clouded with guilt. Ferrero''s admiration was genuine, his pride unshakable, his resolve unbreakable. Every word the Duelist spoke carved deeper into the Painter''s heart than steel ever could.
How could he take the soul of someone who had given so much to so many? What kind of monster was Merrivale supposed to be, that someone else would demand his execution?
Hell, what kind of monster is the Grandmaster for wanting it done? Even if I can guess at his motives¨C
''Have you taken his soul yet?''
The Grandmaster''s voice abruptly rang inside his head. It was loud, insistent, and refused to be ignored. ''My patience has limits, Painter. Do you care not for your own people''s plight?''
''If that were true,'' Adam shouted back, ''then this wouldn''t be so damn hard!''
¨C
Meeting with Tenver felt like a breath of fresh air, and just because Adam desperately needed a distraction from the choice that had been forced upon him.
The two of them hadn''t managed to see each other much since their arrival at the Mines ¨C since finding out about Tenver''s puppetry, really. They''d talked on the ship, sure, but even that brief correspondence had been limited by their unending obligations.
In many ways, it was a relief to find out that he was a Puppet, Adam thought. It had certainly explained much about the man''s odd behaviors. Meant he was less likely to betray him.
Though still hardly a guarantee. Shared promises, their time spent together, having an actual reason to throw that all to hell¡Eric had taught him that none of it mattered.
People didn''t need to satisfy a criteria before deciding to ruin someone''s life.
"Adam ¨C my lord!" Tenver''s distant voice echoed across the busy First Hearth, loud enough to be heard even above the clamor of many others enjoying their meals. "There you are!"
The man''s Puppet Arm hung heavy as he walked, long enough to scrape the rocky ground with each swing. Does that hurt? Its Halfwood gleamed faintly in the cavern light, like tree bark veined with raw metal, not even pretending at humanity like some other Puppet limbs were.
But it wasn''t the arm that drew Adam''s attention ¨C it was Tenver''s clothes. Loose, comfortable, more of a rogue''s outfit worn with pride than a proud knight wearing a roguish grin.
This wasn''t the knight Adam had come to know, nor the Puppet Prince he''d come to discover recently. This was someone new. Someone freer. The difference, simple as it was, caught him completely off guard ¨C in a good way.
Guess he doesn''t have to hide his arm here. That, if little else about their visit to the Mines, was downright fantastic. Tenver deserved to look as happy and carefree as he did here. No one should have to wear thick knightly armor to hide their true nature from the world.
Although Adam hadn''t been prepared for how difficult being hugged by that monstrous arm would feel. "Good to see you," Tenver said, smiling brightly and in complete ignorance of how painfully strong his grip was. "How are you enjoying the Mines? It''s not quite my birthplace, but it is my place of rebirth."
Can''t tell this idiot how much that hurt. He looks too damn happy. The Painter struggled free of the hug ¨C after returning it for a brief second first ¨C and smiled awkwardly. "Ferrero showed me around. It looks¡more than just a little impressive, though we haven''t exactly come here for leisure. There''s a lot of work to be done."
It was with no small amount of deliberation that Adam chose not to tell him about the Grandmaster''s demand just yet. He could probably trust Tenver, most likely, but why bother with the added risk?
"Not your place of birth, but the place of your rebirth." The Painter frowned at the words. "I thought the Puppet Mines were a more recent settlement. Didn''t you ''die'' a long time ago?"
"Just over a decade, yes," Tenver acknowledged. A soft hum of voices filled the cavern, punctuated by the clink of bowls against stone tables. Adam absently ran a finger along the carved edge of the bench, its surface worn smooth from years of use, as he waited for the man to continue.
"I was brought to Puppet Mountain, if you must be technical. Rather¡my corpse was. I couldn''t tell you if I was dead at the time, or merely dying. The Mines have always been a significant place for Puppets, mind you. So it was natural for the Grandmaster to relocate the survivors here after the Dark Captain massacred the mountain."
He shrugged. The gesture looked almost comical with his oversized Puppet Arm. "It feels like the same place, though I admit it isn''t."
Adam thought back to his old house. A suburban prison that had rarely felt like home, even when its walls and decorations went unchanged for years. It wasn''t the location of something that made a home ¨C it was the sense of belonging, of finding a place where you could hang up your boots and trade easy smiles with the people there.
"I think I understand what you mean." He paused. "So you can''t remember much about when you were reborn as a Puppet?"
"I remember what killed me." Tenver''s tone was surprisingly jovial for the topic, but his eyes had darkened a little. "A rain of arrows that the usurper used to fell my father and our allies¡I remember it hurting. Badly. Left me flickering in and out of consciousness after that. I imagine that''s what dying feels like."
Adam recalled using Solara''s Talent in order to cheat death before. "Yeah, that''s a pretty good description," he muttered, frowning at the memory. "Guess I understand why you''re not sure. Death is¡a confusing sensation."
"Even if I did die, it can''t have been for long," Tenver pointed out. "Or else I wouldn''t remember my past so well."
His smile never left his face, his casual tone never wavered ¨C and for a moment, a sudden intensity blazed in his eyes. "I wouldn''t remember how much my dear old uncle needs to perish."
The intensity of his statement was diminished, somewhat, by the dried sauce on his face.
Yet not fully erased. It couldn''t be, when Adam had seen the nonchalance with which Tenver had murdered their enemies ¨C and some allies ¨C before.
I''d really like to trust you, but you make it so hard sometimes. Which wasn''t to say that the Painter didn''t want to. If anything, he desperately wished he could blindly rely on Tenver, wanting to believe that the knight''s passionate claims of friendship were real.
That belief, more than anything else, was what scared Adam away from putting his full faith in him. When you handed someone the keys to your heart, there was no guarantee they wouldn''t take it for a joyride and smash it into the nearest pole.
"You visit the Mines often?" Adam asked, hoping to change the topics. "Even after joining Aspreay''s court?"
"Hey, he gave his guards enough days to rest."
Adam lifted an eyebrow. Tenver immediately raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, he gave me enough days to rest."
That made sense. Aspreay would''ve driven his own people to work until they dropped dead, but banished or not, Tenver was still officially a prince of the Empire. It benefitted the former lord to treat him well, in the unlikely scenario that he ever retook the throne.
"What do you usually do when you come here?" Adam inquired. "Just¡walk around, for fun?"
"That as well. It feels nice not to have this hidden all the time." Tenver tapped at his wooden shoulder. "And the theater ¨C well, you saw Merrivale''s performance. Can''t miss his show whenever he''s around."
His grin faded slightly, replaced by something nearing a pout. "Most of all, though, I come here for repairs. I do what I can, but my soul is inside this spear of an arm. It needs constant maintenance work performed on it, lest my body stop functioning."
Questions about whether Tenver''s body was controlled by his brain or his arm sparked in Adam''s mind, but there was another topic to focus on. "Hope this isn''t rude to say¡but uh, Tenver, your arm is a bit unnatural compared to most Puppets." It felt goddamn rude, yet it was too important not to ask. "Why is that?"
"In regards to the former ¨C oh yes, most rude. The question pains me not when coming from you, mind. But if said to others? Most definitely, most terribly rude."
Tenver''s confident intensity faltered, frowning in deep concentration. "Ah, well, most likely?" He sounded hesitant. "I can''t know for sure. Would you believe me if I told you I don''t excel at some manners of social etiquette?"
"I always believe you," Adam responded blankly.
The Puppet Prince smiled. "As for your second question¡I''m not entirely certain. The sooner your corpse is obtained after death, the fewer artificial components a Puppet needs for the process to stick. Among those who waited longer, their appearances trend more towards the inhuman."
Tenver laughed. "I suppose that means I must have died ¨C and that Captain Baltsar took a while getting me here, didn''t he?"
"Guess so," Adam lied.
In truth, he was doing his best to hide his sheer bafflement at Tenver''s lack of concern. While the Puppet Prince was handsome enough for bards to sing of his unmatched beauty, sometimes his naivety matched it like a sudden rival emerging from the shadows. Had I not witnessed how ruthlessly cunning and pragmatic he can be, I might have assumed he fit the ''good looks, empty head'' stereotype.
But Adam had witnessed it. Tenver was a man who smiled as he presented a bag full of your enemies'' decapitated heads. When people underestimated or overlooked him, they typically weren''t long for this world.
So why couldn''t he see that the Grandmaster had likely built him with a purposefully malfunctioning arm?
You''ll never be able to stray too far from him that way. The Mines will always draw you back in. And didn''t you say before that the Grandmaster told you to find me? That you knew there was something odd about my Talent?
More importantly, though¡ "I watched one of Merrivale''s shows earlier," Adam said. "You said you watch it every time you''re around?"
"Every time I and he happen to be around. Which is less often than you would think."
"Really now?" Adam asked, hiding his curiosity. "How often is that?"
Tenver met his gaze, slammed his tankard against the table, and laughed. "My Lord Adam, do you really think you need to dance so elegantly around your point? Merrivale''s existence is indeed strange, and I have looked into him. Would you like to know what I''ve found?"
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Adam nodded excitedly. "Yes, please."
"Fantastic! Allow me to prattle on, then. Merrivale has been in and out of Puppet settlements for over twenty years now. He is not of any noble blood we know¡and trust me, I know every noble house."
Tenver''s eyes widened with a tinge of annoyance at that last bit. "Despite this, he speaks with the dignity and gravitas of a lord. At times Merrivale appears quite ignorant of the history and politics of the Empire, yet his intelligence is not to be underestimated ¨C he''s been observed to give sharp and accurate observations of many delicate topics. He is no noble, but he carries himself with the dignity of a king."
Adam frowned. "That sounds¡like something is missing." And he could wager half a guess as to what, even if Tenver couldn''t. "What else did you find?"
"That he has been spotted across the Empire in several instances. Care to guess where?"
"The theatre?" Adam hesitantly asked. "Some dueling ring?""
"Correct on both counts." Tenver''s voice was firm. "He appears and disappears across the Empire, displaying flashy swordsmanship, love of theater, occasionally taking a disciple or two¡and then stops coming back. Except for the Puppet Mines. Something here has kept him returning time and again."
"Huh. No idea what that could be."
Adam wondered if a day would come where he could fully trust Tenver. Maybe then, he''d finally be able to stop lying to him.
¨C
The cavern hummed softly, the water below reflecting faint, rippling light onto the jagged walls. Adam leaned against a railing that overlooked it from a few feet above, his mind tangled in knots of uncertainty.
I could probably paint Merrivale''s soul at this point, he thought, the guilt worsening like a cold chill creeping into his bones. But do I want to?
Do I have to?
He didn''t hear Valeria approach at first ¨C just the sharp tap of her boots on the stone path. She emerged into view, her coat flowing behind her like the echo of a storm. Pale hair framed a face that was equal parts beautiful and razor-edged confidence. In that sense, she reminded him of Tenver.
Valeria stood there, silhouetted against the blue glow of the cavern. Her long coat billowed faintly as she moved, her silver hair catching the light like a knife''s edge. She looked at him with a gaze that seemed distant, yet still observing him far too closely. Like her mind was elsewhere, and at the same time, like she knew everything about him.
Adam felt a shiver go down his spine.
"I hear my Lord has requested my presence ¨C and thus I have arrived to do whatever is demanded of me!" Valeria had the rare ability to sound both subservient and arrogant at once. It was honestly quite impressive. "Rest assured, my lord, that as the newest citizen of your mighty city, I shall do as requested and fulfill my duties. Whatever they might be."
How can someone who''s never opposed me be so unnerving? Adam sighed and turned around to face her. "I''m glad to see you''re so eager to serve Penumbria," he said, attempting to sound regal. "That''s exactly what this is about."
"Oh?" The Detective''s hand went to her chest as she feigned a melodramatic fainting spell. "My, my! I''ve heard much about Lords and what they demand of their citizens, but ¨C how scandalous! I expected such debauchery to be only of fiction!"
"What the hell are you even¨CI didn''t even remotely hint at¨C"
Adam stopped and drew a deep breath. She knows. She''s trying to be annoying on purpose. Don''t let her.
"As we promised on the Airship, you are one of Penumbria''s citizens now," he went on, forcing himself not to comment on Valeria''s amused smirk. "What I want to know is¡why."
The Detective crossed her arms. "Does my Lord Adam really not know why one would feel the need to leave this place?" She glanced around at the cavern. "Has Ferrero''s tour blinded your noble eyes? Do you forget, my lord, that even a home can become a prison?"
"How did you know Ferrero was giving me a¡"
Adam shook his head. No. Not important right now. "I understand why you want to leave. What confuses me is why you need citizenship to do so. Even if the Grandmaster opposes anyone leaving the Mines, I doubt he could stop you. And I don''t think you sought to become one of my subjects just to please him."
"Oh, far be it from me to imply the Grandmaster would be pleased. Or that he would allow me to leave simply because I''ve sworn myself to Penumbria."
Valeria leaned over the railing and aimed her gaze at the waters below. "But the Grandmaster has been gifted with a form of technology that keeps people from leaving or entering certain places. You''re familiar with it?"
Adam recalled the foreboding message in front of the Workshop. ''This world has not and will not ever spawn any Puppet, Human, Dragon, Stained Monster, living creature, or facsimile of life that may enter my domain without my permission.''
So spoke the Grandmaster''s First Law.
"That makes sense," he mused. "So there''s a similar wording about Puppets leaving the Mines without the Grandmaster''s permission?"
"Aye," Valeria nodded, her voice surprisingly solemn. "Save for citizens of other nations ¨C I suppose to prevent issues regarding traders."
Spies, more like it, Adam thought. Better if the Grandmaster doesn''t need to grant permission to his own spies, in case they''re captured. Gives him more deniability.
Either that, or it hadn''t been his decision to frame the law this way. But if not him, then who?
''Have you made your decision yet, Painter?'' asked the Grandmaster in his mind.
Adam looked at Valeria and examined her knowing smirk. When she looked at him like that, the Detective gave off the uneasy sensation that she could read his thoughts as if they were pages in a book.
"I have to see Merrivale," the Painter said aloud.
The words were meant for Valeria, so she knew he would have to excuse himself. They were also meant for the seemingly all-knowing Grandmaster, so he knew that he''d only need to wait a little while longer.
Most of all, they were meant for Adam himself ¨C so that he wouldn''t go back on his decision.
I think¡there''s only one option.
--
The theatre was quiet, save for the soft rasp of cloth against steel. Merrivale stood center stage, his focus on the rapier in his hands.
When Adam stepped closer, the Swordmaster''s eyes lit up. "Young lord!" he called out, his voice as sharp and polished as the blade itself. "I am most pleased to see the stage calls to you so strongly ¨C even when there''s no performance being held."
"It''s less the stage, and more you." Adam gestured at the rapier. "A man might be afraid if he walks into a room and sees the tip of a sword pointed at him."
"Not every weapon drawn is a threat of violence," Merrivale promised. "Sit down, young lord. Violence is not a future I intend to inflict upon you."
Adam sat down on the stage floor across from him. When the Lord of Penumbria spoke, his voice was calm. "Would you mind terribly," he asked, withdrawing his tablet, "if I were to paint your portrait?"
The silence settled like a held breath, thick and deliberate. A faint scraping sound of Merrivale''s rhythmic, unhurried blade against the pillar was all that could be heard. Adam glanced at him, waiting for the moment to break, but the Swordmaster seemed more than content to let the quiet stretch ¨C if not outright joyful.
"By all means," came Merrivale''s reply. "I am quite used to having my portrait painted. I will keep still as you capture my likeness."
He wasn''t bragging or exaggerating. From the naturalness of his voice, to the way he rested his back against the pillar to remain steady over the next several minutes, this was a man used to being adored ¨C to having his portrayal carved into eternity.
Tenver''s words rang loud in the Painter''s his mind. ''He is no noble, but he carries himself with the dignity of a king.''
Yet standing on that stage, it was the Swordmaster''s own words that rang even louder. They revised Tenver''s assertion, amending it to something that felt more accurate, more¡true.
''He is no noble, but he carries himself with the dignity of a Champion.''
Noble, Prince, King ¨C he might have been all of them at one point in his life. Maybe he still was. More than anything, however, he was someone standing at the top of a mountain few dared to climb, and that fewer still succeeded.
It was with this idea that Adam set out to paint his portrait.
Despite the circumstances, he was glad that he finally had time to draw once again. Realistically, given time constraints, this would have to be a rough sketch at best¡but that was fine. It would be enough. So long as he could capture the man''s essence, he would¨C
"Do you want to ask any questions of me?" Merrivale asked, without lifting his eyes off his blade. "I know plenty of artists ¨C you lot are often curious about the inner stories of those you paint, yes?"
"Not particularly," Adam answered honestly. "Don''t think that''s a thing we really do."
Merrivale let out a charming laugh. "Ah, my dear Painter, you are too honest for your own good! I am trying to skip some of the steps in this eternal dance of yours."
"Sorry." Adam rubbed the back of his neck. "I just don''t like lying if I can avoid it, and I''ve had to do a lot of that since coming here. Mayhaps you can relate."
"I fear I know not what you speak of." A sly grin curved the man''s lips, his confidence effortlessly radiating outward. "Speak more of why I should relate. Paint me the full picture, if you will."
Against his own wishes, Adam laughed and relaxed his shoulders. This would be a good portrait, he thought ¨C even if he''d only have time for the initial sketch right now. Definitely something I want to come back to when I have time. Should make a note to remember it later.
"Must say, I''m not used to being set up like this," Adam admitted. "People usually fight to keep me from painting them."
"I too am an artist," Merrivale said. "And I would sooner die than keep another from their craft."
Adam''s expression shifted, his features sharpening with quiet focus. Deft fingers hovered over the tablet, his pen cutting the first line through the blank canvas like a whisper at a funeral. The theatre seemed to morph around him, the air tightening as he worked.
Merrivale sat motionless as he silently awaited what was to come.
"I''ve been wondering what your sins are," Adam remarked, in a thoughtful tone. "Trust me, this wasn''t a half-hearted search. I investigated, interrogated, did everything I could to find out what you were hiding. From my experience, nobody is without sin. Yet with you¡I found nothing."
"Ah!" Merrivale exclaimed, a pang of nostalgia entering his voice. "I remember back when I thought that all evils had witnesses, and all sins were unjust. My friend, you saved the life of my dear disciple ¨C if you were curious about my past, you need only have asked."
Adam lifted his eyes and opened his mouth to reply, then shook his head and looked back down at his tablet. "I ask now, then. Will you tell me of your sins?"
"Aye, I shall make it easier for you," Merrivale cheerfully agreed. "By law, my crimes are many. Over the years I have fought in wars, overthrown tyrants, and raged against gods."
"Sounds heroic enough," Adam muttered, his focus on the painting.
"Well that''s just the problem, isn''t it?" A roguish smirk tugged at Merrivale''s lips. His gaze drifted towards a distant horizon only he could see, but his voice dropped to a low, adventurous whisper that felt like inviting Adam to come partake in the spectacle of his past.
"Bards rarely sing of swordsmen who did not dye their blades in red," said the Champion. "Such a problem, that. Worst of all, young lord, you should know that I regret not a thing I did! Mayhaps you are too young still, to expect such sins to lay beneath the surface of kindness."
Adam nodded vaguely. "Perhaps so. Then what am I to do, though? I can''t know of things I''ve yet to experience. Sounds unfair to me."
"You aren''t wrong," Merrivale said. "And to that unfairness I say, your noble duty is to cheat. That is what our duties as your elders ought to be ¨C to give you the script and allow you to break every rule and expectation of you. Does fate expect you to suffer, make mistakes, and carve yourself a painful path? TO HELL WITH THAT!"
The Swordmaster''s voice grew louder, yet no more threatening. His smirk remained as disarming as it had ever been. "So here I stand to fulfill my duty."
Adam gave a soft smile. "Is that why you travel around the world looking for disciples?"
"Correct!" Merrivale exclaimed immediately and without shame. Had Adam expected resistance or surprise, the Champion of an Unknown Land would''ve left him quite disappointed. "I assume you have some guess as to my motivations, then?"
"Some." The Painter narrowed his eyes. "Let''s start with this: you are not a Puppet."
Silence fell.
It was probably something of an open secret in the Mines, if a secret at all, but Adam had still found it a difficult fact to confirm. Although Merrivale appeared human enough, Puppets often did. That was hardly evidence worth noting.
Thankfully, no one provided better evidence than a Detective. Adam''s talk with her had been very illuminating. Puppets weren''t allowed to exit the Mines, but according to Valeria, she could leave now that''d become a member of Penumbria. Her newfound citizenship afforded her that option.
But if that was the case, then most Puppets already could have left the Mines whenever they pleased ¨C so long as they were sworn to a lord before death.
Meaning your previous allegiances ''die'' when you become a Puppet. You''d have to forge them all over again. Until then, the Grandmaster serves as their one and only Lord.
More to the point, if the Grandmaster desired Merrivale''s soul, then it was unlikely he''d let the man travel in and out of the Mines so often. He would''ve prevented the Champion from leaving. Since he hadn''t, and probably couldn''t, then¨C
"Correct!" Merrivale exclaimed, his smirk widening at the end. "I am no Puppet ¨C a human, much like you."
Adam''s put on a hollow grin. "But that isn''t exactly true either, is it?"
The air seemed to contract, an invisible thread pulling taut between them. Merrivale''s posture stiffened slightly, his hand brushing the hilt of his rapier almost absently, but not without thought. Adam''s fingers tightened on his tablet, his next stroke hesitant, but not delayed.
"There were two points I needed to settle before deciding whether to paint your soul," Adam said, his words slow and measured. "Why you kept coming back to the Puppet Mines¡and why the Grandmaster wanted your soul taken."
If the Champion was surprised about the Grandmaster''s intentions, he didn''t show it. Merrivale only nodded thoughtfully, his hand still brushing the hilt of his blade. "Then let us address your first question. I could simply answer it, but far be it from me to deprive you from the spotlight."
Merrivale snapped his fingers. With that sharp sound, the theatre erupted into a flash of light. Adam blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes, momentarily blinded as the brightness set in.
It wasn''t the whole theatre, he soon realized. Not even the whole stage. This was a series of spotlights ¨C all directed at him.
His confusion lingered as he looked to the Champion for an explanation. He found only a knowing smirk that seemed to say, ''This is precisely how it should be.''
Adam''s lips twitched with mirth. To be fair, he has been indulging my eccentricities, he considered. I think returning the favor is only polite.
The Painter rose to his feet, tablet still in hand. He walked in circles round the stage, the unseen spotlight following him, his sketch taking more and more shape as he went. "Tenver told me you''ve visited many cities across the Empire. He said that you sought many disciples along the way, but always stopped returning to them after a while."
"That I did," Merrivale acknowledged. "Not everyone is meant to dedicate themselves to the blade or art as much as we do. Sometimes, all they want is to learn a little of the sword, a little more of the stage, and little else. That, too, is most acceptable. I seek not to impose my life''s goals upon any others."
"But Ferrero!" Adam stopped suddenly, turned on his heel, and pointed dramatically at the Champion. Another spotlight shone down onto the stage now, this time onto Merrivale. "He''s different, isn''t he? You don''t have to force anything with him. He loves the blade, the theater, and everything you stand for."
"AND WHAT CRIME IS THAT?" Merrivale thundered, swiftly rising to his feet. He projected his voice as if the two of them weren''t alone ¨C as if the theatre was packed with a full audience. "I do not deny the charges; nay, I claim them proudly! At first I came merely to inspect and search, yet when that young boy approached, eyes sparkling with vigor, declaring that he wished to become a Swordsman just like me¨C!"
He swept his arms out in a flourish. "Why, only a man without a heart would have denied his dreams! And so I visit often, to train him, and to see how my dear disciple is doing."
Unspoken in his words were: ''And I spent a fortune making his home more comfortable for him.'' Not because of shame, but because the Champion legitimately didn''t believe it was worth mentioning it. His eyes burned with a sentiment Adam had often heard of in arts, yet had never experienced himself.
''Do you really think that I wouldn''t burn the world to make my disciple the ruler of its ashes?''
"And therein lies the reason for the Grandmaster''s growing distaste of you," Adam muttered. "He thinks you might end up disposing of him ¨C or forcing him to open up the Puppet Mines. All because Ferrero wants to travel more, duel against other swordsmen, and see what other theatres the world has to offer."
"I am not allowed to interfere to that degree!" Merrivale sounded offended at the notion¡as his thumb crept ever closer to the hilt of his blade. "And yet¨C! I cannot claim to have never considered it.."
"One could say the Grandmaster''s rules are for the sake of keeping Puppets alive," Adam pointed out.
"One could say I don''t rightfully care," Merrivale answered. "If my actions were to bring the world down on my disciple¨C" He unsheathed his blade and stepped towards Adam. "¨CThen I would stand undefeated against this very world¨C" His blade inched near the Painter''s neck. "¨CIf only that made him happy!"
It was here, when he stood so close that their spotlights joined together, that he stopped with an exaggerated sigh. "Yet Ferrero is, unfortunately, a good man. He would not doom the Mines to fulfill his dreams, even were I to promise him that I wouldn''t allow a single Puppet to perish. The Grandmaster has nothing to fear from me."
He shrugged. "And it is not as though I could harm the Grandmaster even if I wanted to."
This last bit was told casually ¨C yet also as a challenge.
Adam rose to it.
"That''s an interesting point to make," he slowly began. "Why would the Grandmaster fear you, if you''re unable to harm him in any way? Especially when he hides all day in his Workshop. Anyone who tries to enter his domain is burnt to ashes ¨C I saw that when I first arrived. Remember the inscription carved on the door!"
"But I do!" Merrivale theatrically answered. "I spent a long time memorizing it, even! Shall we recite it together?"
Adam gave a short smile in response. "Let us."
"This world has not and will not ever spawn any Puppet, Human, Dragon, Stained Monster, living creature, or facsimile of life that may enter my domain without my permission."
The weight of the recited words pressed down on the theatre like a villain''s soliloquy. For a time, the echoes of their joint declaration rang out, filling the air with inexorable gravitas ¨C until their ghosts curled back into silence.
Before, Adam had stood on this stage and felt it alive with love and thrill. Now, he felt it alive with silence.
"Young Lord of Penumbria." Merrivale looked directly at him. "Care to enlighten me? How could I have harmed the esteemed Grandmaster of Puppets?"
He didn''t speak as though he believed Adam would fail this challenge. Instead, the Champion was inviting him, guiding him towards the answer ¨C as if he weren''t at all afraid of the outcome. Hard to upstage a professional, it seems.
But not impossible.
Adam spun around with a whirl of motion, tapping his forehead twice in a shadow of deep concentration. Then he snapped his eyes open, brandishing his pen as if it were a weapon. He pointed it forward as he declared:
"BECAUSE, MERRIVALE, YOU ARE NOT FROM THIS WORLD!"
The Champion staggered back, hand clutching his chest as though Adam''s words had pierced him like a bullet. His eyes went wide, far too wide for a natural reaction, and the corners of his mouth would''ve betrayed an even wider grin had the man not been so dedicated to his craft.
Instead, he showed a parody of exhaustion, as if he''d run out of breath. "Oh! How clever, Young Painter! Indeed, I am not from the Painted World."
"And you''re not from Earth either," Adam said, recalling their first encounter. "You''re from¡somewhere else. That''s why the Grandmaster is afraid of you. Merrivale, the Champion of Another World, who visits his domain so often, is adored by the people ¨C while also being immune to the ancient magic that prevents anyone from entering his Workshop."
The Painter flipped his tablet around. "That is who you are."
It was a quick sketch, yet no less fitting. His tablet portrayed a dignified champion, peerless and beloved, but inked in a different palette than the world he now tread upon. Far past him, in the farthest corner of the painting, was a distant color that matched the fencer''s ¨C a remembrance of the lands he''d once hailed from.
Yet although he''d left his home behind, he was not alone. The masses were cheering his name, a sea of blurred, indistinct faces surrounding him¡
And one drawn in far more detail. A grinning, joyous boy, holding a rapier as he followed behind the champion''s footsteps, attempting to emulate his stance.
Adam didn''t need to think of a title. His soul resounded the words before he''d even finished the last stroke of his pen.
The Master and His Heart
You''re a good man, Merrivale. I don''t know where you''ve come from. I don''t why you''re here. But no matter what you say, or what colors you use to try and paint yourself as a villain¡I know you''re just someone who dearly loves his disciple, and wants only the best for him.
The Grandmaster wants your soul gone all the same. He''s given me no choice. And that''s why¨C
"Odd," Merrivale remarked, as if he wasn''t surprised at all. "My soul appears to still reside within my body."
¨CTHERE HAS ONLY EVER BEEN ONE ANSWER!
"Not every weapon drawn is a threat of violence, dear Champion," Adam said. With a curt bow, and a promise to give him a copy of the finished portrait in the near future, the Painter made his way out of the theatre.
''WHAT ARE YOU DOING?'' the Grandmaster shouted in his mind. ''DO YOU NOT CARE FOR PENUMBRIA? TAKE HIS SOUL NOW, OR I SHALL NEVER MEET WITH¨C''
"There''s something you really should know about me."
Adam stormed towards the Workshop without an ounce of hesitation in his steps. "The only thing I hate more than when someone ruins my art¡is when they try telling me what to do. When they pretend I don''t have any other choice than to listen to their batshit crazy demands."
''THERE IS NO OTHER CHOICE!'' The voice was ethereal, threatening, and bursting with rage. ''Listen to me, or let your people die. One soul, or hundreds of thousands!''
Adam laughed loudly enough to drown out the yelling in his head. He stood now before the Grandmaster''s Workshop entrance, in front of the cursed sign where he''d witnessed a poor soul trying to enter.
The sign bearing the same instructions he''d just recited alongside Merrivale. He wanted to make sure I got the right answer, but stopped when he realized I''d already figured it out. I appreciate that.
"Maybe you already know this, Grandmaster, or maybe you don''t. But just in case, hear me out!"
Adam lifted one foot off the ground and casually stepped through the archway. One foot, then another, walking forward with no punishment incurred. The blissful sound of silence resonated in his mind as the Grandmaster was left speechless.
"I''M NOT FROM THIS WORLD EITHER! SO SHUT UP WITH THE TRICKS, AND GIVE ME MY GODDAMN MONEY!"
Chapter 67 (Book 3 Chapter 6)
Lord Edmundo, Ruler of Coimbargo, wore red on the day he meant to kill the King of the Frontier.
It was tradition in the House of Crepusculo to do so when taking a man''s life. Cloaking yourself in crimson would cloak the victim''s blood as well, hiding the stains and making for a less gruesome visage.
Irrelevant when it came to carrying out the deed, yet vital all the same. Land made you rich, titles made you proud, Talent made you special¨C
But dignity made you a lord.
More than losing his city, it was losing his dignity that had made Gaspar such a despicable sight. That was why Edmundo could never forgive him. Asteria''s loss was tragic, but Rot would take much from all of them one day anyhow. This much was unavoidable.
Yet the Fallen Lord''s repugnant attire, the way he no longer had servants bow to him, and ¨C worst of all ¨C his utter dismissal at how mere commoners now laughed behind his back¡that had been avoidable.
Worse ¨C it had been a choice.
In that regard, Edmundo thought grimly, even the Puppet wretch is better than him.
He''d arranged to meet with Tenver alone that night. It wasn''t how he would have preferred to handle things, but the Emperor''s orders were unquestionable.
Though scheduling a cup of tea this late in the afternoon, right before the scheduled assassination, was perhaps a mistake on Edmundo''s part. Tea after sunset often kept him awake well past dusk.
Ah, well. Sometimes a noble needed to sacrifice sleep for efficiency.
"Lord Crepusculo," Tenver greeted him, a contemptible smile on his face. "How wonderful of you to extend a personal invitation. My friends are busy today, you see, and I was starting to feel a tad lonely."
"My heart warms at the thought," Edmundo grunted. "What a privilege to stave away your boredom, Prince Tenver."
The Puppet was wearing a shiny set of Dragonforged Steel armor. Such beautiful craftsmanship, wasted on a Puppet¡! Sacrilege of the highest degree.
Edmundo was no child, his flights of romantic longing be damned. He knew the Dragons had wrought the Rot onto the world before disappearing. It was precisely why elves, who''d once been dragonriders, and the Puppets, monstrosities spawned by those already monstrous creatures, both needed to be exterminated.
However, he was no savage who would disregard fine artistry like Dragonforged Steel merely because of its origins. Edmundo of Crepusculo was a lover of all that was beautiful.
Precisely because of this, he considered ¨C if only briefly ¨C to kill the Puppet before him. But stronger than even the Emperor''s orders, it was the False Prince''s dignity that prevented him from doing so. This creature might be just an imitation of the dead prince, Edmundo thought, but it copies the way royalty ought to carry itself rather well.
That, if nothing else, he could respect.
"Now then," Tenver began. "While I would like nothing more than to sip at tea and discuss the merits of nothingness with you, I know you loathe small talk nearly as much as I loathe my uncle. Speak plainly."
Edmundo sighed. "Emperor Ciro wants you to bend the knee. His offer is most generous." More than you deserve, you abomination wearing the skin of royalty. "Swear loyalty to His Highness and aid me in slaying the Pretender of Penumbria. Do so, and all your crimes will be erased, your titles restored. You will even receive a City of your choosing to rule upon."
The Puppet couldn''t hide the greed in his surprised expression. "A City of mine own?" spoke Tenver''s corpse. "But I have not the Talent of a Lord. I could hardly¨C"
"His Highness will arrange for a Lord of your choosing to name you as their heir," Edmundo said through his teeth. And what a farce that would be. "After the Dark Captain sees the Lord to their grave, the title and city will become yours."
The Corpse gave an eerie, still pause.
And then it laughed. "Seems quite desperate of my dear uncle," it remarked.
"You insult His Highness''s kindness to his kin?"
"I do ¨C and I do it loudly." An invisible string pulled up the Puppet''s features until it resembled an arrogant smile. "Uncle''s kindness to his kin killed my father. Ciro cares as much about anyone as I do about this offer."
It laughed again. "Edmundo, my good man, if you must insult my loyalty with such an offer, at least do so honestly. Ciro wants me back because the Western Hangmen are making movements towards the Capital, not because he wishes to avoid kinslaying¡again."
Mayhaps because they lacked human emotion, abominations like this Corpse had the uncanny ability to be often correct. The Empire exhibited weakness when it failed to suppress the rebellion of the Eastern Frontier at the start of winter. And the Western Hangmen had taken that as an opportunity ¨C they''d all left their stations, and even now were rumored to gather beneath Knox''s whims. Damn that traitor.
But the creature didn''t fully make sense. "Why would His Highness need you to suppress the Western Hangmen?" asked Edmundo.
The Monster''s smile turned brittle. "Do you remember the succession crisis instigated by my father''s death?"
It was no crisis, and the former Emperor was no father of this automaton mimicking humanity. Edmundo swallowed his emotions and forced himself to speak of it academically. "Aye. Most agreed that His Highness Ciro was a better candidate for the job¡despite the claims of some loyalists."
"Knox was the leader of those loyalists," the Puppet quietly said. "Even you must understand my meaning, yes?"
Edmundo felt struck by a bolt of satisfying realization. So this was why His Highness meant to commit such blasphemy and award a City to a Puppet!
Knox was a romantic imbecile. He would think of this Puppet stringing along Prince Tenver''s corpse as the real thing ¨C and then lay his sword at the creature''s feet. Should the Western Hangmen pledge themselves to the Corpse, and the Corpse to the Emperor, there would be little strife in the Realm aside from the Painter''s then-weakened rebellion.
During which his Highness would slowly, surely, assassinate them all.
The notion brought Edmundo no small amount of comfort. How could he have ever thought that the Emperor of the World would allow such blasphemy to occur beneath his banner? Order would soon be restored.
"Will you take the offer, then?" Edmundo asked excitedly. "His Highness will be most pleased to know that no more royal blood needs¨C"
It shook its head. "Not at all."
Edmundo stopped short, his mouth gaping open for a moment, before he closed it and nodded sadly. "Should''ve expected as much. May I attempt to convince you once more?"
"By all means ¨C try."
"His Highness gave me a considerable sum of Orbs to complete this mission," Edmundo warned him. "My Lord Talent is now of the 3rd Rank, and we stand here alone. Surely you understand that defying his offer means your death?"
"3rd Rank." The Puppet whistled softly. "How fantastic! Why, that is an expensive purchase on dear uncle''s part. I take it he thinks it cheaper than feeding an army in a conflict so far from the capital? More importantly¡"
The Corpse lifted an eyebrow, almost as realistically as a human would have. "Are you content with that arrangement?"
"His Highness''s will is absolute."
"Edmundo, remember this ¨C I executed your son."
The Lord of Coimbargo curled his hand into a fist. "The guilty party is the Pretender," he said, closing his eyes. "That criminal fooled you into believing he was the true heir to Penumbria ¨C you thought to be following orders according to the Emperor''s authority. You¡you have committed no crime."
"Wrong." Prince Tenver''s corpse twitched, its voice dropping to that of a venomous monster dwelling within a cave deeper than the underworld itself. "Adam gave me no orders. I executed him because he threatened my friend."
The Puppet glared at him challengingly. "Do you still claim to be content with rewarding me for killing your son like the mongrel he was?"
Edmundo drew a deep breath. After a long silence, he said, "It matters little. Bards will sing of the Pretender''s treachery ¨C none will think of you as my son''s murderer."
"You would, as you damn well should," it retorted. "Yet you still hold that you would be content with merely killing Adam?"
"It may surprise you, Puppet, that some of us know what truly matters."
"Mayhaps it would." The Monster shrugged. "In any case, my answer is still no."
The Ruler of Coimbargo frowned. "Even a Puppet must understand the sheer impossibility of surviving an encounter against a Lord with a Talent of the 3rd Rank." Fury entered his tone. "Do you mistake my meekness against Aspreay for weakness? That was acting! I was biding my time for this chance ¨C for you to agree to a meeting with me alone, where you held no other hope!"
Like only a creature unattached to life could, the Puppet nodded dispassionately. "Ah, very good acting. Rather impressive of you to allow your limbs to be severed so many times lest you reveal your true capabilities."
"I am a Lord of the 3rd Rank, Puppet ¨C you are an Archer of the 6th." Edmundo''s composure cracked as he spat the words, his mouth twisting into a sneer. If this monster had somehow inherited Prince Tenver''s emotions, it would feel burning shame over the inferiority it held to a mere city lord.
My son was not admirable¡but in death, he has granted me powers I could scarcely have dreamed of. Without his demise, the Emperor would''ve never given me so much coin.
"I have the power to reshape reality," Edmundo slowly began. "The power to make a mockery of death, to rule above all mortals. You are a macabre puppet show made out of a fallen Prince''s cadaver, with a Talent to shoot little bows and arrows ¨C what could you ever do to me? Even the lifeless body you stole was never good for anything but petty scheming!"
Prince Tenver''s Corpse nodded, and far too enthusiastically at that. "You are correct, of course," it said, giving an elaborate bow of respect. "If you will forgive my lack of modesty, I am quite good at petty scheming."
Edmundo narrowed his eyes. "What do you¨C"
"Genius Realm ¨C The Palace of Eternal Life," said a new voice.
He didn''t even have the time to identify the source of the attack.
It was only when an ethereal white sphere had already enveloped him that the Lord of Coimbargo managed to even speak. "What the devil is that elf¨C"
And by then it was too late.
¨C
"The most dangerous person you need to be aware of," Ciro had warned him, "is neither the Pretender nor my Nephew. Not even Aspreay. No. It''s the damned Elf."
The Emperor of the World drew a deep breath, as though the admittance brought him physical pain. "From my understanding, her ability creates an entirely new universe, trapping its victims there until that new universe¡ends. Even after the Genius Realm is undone, your mind will never recover from witnessing the full length of a universe from birth until death. Ernanda would tell you as much ¨C should she ever prove herself able to speak again."
Edmundo had laughed at the idea. "But my Emperor, the Elf''s Talent is of a pitifully low Rank when compared to mine." At least as he was now. For most of his life, he''d lived as a Lord of the 6th Rank. Powerful, and respectable enough, to be sure¡
But never in his life, not even in his most private, ambitious dreams, had he conceived of the power he held now. "The Orbs that your Highness entrusted to me have advanced my Talent to new heights. A mere Elf cannot touch me."
Ciro let out an aggrieved sigh He sank into his throne, pausing for a long silence. When his eyes snapped open, they were as cold and sharp as an icicle. "Does a mere lord dare to question my reasoning? Bold, Edmundo. Quite bold."
"N¨Cno! Of course not, Your Highne¨C"
"I will not waste time giving warnings to those who refuse to heed them." The Emperor of the World stood to his feet. "Your Rank is to protect you should you need to pit your Realm against the Pretender''s or Aspreay''s ¨C it will do nothing to protect you against the Elf''s. Explain to me, imbecile, how you think you''d be able to Clash your¨C"
Ciro shook his head and stood up with an annoyed expression. "Forget it. Low calibre blood such as yours wouldn''t understand. Not even if I forced the knowledge into you."
"My Emperor! Please, forgive me! What do you mean?"
¨C
All too late, Edmundo came to understand it all too well.
When a white dome of nothingness encompassed him, he was confused, at first. Mayhaps His Majesty had overstated the Elf''s power. Edmundo sensed none of the overwhelming might he''d experienced when witnessing the Dark Captain or the Emperor''s Talent. This felt much more¡subdued? There wasn''t anything truly oppressive about it.
Surely, he could break out of it at any point, could he not? He hadn''t faced a Genius Realm before, but Lords knew more about the construction of such realities than anyone else. I can easily win a Clash against it ¨C our Ranks are simply too different.
And so, Five Years Passed.
"REALM¨CRECON..STRU¡CTION!" Edmundo called out once again.
Once again, his voice dissipated into the endless silence, as if swallowed by eternity itself.
Any concerns he''d once held for Coimbargo had long since perished. A week of mind-numbing solitude was all it took for him to attempt his first Realm Clash. His survival was necessary for the city, of course. He ¨C he couldn''t be trapped here forevermore.
Yet even after indulging in rationalizations like a starving beggar at a buffet, Edmundo was no closer to dispelling the white void of a universe around him than when he''d arrived. His Realm Clash had failed. So did the next, and then the thousands more that followed.
This is my punishment for not listening to His Imperial Majesty.
Only now did he understand what the Emperor of the World had meant. In a clash between their Realms, Edmundo would have won without issue¡but that mattered little when his attacks never hit their mark in the first place.
The Elf''s Genius Realm was a universe. It continued to expand.
Much like Aspreay had managed to construct his Realm inside the Capital so that edges of its Walls wouldn''t touch the Emperor''s city-sized barrier, the same principle applied here. The Palace of Eternal Life was a vast, ever-growing universe. Edmundo''s Realm would never be able to reach borders that didn''t exist.
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Moreover, the Genius Realm''s effect was technically nonviolent. Abilities that did no physical harm would bypass the protection afforded by his superior Rank.
So long as I am here, I¡cannot die.
The Elf''s sorcery had cursed him thus Death was beyond him ¨C as were injuries. With the Dragons of Old as his witnesses, he''d tested that extensively.
Even the Canvas of his Soul was seemingly impervious to harm. It never appeared to Stain, regardless of how many times he attempted a Reconstruction.
¨C
And so, 10 years later, he discovered otherwise.
In fact, his Canvas was affected by it, though ever so slowly.
The Palace of Eternal Life had banished Edmundo from death and prevented wounds from afflicting him ¨C which also applied to his soul, to an extent. Yet he was beginning to notice a measure of Staining there, albeit small.
Had it been his overuse of his Realm? Mayhaps so. He could only use Reconstruction up to once a day, but he''d used it almost ten times a day ever since coming here.
At first simply trying to break out, but soon he''d started using Orders to construct himself furniture, books, and the line. He battled the void in the only method available to him; by filling it with relics of a world now lost to him. Each memento and keepsake helped retain whatever remained of his sanity.
Although even that much had started to slip.
Have to survive. NEED to survive. If not, what will they write of my noble house? That its head shamefully went insane after being attacked by a dragonburned elf?
Edmundo could live with dying in battle. But the humiliation of being remembered the same way as the Lady of Ash, of being reduced to a stuttering mess that stared blankly into nothingness, unable to acknowledge the Empire''s envoy sent to recover her¨C!
Edmundo could not have that.
No.
He was still the Lord of Coimbargo, and he would find a way to escape, even if¨C
And so, 15 years passed.
Even if he had to Reconstruct his Realm daily, he could keep himself from going mad. Unlike Ernanda, his Talent allowed him to conjure up entertainment to heal his ailing mind.
While his lack of human interaction had been a problem thus far, it would be fine in the end. I can conjure up illusions ¨C they''ll be as intelligent as the idiots who served me, anyhow.
He would survive this.
And so, 20 years passed.
Even if his emotions were starting to dull, even if his sanity was starting to slip, he was the Lord of Coimbargo. He would survive this. He would prevail.
Though...my Canvas is starting to become more Stained. It was a dark, sobering realization. Once his overuse caught up to the Palace''s healing, would he need to wait for his Canvas to clear up once again?
His rationality was already hanging by a fraying thread. What would he do when his material comforts ¨C his precious illusions and luxuries ¨C vanished away?
What then?
And so, 30 years passed
Even if¡even if his resolve started to waver¡he¨Che was still Edmundo! The Lord of Coimbargo! I will resist! I¨C
And so, 45 years passed.
His Canvas had fully Stained five years ago.
It healed, ever so slowly, but the Lord of Coimbargo now ruled over nothing in that void of white. All he had once conjured up for entertainment was gone. The false people, the books, the furniture, the castle ¨C all gone.
But he was still there.
He would always be here.
Always. Always always always. Always.
Always.
And so, the Palace disappeared.
There was no transition.
At one point, Edmundo had been sobbing within an empty universe, his Canvas hopelessly Stained, and despair overwhelming his entire being.
A second later, without warning, he found himself back in the courtyard he had nearly forgotten.
Wh¨Cwhat? A jolt of cognition lanced through his brain as if it were a shock crashing down from the heavens. Like a discarded machine left to rust, the wheels of his mind gradually began to turn, groaning and creaking with disuse.
Only when he regained a sense of self again did he even begin to perceive his situation. Is this¡
Is this real?
His breaths were coming in fast and harsh. I didn''t break free. Realm Clash never worked. But¡I''m here. He could feel the stone floor beneath his feet, see blessed color instead of the whiteness of eternity. I''m here. Emperor preserve me, I''m here!
Edmundo felt tears of joy flowing from his eyes. His chest tightened with emotion, a hysterical sob nearing his lips¨C
Before he stopped himself.
No. It didn''t matter how long he''d been¡been there for. A flickering ember of pride rekindled within his chest, impossibly weak and fragile. He was the Lord of Coimbargo, and he would not bow to anyone below his station! Men were not meant to cry before anyone, least of all their enemies.
I will die before that happens. Even if his sanity crumbled, his dignity of a lord would not.
From her spot nearby, leaning against the wall with an unconcerned posture, the Elf sighed. "I hope he''s not broken," she muttered. Dragonfire burn him, but even the sound of her filthy kind''s voice sounded beautiful to Edmundo right now. "Not completely, at least. Adam asked me to keep him functional ¨C said painting the guy would be harder if he''d changed too much. Sorta cruel if you ask me."
The Corpse of Prince Tenver laughed. "Cruel?" he asked in disbelief. "You were going to let the Palace run its course, make him experience more than his mind could bear ¨C Adam only wants his soul."
My¡soul?
Slowly the memories flowed back into him. The Pretender ¨C Pretender of what? Oh, he stole his city from¡from who again? As¡Asproy? No. What was his name? What was the city? ¨C the Pretender was capable of stealing souls, somehow. But what did they mean by that?
"Elf," Edmundo started, his own voice unfamiliar to him. "You mean to say that you let me go on purpose? That I didn''t break your Realm?"
"Break it?" She laughed. "No, you fool ¨C I left you there for less than a second. I broke down my Genius Realm right after constructing it, quite literally as fast as I could."
His breath caught. Less than a second? Her words repeated endlessly, reverberating within his skull. How¡
How many years did you live in there, Edmundo?
The question rang as though asked by a stranger, crushing him like a tidal wave. Reality lost its permanence. His senses dulled, smearing sight and sound like smudged paint. This world was wrong ¨C alien, unfamiliar, and yet¡too vivid. The time he''d spent inside didn''t fit anymore.
Time.
That word, that¡that concept shattered like glass around him. A second? No ¨C forty-five years inside a timeless white abyss. His mind fractured under a mountain of pitiless comprehension. Every second of those ceaseless decades clawed at his thoughts like ghosts.
You were nothing to it. Less than dust. The Elf''s voice echoed, mocking him with cruel harmony. You couldn''t stop her. You never could. You were powerless before a fucking elf.
Even his rage started to dull, buried beneath the sands of time. I didn''t break out. She let me go. It was a thought that festered like rot, the weight of those 45 years returning all at once. Isolation, despair, failure. He hadn''t survived her Realm.
He''d only been brought out of his cell for his execution.
Edmundo clenched his fists, quivering with barely-contained rage. "You fucking abominations¡"
His voice faltered. He wanted to look them in the eye, but their gaze pierced him like swords, their laughter mocking his soul. This wasn''t a battle he''d won or lost; it had been a trial of his very existence.
The Emperor gave me Orbs to compete with the Painter''s Realm, he remembered, like a distant dream. Made it so they couldn''t defeat me in a direct fight. So¡they, they did this¡all those forty-five years¡just to ensure that my Canvas would be too Stained to fight back.
They''d played with his soul until it was weary enough to take.
Because their goal hadn''t been to kill him. They wanted more than just his life. They wanted¨C
"YOU WANT MY LORD TALENT!" Edmundo''s voice was shrill and desperate. "Y-YOU! All of this¡it was just so that you could take my House''s dignity, the ancestral power that¡no! Please¨Cdon''t you dare-!"
The Elf''s eyes shimmered like a starry void, cold and detached. The Puppet''s smirk deepened. Edmundo cursed them, but deep inside, he knew the truth: he wasn''t even in the same realm as these beings. Their strength went beyond Talent and Rank.
Hatred rose like bile in his throat, yet it crumbled under the implacability of terror. The Elf had trapped him in a world that twisted time and reason. The Puppet, with his eerie grace, watched him like a predator sizing up wounded prey.
They''re not human. They weren''t even facsimiles of it. I don''t know what they are.
And so, he ran.
He ran. Not walked, not stumbled ¨C he fucking RAN, as if the white void were still chasing him. The courtyard stretched endlessly before him, his footsteps echoing like distant cannon fire.
Where am I? What city is this? The name fluttered on the edge of his memory, dissolving into incoherent static. Doesn''t matter. You''re Edmundo, Lord of Coimbargo, and these are your enemies! Run! Run! Survive!
He gasped for breath. Time warped in his mind like a nightmare, forty-five years reduced to a fading dream. Trembling legs carried him forward on instinct, his body fueled more by fear than desire. He slipped on an icy path, falling hard on the snowy cobblestones, but the panic didn''t subside.
Don''t stop running. Don''t let them ¨C don''t let them hurt you again.
The moon hung low, casting pale light over the courtyard. Snow fell, soft and eerie in its stillness. His eyes darted around, searching for landmarks, but the familiarity felt distorted. Names, places ¨C they were ghosts now. What was the Pretender''s name? Alan? Alan¡
He kept running.
From the Elf.
From the Puppet.
From the Pretender.
From his own mind.
Snow crunched beneath his boots. Edmundo wandered aimlessly until the moonlight glinted off something strange. He squinted¡
And there it was. Blissfully ¨C nay, mercifully, as if the Emperor himself was rewarding him from his efforts.
An Imperial Vending Machine.
If¡if I recall, those are placed to help travelers survive the Rot. In exchange for Orbs, it can enact a barrier strong enough to keep even a Ghost from entering. Whatever is spent on these devices helps the Empire thrive.
The vending machine stood tall, a relic of imperial pride. Edmundo had spent decades conjuring false luxuries, false people, false structures. But this ¨C this was real.
Half-deranged laughter echoed throughout the courtyard. "By the Dragons¡" He leaned against his savior of cold metal, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude. His hands moved frantically, shuddering as he dug into his soul to access his Orbs.
Coin¡money¡I almost forgot those concepts. Edmundo knew what he needed ¨C the Barrier. He slammed his Orbs into the machine and tapped furiously on the options.
A faint, comforting hum surrounded him as the Barrier began to activate Relief washed over him like a warm blanket.
Safe. Finally safe.
But then, a shudder; a pressure beyond sight, beyond sense. Something was out there. Something stronger than even a Ghost.
Worse ¨C someone.
"Hello," said Adam the Pretender. "I hear you were planning to kill me."
No, no, no! Edmundo desperately turned towards the machine, feeding it more of his fortune, hoping to stave off the specter of death that now approached. Orbs were sucked into the slot as he gasped for air, his mind spiraling.
With a subtle beep, the automaton displayed the Barrier option in glowing text. What a marvel of technology. He confirmed it. Immediately, he felt the protective energy encase him, reinforcing it all.
Edmundo exhaled shakily, almost chuckling with delirium. Safe. Even you can''t touch me here, Pretender. Not you. Not your Elf. Not your Puppet. Not¨C
The opaque Barrier trembled as though struck.
Edmundo jammed more Orbs into the machine, each transaction buying him a few precious moments of peace. The Barrier hummed softly, shielding him from the encroaching void.
He clutched the vending machine like a lifeline in a storm, laughing hysterically. "Y¨Cyou can''t touch me! I have the Orbs! The coin! The Empire protects those that give it the money to fulfill its ambitions, it¨C"
A deep, vibrating pulse rippled through the shield.
His Orbs bought him temporary comfort¡until a sharp jolt rattled the air around him, heralding what was to come like thunder ¨C and the Pretender''s voice was the lightning. "Your money can protect you. True. Yet there''s something that people like you don''t seem to understand."
The Barrier faltered again. Edmundo spent more Orbs again. "All money runs out eventually." The Barrier shattered. "Don''t champion a man who wouldn''t even pay for your funeral. Don''t champion this Empire."
Light shimmered faintly around the Lord of Coimbargo. I need more Orbs. Emperor ¨C my Emperor, can you hear me? C¨Ccan you hear my plea? Help me! I need ¨C I need help!
The Pretender broke through the Barrier once more. Edmundo froze, his laughter dying in his throat. And when the dust had settled beneath the pale moonlight¡the Pretender held forth a paintbrush.
In an instant, the Lord of Coimbargo knew what it represented. Ernanda, the Lady of Ashe, had wielded a scythe. Eric, the Gryphon, had donned winged boots. Valente, the Dark Captain, erased life with his Orbs.
This paintbrush was no lesser. It announced a promise of power so great that not even forty-five years in nothingness had been able to expunge the concept from Edmundo''s memories.
"You¡" He whimpered and stumbled back. "You are a Hangman now." Somehow. Somehow, the Pretender had stolen yet another sacred Imperial blessing.
"Yup," Adam replied cheerfully. "I am." He raised his paintbrush. "But first and foremost, I''m a painter. So¡care to stand still for a moment? I''d like you to model for me."