《Unrepentant》
Prologue 1: The Guest
The first rays of dawn pierced through a canopy of trees and gently illuminated the sleepy cabin nestled at the edge of the forest. The morning air was crisp and filled with the soft chirping of birds.
Amelia stepped out of her modest home carrying a basket brimming with freshly washed clothes. She hummed a gentle tune as she hung the garments on the line.
As she reached for another article of clothing, the rustling sound of wings drew her attention. She turned her head just in time to witness a portly crow, its feathers gleaming a deep jet black, alight on the grassy patch a few feet away. A creature whose ominous presence preceded him.
Amelia felt a shiver run up her spine. "Shoo! Get away!" she exclaimed, waving her hands in an attempt to scare the bird off. The crow''s beady eyes narrowed as he hopped closer, seemingly undeterred by her efforts.
Suddenly, in a swift and unexpected move, the crow darted forward and pecked at the back of her hand. Amelia gasped, jerking her hand back as a sharp pain blossomed. A line of crimson welled up where the crow''s beak had broken the skin.
"You wretched bird!" she cried, cradling her injured hand. The crow in response, merely let out an irritated caw before flapping his wings and taking flight, disappearing into the canopy of the trees.
With a resigned huff, Amelia took one final glance at the sky before turning away to enter her home. Inside, she rummaged through a wooden cabinet, finally producing a small tin of ointment. She sat herself by the window, as she applied the soothing salve to her hand, wincing occasionally as the sting subsided.
As she tended to her wound, an uneasy feeling settled in her chest.
The door behind Amelia squeaked audibly as Damian entered. A rabbit-like creature with a blue colored coat was dangling lifelessly from his grip, its fur matted with the evidence of an unfortunate encounter with a hunting trap. Stepping into their home, a triumphant yet weary smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Looks like we''ll be eating like royalty again tonight!" he announced, satisfaction quite evident in his eyes.
Damian placed his prey onto a roughly carved table, quickly turning his attention to Amelia who was seated nearby, while her face grimaced in pain.
"Oy, let me take a look," he said, noticing the ointment. Extending her arm, she displayed a wound smeared with pungent salve.
Grabbing a rough bandage, he carefully wrapped it around her injury.
With the bandaging done, they turned their attention to preparing a meal while holding a small conversation. He deftly skinned the rabbit-like creature while she prepared a kettle and some aromatic herbs, moving fairly efficiently despite her discomfort.
As the kettle began to whistle, the air filled with the scent of herbs boiling inside of the water. Damian spoke, "I was thinking, maybe we should head into Rhysling. Get a few chickens, we could start a small coop. It''d make things a bit easier¡"
She paused, contemplating the idea. "It would, but with the changes the Empire is pushing, it could be a hassle to get in. Remember? The coins are being replaced with some kind of promissory notes. We don¡¯t have any of those yet."
Damian grunted due to her reminder.
Their conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence afterwards, each absorbed in their tasks. In their small corner of the world, there was nothing except enjoyment for peaceful routine and the other¡¯s company.
Their fire crackled, the smell of cooked meat mingling with the earthy aroma of herbs, anchoring them in the present moment.
As the sun climbed higher, the couple finished their meal. Amelia wiped her hands on her apron and stood up, stretching her back before glancing at Damian.
"Let''s get back to the garden," she said.
Damian nodded. They stepped outside, their tools already leaning against the cabin, ready for work.
The half-prepared garden lay before them, rows of soil turned but not yet ready for planting.
They dug and tilled, their efforts bringing order to the patch of earth that would soon enough, bear the fruits of their labor.
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Time passed by, the sun reached its zenith and cast sharp shadows across the ground. Sweat glistened on Damian''s brow as he straightened up, shading his eyes with a hand.
"Let''s take a break," he suggested.
Amelia nodded in agreement, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. They trudged back to the house, running away from the midday heat.
As they neared their home, the crow from before landed on the roof, shaking his head as if mocking them.
Damian''s expression hardened. He bent down and picked up a stone from the ground. Without hesitation, he hurled it at the bird. The stone sailed through the air with surprising accuracy for an impulsive throw.
The crow let out an indignant caw as he dodged the projectile. His feathers ruffled in anger as he took flight again, disappearing into the sky with a furious flap of wings.
The couple retreated into their home once more.
Twilight painted the sky in hues of purple and orange.
Their gentle talk filled the room.
Damian leaned back in his chair, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "Wonderful dinner," he said, grinning at Amelia.
She smiled back, but there was a hint of something else in her eyes. "You know," she began hesitantly, "I''ve been thinking about us expanding our little family."
Damian''s grin widened. "Really? You mean...?"
"Yes," she nodded, her voice softer now. "I think it''s time."
The conversation quickly took on a more passionate tone, words mingling with laughter and shared glances that spoke volumes.
Dinner forgotten, they moved toward the bed. Clothes came undone with eager hands; the air grew thick with tension and desire.
Damian leaned down to plant gentle nibbles along Amelia''s neck. Her eyes fluttered closed in pleasure until a strange breeze brushed against her skin. Her eyes opened and shifted toward the door.
There, standing in the doorway, was a figure draped in a high-quality robe that swayed slightly as if caught in an invisible wind. His presence was an intrusion into their intimate moment.
Amelia gasped, pushing Damian away slightly as she struggled to comprehend the apparition before her. The robe''s rich fabric and intricate patterns were definitely out of place in their home.
Whoever he was¡ he simply stood in the doorway, the soft flutter of his robe the only sound breaking the silence. His eyes, deep pools of darkness, scanned the room with dispassionate curiosity. The intimate scene before him didn''t faze him; such moments were mere trivialities in his world.
The man moved quickly towards them, his gaze penetrating and unnerving, taking in every detail of Amelia''s reaction with an unsettling calmness.
A flutter of wings announced the crow''s arrival. The portly crow landed on his shoulder, feathers ruffled with indignation. With an accusatory squawk, he pointed a wing directly at Amelia.
His voice cut through the room like a blade. "Mistreating Nyx, were you?"
Amelia''s face turned ashen, her mouth opening and closing in shock.
Damian''s reaction was more immediate. He scrambled off the bed, eyes wild. Grabbing a clay mug from the nightstand, he charged at the intruder with a yell that echoed through the small cabin.
The mug shattered against Silas''s head, shards scattering like confetti. Silas didn''t flinch; instead, he moved with a swift grace. His hand shot out and closed around Damian''s neck, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.
"This," Silas rasped, his voice a chilling sound that filled the room, "is a language I am much more proficient in."
Damian struggled, feet kicking futilely as he gasped for breath.
Amelia screamed from the bed, pulling the sheet over herself as if it could shield her from the terror unfolding before her eyes. Her cries echoed off the walls, mingling with the crow''s triumphant caws.
The man tightened his grip, watching Damian''s face turn red with veins bulging on his forehead.
Soon enough he made himself at home, moving with a casual air as he approached the table to finish off the half-eaten meal left there. Each bite methodical, almost ritualistic, as if nourishment was secondary to the act itself.
As he eats, he unrolled a piece of parchment, its surface covered in strange symbols and intricate diagrams of the human body. The parchment was a manual of some kind, a rare and esoteric artifact based on its quality, the man seemed to be studying it with keen interest.
Nyx, planted himself in front of the man. The bird squawked insistently, wings flapping with a fervor that demanded attention. The man, without breaking his contemplative gaze from the manual, reaches out to scratch Nyx on the head. The gesture is both affectionate and absent-minded, a practiced routine between master and familiar.
Nyx satisfied for the moment, allowed the man to move towards the pot suspended above the fireplace. The stench of the room meanwhile was a pungent blend of corpses and blood.
He pulled out a bundle of herbs and a murky glass phial, placing the herbs into the pot and letting them simmer throughout the night.
He cleared the bed of the unfortunate souls, climbing atop and settling into a meditative pose, letting the rhythmic bubbling of the concoction lull him into a state of focused tranquility.
Hours pass, and a foggy morning arrived, the air heavy with the scent of dew and decay. The pot began to behave strangely; the violet, smoky liquid within started to swirl with a life of its own, defying gravity as it flowed seamlessly into the phial in front without spilling a single drop or wisp of vapor.
Routinely to him, the man picked up the now-filled phial. He then exited the cabin, each step eerily silent on the wooden floor.
Nyx, his vindictive crow, flapped his wings with a quick, ferocious intensity at the fire inside.
The flames in the hearth roared to life, greedily catching onto the wooden furniture, casting a sinister glow that danced in his dark eyes. The crow then followed the man, landing gracefully atop his master''s shoulder, singing a hauntingly happy song that broke through the morning mist''s quiet. The man walked away without a single backwards glance, the cabin behind him transformed into a blazing inferno.
Prologue 2: Lummox
Jules trudged through the fog-laden forest, annoyed by the sudden shift in weather as he strained himself to see the path ahead.
Thick mist clung to the trees like a veil, blurring his vision and making each step feel precarious.
The forest seemed to close in around him, the silence punctuated only by the sound of leaves crunching beneath his boots and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures.
With a sigh, he pulled out a crude map and compass, hoping to maintain at least a semblance of accuracy in his direction.
As he paused for a moment, a sudden rustle of wings startled him. A plump crow perched himself onto a nearby branch and caused Jules to jump in panic and nearly stumble over.
"Whoa there!" he exclaimed, his heart racing in his chest. He took a moment to regain his composure before addressing the bird. "Hey, could you not do that bud? Scaring travelers in a foggy forest isn¡¯t exactly nice!"
A good-natured smile appeared on his freckled face, despite the lingering adrenaline.
The crow cocked its head in apparent confusion, its eyes seemed to possess an unsettling intelligence that was far beyond that of a mere bird. It watched him with such an intensity that made Jules feel as though he were being judged.
Jules, ever the honest and goodly fellow, decided to introduce himself to the crow, his voice warm and open.
"I''m Jules, by the way. Just trying to get through this fog. Got any directions Mr. Crow?" He chuckled at his own little attempt at humor.
An unexpected gesture followed the introduction, he rummaged through his dwindling pack of supplies and offered the crow a piece of bread. The crow, taken aback by the offer, let out a series of squawks that almost sounded like chuckles before taking a bite. The crow''s demeanor shifted, seemingly pleased with the offering, and with a graceful flap of his wings, he took flight, leaving Jules alone once again to find his way.
Jules muttered with a laugh, "Guess not, eh?"
From afar, a man scrutinized the scene, his dark eyes narrowed. His disheveled black hair, falling over his forehead, couldn''t conceal the spark of amusement in his gaze.
He watched as the fog swallowed Jules, transforming him into a shadowy figure adrift in a realm which this observer navigated effortlessly.
Nyx¡¯s happy reaction was unusual he thought; perhaps the crow, deprived of attention, found the boy endearing. Otherwise, it would have squawked in outrage at any slight to its noble presence.
The man pondered his observations in silence. For now, he remained in the shadows.
Haunting animal sounds filled the air, creating an eerie cacophony that would unsettle any traveler.
A distant howl, the flutter of wings, and a low growl from a hidden predator blended into a discordant chorus that seemed to resonate with the very essence of the woods.
Jules cracked his knuckles out of habit, a nervous tick from his days as a mason''s apprentice.
The joints didn''t even pop, but the repetitive motion seemed to provide him with some small measure of comfort, an attempt to ward off the creeping dread that enveloped the atmosphere.
"This place is gonna make me shit my pants¡" he muttered crassly, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence like a blunt knife.
He began to hum a little rhyming song that drunks in bars liked to sing about a spry lass being chased by wolves. The melody was both absurd and comforting in its familiarity.
His humming quickly morphed into talking to himself, his words filling the empty space around him with a forced sense of normalcy. "Gonna make it big in the city!" he said to himself, voice full with a blend of hope and desperation. "Marry a beautiful busty wife! Make some friends! Get shitfaced with all the new friends. Won''t be stuck in some foggy hellhole forever, no siree!"
The man observed the young lad''s actions with detached interest, noting every movement and word. "The boy seems to be lacking in the mind to talk to himself so much¡" he thought monotonously, his expression remaining impassive.
Nyx perched silently atop his shoulder, making laughing gestures without emitting any sound.
Jules continued his one-sided conversation, blissfully unaware of his silent audience. His voice carried through the mist, an oasis of semi-civilized presence in an otherwise desolate place.
The man''s mind wandered briefly as he listened, contemplating what it must be like to exist within such a simple framework of thought.
Then it happened¡ªa sudden, guttural growl came from ahead. The observing man in the back had his interest piqued.
Jules however froze mid-step, the sound coming from the front echoing through the mist like a death knell. His eyes tripled in size, as he instinctively reached for the small saber tucked into his sash.
The blade trembled in his grip as he scanned the fog, searching for the source of the noise.
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From his vantage point, the man could see the telltale signs of fear: the boy''s labored breath, the cold sweat beading on his brow.
The ground beneath Jules began to vibrate faintly.
A rampaging Blackened Boar burst forth through the mist, its sooty mane bristling and its tusks embodiments of menace. The beast''s muscular frame seemed to consume all the available space in Jules''s eyes, a force of nature driven by predatory hunger.
Jules felt horror at the sight of the monstrous creature. His initial reaction was almost comically predictable; without thinking twice, he turned on his heel and bolted in the opposite direction.
"Special technique [Run Like a Bitch]!" he screamed as if casting a spell upon his body. The lad''s legs pumped furiously as he tried to put as much distance between himself and the charging boar as possible.
"Predictable." the man thought, watching Jules¡¯ frantic escape attempt.
Nyx let out a silent laugh once more, wings flapping with silent mirth.
Jules''s saber clattered uselessly against his thigh as he ran, his mind consumed by one singular thought: survival.
The boar''s snorts grew louder as he got closer...
The man stood still, observing the frantic bolting of the boy through the mist. Jules¡¯s form cut through the fog, legs moving like a rabbit fleeing a hound. Nyx found the sight amusing, the corners of his beak twitching in a semblance of a smile.
Jules, lost in his desperation, barely noticed he was hurtling toward another figure. Panic had reduced his world to blurred edges and pounding feet. The moment he saw a shadow of a human, the gears in his frantic mind started turning again.
"Run! Run away!" Jules shouted, voice cracking with terror.
The man remained motionless, expression neutral as if he couldn''t hear Jules¡¯ warning. The boy''s eyes darted across the man¡¯s face, searching for any sign of comprehension or fear, but finding none.
"He¡¯s probably deaf or scared stiff!" Jules thought, heart racing. "Sorry if I hurt ya! I''ll apologize later!" His voice was loud but still wavering, nonetheless it was filled with sincerity.
Without hesitation, Jules lunged forward to tackle the mystery man, intending to drag him out of harm¡¯s way. As his head collided with the man''s torso, the world around him seemed to slow down for an agonizing moment.
To Jules, it felt like ramming into an immovable object¡ªa mountain masquerading as a man.
Pain radiated from his skull through his entire body as if a monk had trapped him in a bell and struck it with relentless fervor.
The force of the impact left Jules disoriented, stumbling backward with a dazed expression. His vision swam, shapes and colors blurring into a kaleidoscope of confusion. He blinked rapidly, trying to regain focus but finding only the same impassive visage staring back at him.
The man tilted his head slightly, more out of curiosity than concern. Nyx shifted on his shoulder, wings fluttering softly into gestures as if mocking the boy.
Jules tried to speak but found words slipping away from him like water through fingers.
The boar''s snorts grew louder behind him, each step closer resonating through the ground.
Jules''s eyes widened as the man vanished from his view in the blink of an eye. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone like a wisp of smoke.
Nyx fluttered down, landing on Jules¡¯s head with an abnormal weight that defied the crow''s size. Somehow, the bird managed to lift the lad back onto his feet with his talons.
Jules felt the world spin, as Nyx turned him around effortlessly to face the direction of the charging beast.
And there the man was, walking towards the charging Blackened Boar with a casual stride that belied the danger hurtling toward him. To Jules, it seemed like time had stopped.
The boar¡¯s snarls grew deafening as it closed the distance, its hairs bristling with excitement at getting a feast.
Then, the man raised an open palm, a flicker of something underneath his sleeves, and struck his hand against the beast''s snout. For a heartbeat, everything did truly become still¡ªthe beast¡¯s momentum completely halted by that simple action.
Then, in a surreal twist, the massive creature crumpled like a folding paper fan. Its once-mighty form collapsed into a messy heap at his feet with an almost comical finality.
Jules stood frozen, mouth agape at the sight before him. The terror that had gripped him moments ago now mixed with bewildered awe. The impossible had unfolded right in front of his eyes.
The man looked down at the defeated boar without any trace of emotion. He turned towards Jules, giving Nyx a command through a glance.
The crow took flight again, leaving Jules¡¯s head and landing back onto his shoulder.
The man then told the boy in a raspy voice ''''Lummox.''''
The lad¡¯s eyes switched from the crumpled boar to the man, putting together the only explanation that made sense to his limited understanding.
¡°He''s a c-cultivator!¡± Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, such was his state of shock that he even stammered within his mind. He stood, unsteady at first, before bending down in a gesture of deep gratitude. ¡°Thank you for saving me.¡±
The mans eyes flickered with very mild amusement. The young man¡¯s reverence was almost palpable, like the stories he had probably grown up hearing about wandering Warriors and the beasts they fought for their materials.
¡°Master Cultivator!¡± Jules began, his voice shaking but earnest. ¡°My humble name is Jules. I was on my way to the city, hoping to make something of myself as a mason.¡±
It was always the same¡ªthose wide-eyed dreamers venturing into the world with aspirations as fragile as spun glass.
¡°May I ask for your great name, Sir?¡± Jules asked humbly, his head still bowed.
¡°Silas,¡± he replied simply, letting the word hang in the air like a shadow.
Jules lifted his head slightly, eyes full of doe eyed awe.
He seemed to search Silas¡¯s face for some sign of kindness or heroic bearing after saving him.
Silas offered none.
Instead, he let the silence stretch out between them, watching as Jules struggled to find words that might bridge the chasm between him and his saviors.
Nyx, however, felt ignored. He squawked and flapped his wings, a sudden burst of motion that drew both Silas¡¯s and Jules¡¯s attention.
Jules¡¯s mind screeched to a halt. His eyes widened as he realized he had overlooked something important.
¡°Mr. Crow! Of course,¡± he muttered to himself before bending low again. ¡°Thank you as well, Master Crow! I owe my life to the both of you.¡±
Nyx puffed out his chest feathers proud, looking almost regal. Silas could feel the satisfaction radiating from his companion. He breathed a sigh, letting his countenance slacken just a bit as he gave into a more freed speech.
¡°We are heading for Rhysling,¡± Silas rasped, his voice carrying authority. ¡°I assume you are as well. You are free to travel with us if you wish.¡±
Without waiting for a response, Silas turned on his heel and started walking. Jules stood there momentarily stunned, the offer hanging in the air while his mind processed it.
¡°Yes! Yes, thank you!¡± Jules called out joyfully, jogging to catch up with Silas and Nyx. A combat cultivator for protection was worth more than a king''s ransom, and Jules knew it.
As they moved through the fog-covered woods, Jules¡¯ thoughts raced with possibilities. The city of Rhysling awaited them¡ªa place where his dreams could be made or shattered¡ªand he would arrive there under the protection of a mighty cultivator!
Silas kept his pace steady, his mind already shifting to other thoughts. Nyx perched on his shoulder, casting an occasional glance back at Jules with an air of satisfaction.
The path ahead was clear, at least for now.
Prologue 3: Of a Sort
Jules occasionally tripped over roots and rocks as he struggled to keep up with Silas.
Silas could feel the boy''s eyes boring into his back. It wouldn''t be long before curiosity got the better of him.
¡°May I ask, good Sir¡ are you a mystic or¡ rather a cultivator?¡± Jules finally blurted out, unable to hold it in any longer.
Silas continued without breaking stride. ¡°Of a kind.¡±
The simple response seemed to encourage Jules.
He quickened his pace until he was walking alongside Silas.
¡°What kinds are there?¡± he asked, scratching his cheek.
Nyx squawked, a sound that almost seemed mocking.
¡°Body cultivators, Spirit cultivators, Witches, Alchemists, Arcanists,¡± Silas listed off casually. ¡°And many more.¡±
Jules¡¯ eyes widened at the sheer number of possibilities. He couldn''t resist asking the next question. ¡°What kind are you? Are you super strong?!¡±
¡°Some wandering cultivators would kill you for asking them that,¡± Silas said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it had a certain heft to it. A trail of bone chilling dread began going down the lad''s back.
Nyx flapped his wings once as if to emphasize the point.
Jules gulped audibly. ¡°I-I meant no offense,¡± he stammered, stepping back.
Silas exhaled with twisted mirth at the boy''s new fear over a question that most practitioners would either answer or simply ignore.
Jules, however, nearly reached a breakthrough in his newly devised technique, [Run Like a Bitch].
Silas continued his stride.
Jules took a moment to steady himself after his mind began wandering into nonsense. He followed Silas again, more cautiously this time. The lad had learned a lesson¡ªcuriosity could be dangerous when aimed at the wrong person.
The boy¡¯s earlier curiosity still hung in the air like questions only half-asked. Silas decided to offer some insight of his own accord.
¡°No matter the kind of cultivation,¡± Silas began, his voice cutting through forest sounds, ¡°All practitioners gather various kinds of energy into themselves, they refine it, purify it and make it greater. This energy is then used to manifest their will onto the world.¡±
Jules walked beside him, his ears pricked with interest but with a face of unease that Silas found amusing.
¡°Some call it Qi,¡± Silas continued. ¡°Others refer to it as Mana. Some even call it simply Energy. Different names for the same concept.¡±
Jules nodded, though he looked as if he felt he was listening to knowledge not meant for him.
Nyx squawked and began miming strange characters with his wings. Jules''s confusion was evident on his freckled face.
Nyx let out a groan-like squawk and flapped a wing over the side of Silas''s ear in exasperation.
¡°What Nyx is trying to tell you,¡± Silas said, ¡°is that the varying strength among all cultivators is distinguished by differing levels of both the amount and caliber of their energy base, regardless of the type.¡±
Jules¡¯s eyes lit up again, but he kept silent this time, letting Silas speak on his own.
¡°Those just starting out are in the ''Energy Condensation stage.'' From there, one progresses through ''Energy Transformation'' and ''Energy Purification,'' then finally reaches ''Energy Ascension.''¡±
Silas glanced at Jules, noting the boy¡¯s rapt attention. "There are four stages altogether, each vastly distinct in power from the others. The majority of mystics you encounter are in the initial stage; few reach the second, a scarce number on the continent achieve the third, and as far as it is known, none are alive in the fourth."
Nyx fluffed his feathers in approval, clearly satisfied that his master had explained things adequately. Jules seemed to absorb every word.
They continued to walk, the forest¡¯s damp air wrapping around them like a wet blanket. Jules''s eyes darted to Silas, a new curiosity bubbling over.
¡°Why are you telling me all this?¡± Jules finally asked, his voice cautious.
Silas didn¡¯t break stride. ¡°No reason.¡±
Jules looked stunned, his freckled face contorting in confusion. ¡°Huh? You¡¯re sharing mystical knowledge out of boredom?¡±
Nyx flapped his wings and landed on Jules¡¯s head with surprising agility. The crow gave a painful stomp that made Jules wince.
¡°Can anyone become a cultivator? No matter what kind?¡± Jules pressed, rubbing the spot where Nyx had stomped.
Silas allowed a smirk to play on his lips, though it didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Consider this, why would I teach you or anyone else how you could live for centuries or destroy cities with your bare hands when I can keep it to myself and do whatever I want?¡±
Jules fell silent, absorbing the implications. The young man¡¯s earlier excitement seemed to drain away, replaced by a somber understanding of the selfish nature that accompanied power.
''''You are either born into it, have great luck to weasel your way into it¡ or greater luck still to force your way into it,'''' he finished, not really answering the original question. Perhaps anyone could, but if they should is another matter.
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Silas glanced at Nyx, who had settled back onto his shoulder. The crow always enjoyed messing with people.
As they continued, Silas''s words hung between them like an unspoken law: power was a solitary endeavor, meant for those who could seize it and hold it without mercy or hesitation.
Jules seemed to have grasped that much.
The morning mist began to lift, revealing the path ahead with greater clarity. Sunlight filtered through the canopy above, creating dappled shadows.
A weathered road sign appeared ahead of them, pointing out their direction towards Rhysling.
Silas barely glanced at it; his sense of direction rarely faltered. Jules, however, paused for a moment to scratch the back of his head, eyes tracing the carved letters on the sign. He sighed as he decided to break the silence once again.
"You know," Jules began, "I''ve always had this little ambition to live a good life. Simple stuff, you know? A cozy house, a loving wife. Maybe even some kids running around."
Nyx tilted his head and scratched at it with a wing, mimicking Jules''s gesture with an almost mocking accuracy.
"My ma and pa were simple folks," Jules continued, oblivious to Nyx¡¯s antics. "Pa was a mason like me. He taught me everything he knew about laying bricks and shaping stone. Ma was the heart of our home, always had a way of making everything seem right."
Silas walked on, letting Jules''s words wash over him like background noise. The boy¡¯s story had no particular interest to him, but it served as a momentary distraction from the monotony of their journey.
Jules seemed to gain confidence as he spoke. "There''s this technique Pa showed me once¡ªhow to carve out intricate designs on stone without cracking it. It''s all about finding the right angle and applying just enough pressure."
Nyx squawked softly, almost as if laughing at the lad''s earnestness. The crow¡¯s eyes gleamed with amusement as he settled back onto Silas¡¯s shoulder.
Realizing he had been rambling, Jules¡¯s cheeks flushed with some embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I guess that''s all I¡¯ve got to offer in return for your answers earlier. Masonry tips and stories about my folks."
Silas glanced at him, before he turned his gaze back to the path ahead.
The sun climbed higher into the sky as they moved forward.
"Ever been to Rhysling before?" Jules asked, breaking the quiet. "You must have, right? With a robe like that and being a cultivator, you can''t be short of money. And I hear cultivators love traveling!"
Silas responded with a simple nod.
Jules seemed encouraged by the response. "What''s it like? Must be bustling with life, all those guilds and airships."
Silas gave another curt nod. "It is."
Jules scratched his head, searching for more to say. "Any tips for a newcomer? Like where to go first or what to avoid?"
Silas paused, considering for a moment. "Sign in at the appropriate offices. Register with the Mason''s Guild. They¡¯ll help you find work and lodging."
"That makes sense," Jules said, nodding gratefully. "Thanks for that."
Silas observed Jules from the corner of his eye, noting the lad¡¯s growing confusion at his shifting demeanor¡ªfrom brooding silence to brief conversation.
A low chuckle escaped Silas''s lips, catching Jules off guard. It was the first genuine sound of amusement he''d heard from the man. "Many who seek the mystic arts do things and consume substances that destabilize their personality." He pointed to his head.
Jules blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He hesitated before asking bluntly, "So, those rumors about cultivators getting into fights or killing for the slightest slight¡ªare they just constantly under trauma or drugged out of their minds?"
Silas stopped walking and turned to face Jules fully for the first time since their journey began. His eyes bore into Jules''s with an intensity that made him feel as though he were being dissected piece by piece.
"Some are," Silas replied with an unsettling calmness. "Others simply lack patience, some are immoral and some well just find it easier to kill to get what they want." He resumed walking without another word, leaving Jules to ponder.
Nyx flapped his wings lightly as if punctuating Silas¡¯s statement with silent agreement, though with quite the evil glint in his eye.
Jules mulled over Silas''s words, trying to reconcile the many facets of this enigmatic cultivator who alternated between sage advice and chilling revelations with disconcerting ease.
The dense forest began to thin, giving way to the outskirts of Rhysling. The walls of the city loomed ahead, tall and imposing, their stone surfaces gleaming under the midday sun. In the distance, airships took flight, their massive forms gliding gracefully into the sky.
"Look at that!" Jules exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder. "I''ve always wanted to ride one of those bad boys."
Silas barely acknowledged him, his gaze fixed on the city. Without breaking stride, he continued walking toward the town, leaving Jules momentarily behind. Jules scrambled to catch up, his fascination with the airships quickly replaced by the need to keep pace.
The scene at the city''s massive gates was a chaotic symphony of life. People bustled about, some on foot, others in carriages or atop strange contraptions that defied conventional understanding. Large levitation boards powered by small Earth Crystals floated cargo effortlessly through the throng, guided by workers.
Nyx chose that moment to land on Jules¡¯s shoulder, letting out a series of squawks that seemed almost conversational.
"From here," Silas said without turning around, "you¡¯re on your own. Try not to get killed. And remember¡ªdon¡¯t trust everyone in this city."
Jules¡¯s face fell, clearly flustered by the sudden separation. He fumbled through his satchel, looking for something to offer as a token of gratitude. His fingers brushed against where his coin pouch is supposed to be, filled with outdated currency that would need exchanging. To his surprise, he found Nyx''s beak clamped around it on his shoulder.
The crow smacked Jules lightly on the nose with the pouch before dropping it onto his head. Then Nyx plucked a shiny coin from within and swallowed it whole, his eyes conveyed mischief as he fluttered back to Silas¡¯s shoulder, cawing with laughter.
Jules blinked in confusion as Silas and Nyx disappeared into the crowd without him noticing.
Complaints echoed through the crowd gathered at the gate of Rhysling. People stood in a haphazard line, their patience worn thin. Shouts and curses flew back and forth, turning the air rancid with frustration. A guard, face flushed with exasperation, tried to maintain order.
"The Magistrate''s orders," the guard said, voice strained. "Forms of intent must be filled out for first-time entrants. No exceptions."
His words fell on deaf ears as the crowd''s grumbling grew louder. Silas approached, his presence unnoticed amid the commotion. With a flicker, like a candle snuffed out and relit on the other side, he was beyond the gate before anyone could mark his passing.
Nyx took flight, perching himself atop a nearby building to survey the scene below. His keen eyes followed Silas as he navigated through the city with ease.
Rhysling was alive with activity. Artisans displayed their crafts on makeshift stalls while merchants haggled over prices with animated gestures. Children darted between adults, laughter ringing out as they played games only they understood. The diversity of people added to the city''s vibrancy¡ªtravelers in colorful garb rubbed shoulders with locals in simpler attire.
Silas moved without obstruction, weaving through the streets toward the western end where the guilds stood like sentinels of knowledge and craft. Chatter mingled in the air, creating a tapestry of sound that matched the visual feast of the marketplace.
A blacksmith hammered away at an anvil, each strike sending sparks into the air. Nearby, a baker pulled fresh loaves from an oven, their aroma mingling with that of spices from an adjacent stall. Silas walked past it all with a predatory grace that parted crowds before him like water around a stone.
Nyx flitted from rooftop to rooftop, keeping pace with his master below. His feathers ruffled slightly as he watched Silas approach their destination.
At last, Silas arrived at a sturdy gate adorned with intricate carvings¡ªthe entrance to the Alchemist''s Guild. He paused briefly to take in its familiar design before pushing it open and stepping inside.
Chapter 1: Are You Back?
Silas stepped into the Alchemist''s Guild of Rhysling, his presence almost swallowed by the grandiosity of the stone and glass structure. The walls bore intricate carvings of mythical creatures and alchemical symbols.
Inside, the air was thick with the scents of rare herbs and exotic spices. Alchemists of various guild ranks moved through the halls, their robes swishing against polished floors. Conversations buzzed around him¡ªdebates over transmutation circles, theories about new elixirs, and occasional bursts of laughter punctuated by the sharp tang of an unexpected explosion.
Silas''s entrance went largely unnoticed in the controlled chaos. He observed his surroundings, taking in the flurry of activity. Apprentices scurried about, carrying trays laden with vials and ingredients, while senior members supervised with an air of authority. It was a hive of intellectual activity, a dance of minds and matter.
His gaze settled on a female clerk seated at a desk near the entrance. She was of advanced age, her white hair tied neatly into a bun. Silas approached her.
"Where is Arim?" he asked, his voice raspy yet commanding.
The clerk looked up from her work, locking eyes with Silas. A cold shiver ran down her spine. The man before her was handsome, but there was something deeply unsettling about him. His eyes seemed to pierce through her very soul.
"In his office on the third floor," she replied impulsively before adding hastily, "But he isn''t accepting visitors right now! He''s preparing for an auction!"
Silas gave a curt reply. "He will accept me."
The clerk opened her mouth to retort but found herself unable to speak. The intimidating aura that surrounded Silas left her momentarily paralyzed, her voice getting caught in her throat.
Without another word, Silas turned and made his way toward the stairs. He passed by groups of alchemists engrossed in their work¡ªsome manipulating elements within containment fields while others carefully measured out precise quantities of volatile substances.
Reaching the third floor, he approached an extravagant white door bearing the mark of a Guildmaster. The symbol gleamed in gold leaf against the pristine surface.
He raised his hand and pushed the door open firmly, awaiting Arim''s reaction, fully aware of the fear that would grip the Guildmaster the moment he realized who had come calling.
Arim sat hunched over his desk, quill in hand, jotting down notes with a fervor. The door to his office burst open with a force that echoed the sound throughout the chamber. He snapped his quill in half, outraged at the intrusion, the ink splattering across the parchment.
¡°Who dares¡ª¡± he began, his voice rising with indignation as his hand instinctively reached for an ampule of Necroclasm. He felt the cool glass against his fingers and readied himself to hurl it at the intruder.
¡°A fool courts death!¡± he yelled, turning to face the source of his ire. But as his eyes fell upon the figure in black striding toward him, his mind buzzed with static.
Arim¡¯s bravado crumbled instantly. His legs began to tremble, and he fought to keep control over his bladder. Sweat poured down his face in a visible stream, matting his once-perfect hair to his forehead.
¡°Senior Ji!¡± Arim stammered, attempting a respectful bow despite the overwhelming fear that gripped him.
Silas continued his approach, eyes locked on Arim.
Just then, two guards appeared at the doorframe, their expressions resolute but uncertain. One of them stepped forward, addressing Arim directly. ¡°Guildmaster, should we¡ª¡±
Arim didn''t let him finish. In a frantic motion, he threw the ampule of Necroclasm at their feet. The glass shattered upon impact, releasing a toxic cloud that sent them scrambling backward releasing wards to not get affected by the proximity of the dangerous potion.
¡°Get out!¡± Arim screamed at them. ¡°And never show such disrespect to Senior Ji again!¡±
The guards retreated hurriedly, leaving Silas and Arim alone in the room.
Silas¡¯s took another step forward, the distance between them now fully closed as Arim struggled to compose himself, wiping away his sweat with a shaking hand.
Silas now stood before Arim, the atmosphere between them was filled with unspoken threats. It was a familiar sight¡ªfear, in all its raw and unfiltered glory.
¡°I haven¡¯t come to oust you,¡± Silas said, his voice as raspy as a snake¡¯s hiss.
Relief began to wash over Arim¡¯s face, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly.
¡°But,¡± Silas continued, watching the brief hope evaporate from Arim¡¯s eyes, ¡°I know there¡¯s a Bloodmoon Thorn within Rhysling. And you must know of it¡ I need it.¡±
He emphasized the word need.
Arim¡¯s eyes darted nervously around the room. He swallowed hard, knowing that a lie would spell death and delaying his answer would mean suffering. ¡°Yes!¡± he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. ¡°It¡¯s one of the items scheduled to appear at the auction in three days at the Starlight Bidders¡¯ Hall.¡±
¡°Why would you need such a dangerous reagent though?¡± Arim asked cautiously but curiously before quickly physically shutting his mouth, realizing the potential consequences of prying too far.
Silas ignored the question, his mind already moving ahead. ¡°Who has it now?¡±
Arim hesitated for a fraction of a second too long, but it was enough for Silas. In an instant, Silas¡¯s hand shot out and clamped around Arim¡¯s neck. He lifted him effortlessly, Arim¡¯s feet dangled helplessly above the floor.
Arim¡¯s face turned red as he struggled for breath. Silas watched him with an eerie calmness before tightening his grip slightly.
With a quick smile that seemed almost out of place on his panicked face, Arim choked out, ¡°It¡¯s... it¡¯s Artificer Selen! She¡¯s... she¡¯s staying at the Magistrate¡¯s castle as a guest!¡±
Silas loosened his grip just enough for Arim to breathe again but didn¡¯t let go entirely. The information was useful¡ªmore than useful.
Silas closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. The scent of fear, mixed with the faint aroma of alchemical concoctions, filled his senses. He released Arim fully, letting him drop unceremoniously to the floor. As Arim gasped and coughed, Silas made his way to the seat Arim had occupied earlier, his face momentarily calmer, almost approachable.
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Arim continued to cough, trying to regain his composure. His eyes flickered with a mixture of relief and terror as he looked up at Silas.
¡°Your late Master would be proud of your usefulness,¡± Silas remarked, his tone carrying a weight of meaningfulness.
Arim''s face tightened as he recalled the haunting memory of that fateful night.
He had plunged the dagger into his Master¡¯s back, right in front of Silas. It was Silas who had his named stained by another sin, saving Arim¡¯s reputation but forever branding him with debt.
¡°Yes,¡± Arim finally managed, his voice still shaky. ¡°He would have been.¡±
¡°Senior Ji¡¡± Arim began, his voice still trembling, ¡°are you... are you back?¡±
A low chuckle escaped Silas¡¯s lips. ¡°Back? You speak as if I ever left, rat.¡±
¡°But... you¡¯ve been gone for almost a decade,¡± Arim stammered, the desperation clear in his eyes. ¡°We all thought¡ª¡±
¡°You thought wrong,¡± Silas interrupted, leaning forward with a predatory smile. ¡°A decade is but a breath in the grand game of cultivation. Did you really believe I¡¯d simply go out without a sound?¡±
Arim swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the floor as if seeking refuge from Silas¡¯s gaze. ¡°I just thought¡ª¡±
¡°You thought I was a rotting corpse, hopefully mangled and eaten.¡± Silas continued, his voice cold and cutting. ¡°Tell me, Arim, do you think a dragon ceases to be a dragon simply because it rests?¡±
¡°N-no, Senior Ji,¡± Arim whispered, his head bowed.
Silas rose from the chair and moved closer to Arim, each step like cannon blasts in Arims ears. ¡°I have always been nearby,¡± he said softly, his tone laced with menace.
Arim nodded frantically, the sweat on his brow glistening under the light. Silas could see the man¡¯s mind working furiously, trying to piece together the implications of his words.
Silas turned away from Arim and headed toward the window, looking out at Rhysling below. The city brimmed with life, oblivious to the power struggles within its walls.
¡°Now,¡± Silas said calmly, still gazing out the window, ¡°tell me more about this Artificer Selen.¡±
Selen stood in the meeting hall of Castle Rhysling, surrounded by a cluster of defense golems.
Her silver hair radiant under the light as she meticulously adjusted the mechanisms within one golem¡¯s chest cavity. Calloused hands moved with precision, making fine tweaks to the arcane runes etched into the metal.
"Your attention to detail is impressive as always, Master Selen," the Magistrate remarked, standing nearby with a bemused smile.
"Thank you, Lord Magistrate," Selen replied without looking up.
The Magistrate spoke. "I trust you¡¯ve found everything you need for your work?"
"For now," Selen said, closing the panel on the golem and stepping back to observe its reactivation. "Though I could do with a few more toys. Always room for improvement."
The golem''s eyes flickered to life, its mechanical joints whirring softly as it stood at attention. The Magistrate chuckled, his rotund form shaking slightly.
"Endless pursuit of perfection, eh?" he teased. "Rhysling is lucky to have you."
Selen turned to him with a small smile. "And it''s why I want to stay here longer. I''m considering setting up a permanent shop."
The Magistrate raised an eyebrow in surprise and delight. "Really now? An Artificer of your skill would be a tremendous asset!"
"I''d need more funds though!" Selen said making a gesture rubbing two fingers together, "which is why I''m planning to sell a little reagent that will make the Alchemist moneybags cream their pants."
"A risky endeavor going to auction! You either get rich or incredibly rich!" the Magistrate mused, scratching his chin.
They both shared a chuckle as Selen moved onto the next golem, her hands deftly checking its components.
"You know," she said casually while working, "people say you have a massive stick rammed straight up your ass."
The Magistrate laughed heartily, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Do they now? Well, someone has to keep this place running smoothly!"
"True enough," Selen agreed with a grin. "But it¡¯s nice to see you are capable of jokes."
Then, as she finished her adjustments to the golem and looked directly at him, Selen''s blue eyes shone with sincerity. "Rhysling has become something special because of your dedication Lord Magistrate! So screw the asses talking about your ass and the sticks going up it!" A smile on her face, and a wink in her eye.
He nodded in appreciation at the crude compliment. They continued their small talk.
Arim swallowed hard. "Selen... she''s tall and imposing, with silver hair. Her eyes are a piercing blue, almost like they see within you."
Silas nodded, picturing the woman. "Personality?"
"She''s confident, perhaps overly so," Arim continued.
Silas asked. ¡°Does she move around the city?¡±
Arim hesitated before answering. ¡°She tends to stay within Castle Rhysling most of the time now, working on her commissions. Occasionally, she ventures into the city for supplies or meetings with new clients in the Artificer''s Guild.¡±
¡°And her abilities?¡± Silas asked, leaning forward slightly.
"She''s an expert with condensed energy," Arim explained, his voice becoming slightly more steady now that he was on familiar ground. "Her craftsmanship is great¡ªshe''s skilled at infusing magical properties into objects and maintaining complex magical structures for very reasonable prices.¡±
Silas''s expression remained impassive as he listened.
¡°But compared to you senior Ji...¡± Arim''s mind recalled the sheer power which Silas was known to command¡power that still haunted him and anyone else that has ever crossed this volatile man''s path. ¡°Her skills are significant among ordinary practitioners but trivial when set against your... capabilities.¡±
¡°Good,¡± Silas said curtly, processing the information. ¡°Is there anyone in Rhysling who might recognize me?¡±
Arim shook his head quickly. ¡°No one of note should recognize you. Most of the current officials wouldn''t know your exact face.¡±
A satisfied smile curled on Silas¡¯s lips as he stood up from the chair.
Silas stood over Arim, his presence casting a long shadow. ¡°I require the paper currency,¡± he said, his voice slicing through the tension. ¡°And you will invite Selen to meet with me tonight. Tell her I am a client interested in her services under your guarantee.¡±
Arim¡¯s eyes widened slightly, the implication sinking in. He managed a short prayer under his breath for Selen¡¯s wellbeing before nodding quickly. ¡°Yes, Senior Ji, I will arrange everything immediately.¡±
Silas¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Ensure that the invitation is compelling.¡±
¡°I understand,¡± Arim replied, trying to steady his voice. ¡°I¡¯ll send my best messenger with the request. She will definitely come!¡±
¡°Good,¡± Silas said, his tone dismissive. ¡°And make sure I have adequate room and board.¡±
Arim nodded vigorously, eager to comply. ¡°I¡¯ll see to it personally!¡±
Without another word, Silas turned and left Arim''s office, leaving the Alchemist to scramble into action. As Silas descended the grand staircase of the Alchemists'' Guild, Nyx flew down to perch on his shoulder, flapping his wings briefly before settling.
The scent of rare herbs and spices faded as Silas stepped out onto the bustling streets of Rhysling.
Arim wasted no time. He barked orders to a clerk nearby, instructing her to gather a substantial amount of cash and to prepare a messenger.
He then grabbed another alchemist by the arm, practically dragging him toward the door. ¡°You,¡± he commanded, ¡°arrange for a suite at The Merry Minstrel Lodge immediately and make sure it¡¯s ready within the hour, then send word to the respected Senior that just left.¡±
The alchemist nodded quickly and darted off into the crowd.
Back in his office, Arim sat down heavily at his desk, sweat beading on his forehead as he drafted a letter to Selen. He chose each word carefully, ensuring it sounded genuine and urgent enough to pique her interest without raising suspicion.
With trembling hands, he sealed the letter with wax and handed it to a trusted messenger. ¡°Deliver this to Artificer Selen at Castle Rhysling,¡± he instructed firmly.
The messenger bowed and departed swiftly.
Arim watched him go before slumping back in his chair. He closed his eyes briefly, muttering another prayer for Selen¡¯s life before composing himself once more.
Silas moved through Rhysling''s streets.
The city''s pulse thrummed around him¡ªvendors hawking their wares, children darting between legs, and the hum of conversations blending into a tapestry of mundane life.
He passed by a bakery where the scent of fresh bread mingled with the tang of street food. A burly blacksmith hammered at an anvil further down, sparks flying with each strike of his hammer.
Continuing his stroll, he slipped into the shadows of an alley, blending seamlessly with the dark. He listened to snippets of conversation¡ªa young woman haggling over fabric prices, an old man recounting tales of past battles to an eager audience of children. Their words were inconsequential, yet they painted a vivid picture of the day to day here.
His mind wandered, as he listed certain ingredients to himself, pausing on the Bloodmoon Thorn that was now close.
Nyx slapped his wings over Silas''s head as if sensing Silas''s wandering mind.
They continued through Rhysling¡¯s labyrinthine streets, observing but never truly partaking in anything until a messenger arrived to lead him towards the inn.
Chapter 2: Preparation
A little girl, her laughter bubbling like a brook, tugged at her father¡¯s sleeve.
¡°Daddy, can we feed the birds before we go home?¡± Ariana¡¯s eyes sparkled with innocent excitement.
Amos paused, his gaze softening as he looked at his daughter. He glanced at the bakery down the street and nodded. ¡°Alright, but we¡¯ll need to grab some crumbs from the bakery first.¡±
Ariana¡¯s face lit up with joy, and she clapped her hands. ¡°Yay! Thank you, Daddy!¡±
As they walked toward the bakery, Ariana spotted an elderly man hobbling towards them. She let out a squeal of delight and ran to him. ¡°Grandpa Dean!¡±
The old man chuckled, his eyes crinkling with affection as he patted her head. ¡°Hello there, little one.¡±
Amos approached with a smile, shaking Dean¡¯s hand warmly. ¡°Should you be up and about, old timer?¡±
Dean shot him a mock glare before grinning. ¡°Watch your cheek, Amos. I¡¯ve still got half my teeth left, so I must be at most middle-aged.¡±
¡°Daddy¡¯s taking me to feed the birds!¡± Ariana exclaimed. ¡°Do you want to come with us?¡±
Dean smiled down at her. ¡°Well, I was heading to the bakery myself. Why not?¡±
The trio made their way together, their laughter and conversation filling the air around them.
¡°Remember when the roads were full of potholes?¡± Amos said, shaking his head. ¡°Now they¡¯re smooth as silk.¡±
Dean nodded. ¡°That new Magistrate¡¯s done wonders. Food supply has also been great!¡±
¡°And the streets,¡± Amos added. ¡°Cleaner than they¡¯ve ever been! No more piles of garbage and shit everywhere you look.¡±
Ariana skipped ahead, then turned to face them, walking backward. ¡°And the flowers! They¡¯re so pretty now!¡±
Dean chuckled. ¡°Yes, even the flowers are prettier.¡±
As they approached the bakery, Amos continued, ¡°Crime¡¯s low nowadays. You remember how it used to be? You couldn¡¯t walk these streets after dark.¡±
¡°Ah, that was more than a horrible time,¡± Dean sighed. ¡°Now we even have mystic Guilds setting up shop here among our old workers Guilds. Never thought I¡¯d see that day!¡±
¡°Alchemists, Artificers, and Magicrafters¡ Who knows what else will be coming,¡± Amos said.
Ariana interrupted with a giggle. ¡°And magic shows! I saw one last week with Mommy!¡±
Dean¡¯s eyes softened at her joy before they took on a distant look. ¡°I remember when things were much harder. Wayfarers would come through and cause havoc¡ªmurder, assault, you name it. The old Magistrate wouldn¡¯t get off his ass for anything, it got even worse when he got killed.¡±
Amos patted Dean¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Life is good now though and that''s what matters.¡±
The family¡¯s voices grew softer as they neared the bakery entrance.
¡°Agreed,¡± Dean murmured thoughtfully with a small smile, ¡°We can all feel safe now.¡±
Silas arrived at the Merry Minstrel Lodge, guided by a man sent by Arim.
The inn''s charm didn¡¯t faze him, its warmth and elegance a mere backdrop. A neat-looking inn worker greeted him at the door, eyes momentarily widening at Silas¡¯s ghastly visage before snapping back to professionalism.
¡°Right this way, Sir,¡± the worker said, leading him through the spacious lobby. The glow from enchanted lanterns softened Silas¡¯s stark appearance as he followed silently, his presence almost ethereal amidst the guests.
Upon reaching his room, the worker opened the door with a practiced smile. ¡°If you need anything, please let us know.¡± He bowed slightly before departing.
Silas stepped inside, taking in the room¡¯s understated luxury. He moved to the window, pushing it open to allow Nyx entry when he returned from his unknown ventures.
The breeze rustled the curtains as Silas shrugged off his satchel onto the bed, the sound of scrunched herbs and clinking glass breaking the silence.
He removed his outer robe, standing now in a simple black shirt and comfortable pants. Strapped onto various parts of his body were ampules of both malevolent and benevolent origins, along with two daggers, various needles, and paper talismans.
He reached into his satchel and retrieved the scroll he had been studying earlier in the cabin.
The parchment unfurled under his fingers, revealing alchemic symbols and diagrams of human anatomy that he scrutinized with intense focus. Hours passed as he pored over the intricate details, waiting for his machinations to start unfolding.
A sudden squawk broke his concentration. Nyx landed on the window frame, feathers ruffled and an annoyed expression on his face. Silas glanced up casually.
¡°You have blood on your beak,¡± Silas remarked dryly.
Nyx looked shocked for a moment before quickly using his wing to wipe it away.
Dean, Amos, and Ariana reached the Central Park''s entrance.
Elderly couples strolled hand-in-hand along cobblestone paths, kids darted about in energetic games, and groups of people stood in animated conversations or quiet contemplation.
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Dean found a comfortable spot under a grand oak tree, its sprawling branches offering cool shade. Amos settled beside him, their conversation flowing seamlessly from old memories to the prospects of the present. Meanwhile, Ariana¡¯s eyes lit up at the sight of a flock of colorful birds pecking at the ground.
¡°The baker was so kind to just give me these crumbs,¡± she said to herself, her voice a blend of excitement and gratitude.
With careful hands, she started scattering the crumbs, delighting in how the birds flocked to her offerings. Each one that took a piece made her giggle with pure joy.
A strange sound caught her attention¡ªa distinctive caw that seemed almost conversational. She looked up and spotted a portly crow perched on a branch above her father. Her eyes widened with wonder.
¡°Look, Papa! A King Crow!¡± she exclaimed, her voice carrying a note of reverence.
Nyx preened at the compliment, puffing out his chest feathers and emitting a pleased squawk. With an elegant hop, he fluttered down and landed on Ariana¡¯s tiny shoulder. The girl stood still as if afraid to scare away the majestic creature.
She reached into her bag and pulled out the biggest crumb she could find. ¡°For you, King Crow,¡± she said softly, extending her hand toward Nyx.
Nyx eyed the crumb with apparent approval before taking it delicately from her fingers. He made a contented sound as he swallowed it, his dark eyes glinting with something akin to satisfaction.
Amos and Dean paused their conversation to watch the interaction. ¡°Seems like our girl has made a new friend,¡± Dean commented with a chuckle.
Amos nodded, his expression softening as he watched his daughter. ¡°She has a way with creatures,¡± he said fondly.
Nyx remained perched on Ariana¡¯s shoulder chewing on more breadcrumbs as if proclaiming his newfound allegiance.
The scene unfolded like a painting in motion¡ªan innocent child finding joy in simple acts of kindness while an intelligent crow found pleasure in being acknowledged as noble.
Silas chose to ignore Nyx''s bloodied beak, his focus entirely on the task at hand. The crow, sensing his master''s disinterest in the matter, preened itself, ruffling its feathers back into place. Silas, meanwhile, began to remove the gear strapped to his torso.
With each piece of equipment he set aside, more of his form came into view. His shirt followed, revealing a physique that could have been chiseled from stone. Dense muscles coiled beneath skin marred by a tapestry of scars and burns, evidence of countless battles and experiments gone awry. Some areas even showed where chunks of muscle had once been torn away and had healed imperfectly.
His skin was a canvas of alchemical circles and runic symbols. Some glowed faintly, pulsing with an eerie light, while others remained silent and disturbing in their stillness. The markings seemed almost alive, writhing and shifting as if they were creatures trapped beneath his skin.
Silas extended a hand, and several glass ampules lifted from the table before him, suspended in mid-air by an unseen force. He closed his eyes before flicking his fingers; the ampules shattered with a delicate tinkling sound, releasing clouds of vicious gasses.
The vapors snaked through the air, drawn towards the dormant symbols etched into his flesh. As the gases touched them, those previously unmoving marks began to wiggle and writhe, awakening as if called to life.
Silas waited as the gasses absorbed into his skin, fueling the alchemical circles that now once more pulsed vigorously. The process was both fascinating and unsettling¡ªan intimate dance between magic and flesh that only someone like him, or a more than talented Alchemist could endure or understand.
Nyx watched with keen interest from his perch on the window sill, head cocked to one side. Silas''s focus never wavered; he was deep in concentration, feeling every shift and change within himself as the symbols fed on the vapors.
The room filled with a low hum as the symbols completed their transformation from dormant to active. Silas took a deep breath, feeling the alchemical energy course through him like magma.
He exhaled slowly, eyes opening to meet Nyx''s curious gaze. The crow''s dark eyes reflected an understanding that needed no words as he got ready to receive his orders.
Ariana''s giggles filled the air as she tossed crumbs to the gathered birds, their feathers shimmering in the sunlight of the afternoon. Nyx was perched contentedly on her shoulder, pecking at the large crumbs she had offered. Her father, Amos, and her grandfather, Dean, sat nearby under the grand oak tree, enjoying the peaceful scene.
Suddenly, a boy burst onto the scene, arms flapping wildly as he ran through the flock of birds. Feathers scattered, and startled chirps filled the air. Ariana''s face twisted in anger.
"Hey! Why are you being so mean?" she yelled, her small fists clenched at her sides.
The boy sneered. "They''re just dumb birds! And you''re dumb for feeding them!"
Ariana''s cheeks flushed red as she stamped her foot. "You''re a bully!"
Nyx remained unfazed, continuing to eat as if the boy''s antics were beneath his notice.
Amos stood up from his spot under the tree and approached the children. "What''s going on here?" he asked gently, but firmly.
The boy turned to Amos with a defiant glare. "She started it! She called me a bully!"
Amos looked down at Ariana, who was on the verge of tears. "It''s not nice to scare the birds," he said to the boy calmly. "Let''s all try to be kind to each other."
Before Amos could say more, an irate man stormed over. His face was a mask of indignation. "How dare you talk to my son like that!"
Amos remained calm, raising a placating hand. "I was just explaining¡ª"
"I don''t care what you were explaining!" the man interrupted. "You have no right to tell my kid what to do."
The boy smirked, emboldened by his father''s arrival. "Yeah! Mind your own business!"
Dean got up slowly from his seat, sensing trouble brewing. Amos kept his voice even. "Your son scared my daughter and the birds she was feeding."
"So what? Birds are pests¡" the man scoffed.
Nyx finished his meal and patted Ariana''s head with one wing in a comforting gesture. The sight of this seemed to enrage the man further.
He sneered at Ariana. "You should stop fattening up birds that are already fat and will shit on everyone passing by!"
Nyx¡¯s eyes darkened, an evil glint appearing within them. He let out a menacing squawk before taking flight horrifyingly fast towards the rude man.
The air grew tense as Nyx swooped down...
Silas''s skin rippled with the activated symbols, an eerie soft glow emanating from the alchemical runes that now danced across his body. He methodically pulled his shirt back on. The fabric stretched over his muscular frame, the dark material hiding the frightening artistry beneath.
With his gear back in place, Silas''s predatory gaze turned toward Nyx. The crow flapped its wings and landed on the table, tilting its head in anticipation.
"Nyx," Silas''s voice cut through the silence. "Tonight¡¯s meeting is important. The information I need must be acquired¡ and the Bloodmoon Thorn retrieved intact."
Nyx gave an understanding caw, his beady eyes narrowing.
"If she doesn¡¯t have it on her or doesn''t provide what I ask for¡" Silas continued, "you will meld with her shadow. Track her movements until you sense the herb. Do not let her out of your sight."
Nyx flapped his wings once in acknowledgment before hopping off the table.
Silas reached into his satchel and retrieved a small tin container. He flipped it open to reveal several pale blue pills nestled inside. Without hesitation, he popped one into his mouth and swallowed.
The transformation was almost immediate. The menacing sharpness of his features began to soften. His gaunt face filled out, smoothing over the harsh lines that had made him look more specter than man. His eyes lightened from their deep black to a dark blue, their intensity shifting to something more approachable. Laugh lines formed at the corners of his mouth, giving him an air of youthful exuberance.
He glanced at a small mirror on the wall, assessing his new visage with clinical detachment. Satisfied, he nodded once before turning back to Nyx.
"Remember," he said, his voice now carrying a warmer timbre though still tinged with authority, "No screw ups."
Nyx landed on Silas¡¯s shoulder, ready for the night ahead.
Chapter 3: A Pity
Ornate gates creaked open as a harried messenger from the Alchemist Guild strode through, his brow sweaty. His hurried arrival did not go unnoticed by the guards who flanked the entrance. One of them, recognizing the guild¡¯s insignia emblazoned on the messenger¡¯s cloak, stepped forward.
¡°The Alchemist Guild?¡± The guard¡¯s tone respectful.
¡°Yes, an urgent message for the Magistrate''s guest!¡± the messenger replied.
The guards exchanged a quick glance before one of them motioned for the messenger to follow. They led him through grand hallways adorned with tapestries depicting Rhysling¡¯s storied history. The air inside was cool and thick with the scent of polished wood and burning incense.
Within moments, they reached the Magistrate¡¯s meeting hall. A curt knock on the door announced their presence. The Magistrate of Rhysling, his rotund figure seated behind an expansive desk cluttered with documents and ledgers, looked up from his work. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, narrowed at the intrusion.
¡°Enter,¡± he commanded.
The guard pushed open the door wider, allowing the messenger to step inside. The Magistrate¡¯s gaze flickered from the messenger to Selen, who was engrossed in adjusting a delicate mechanism on one of the golems nearby. Her silver hair shimmered under the light, and her piercing blue eyes shifted to meet those of the intruder.
¡°What is it?¡± The Magistrate''s voice held an edge of impatience.
The messenger cleared his throat, visibly nervous under their combined scrutiny. ¡°My Lord! Artificer Selen! I bring an urgent summons from Guildmaster Arim!¡±
Both Selen and the Magistrate exchanged a look of surprise. The alchemists were typically meticulous about their schedules; any deviation usually meant something significant.
¡°An urgent summons?¡± The Magistrate leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he studied the messenger. ¡°What is this about?¡±
The messenger hesitated briefly before responding, ¡°Guildmaster Arim has requested Artificer Selen¡¯s immediate presence at the guild.¡± He then read the full message Arim penned himself.
Selen¡¯s eyes sparkled with a mix of slight greed and mischief. She glanced at the Magistrate before addressing the messenger directly. ¡°It seems like someone can''t wait for the auction,¡± she remarked dryly, yet happily.
¡°I¡¯ll be right there,¡± Selen said with money signs in her eyes.
She turned back to her work briefly before gathering her tools and heading out to meet whatever awaited her at the Alchemist''s Guild.
Silas, now with a refreshed and almost unrecognizable appearance, exited his room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge. His once ghastly visage now appeared more approachable, almost benign. He moved through the inn''s lobby with a grace that was unsettlingly incongruous to the staff who had seen him earlier. Confused stares followed him, the whispers of disbelief palpable.
¡°Wasn¡¯t that the man who checked in earlier?¡± one of the inn workers muttered under her breath, eyes wide.
¡°He looks so different,¡± another replied, barely concealing her astonishment.
Silas paid them no mind. His purpose was singular as he made his way out of the inn and into Rhysling¡¯s bustling central square. The afternoon light cast long shadows across the cobblestones, and the City''s pulse beat around him.
He cut a path through the throng of people.
As he was walking to the guild on the western side, his attention was briefly drawn to an unsettling scene unfolding nearby. A pale man struggled through the crowd, carrying a girl in his arms. Her body trembled visibly, and her sobs were muted but heartbreaking. An old man trailed behind them, his face etched with horror.
The crowd parted for them instinctively, a bubble of silence forming around their passage. Silas¡¯s eyes narrowed as he observed them, his mind briefly contemplating their plight before refocusing on his objective. Whatever misfortune had befallen them was not his concern.
Continuing onward, Silas arrived at the entrance to the Alchemists'' Guild. The controlled chaos inside was much as he had left it: alchemists bustling about, engaged in fervent debates and experiments.
He approached a different clerk this time¡ªa young woman whose eyes widened as she recognized him from earlier. She stammered a greeting before directing him towards Arim¡¯s office once more.
Selen entered the Alchemist''s Guild. Her silver hair shimmered under the dim light, cascading down her back.
The guild''s guards gave her a wide berth. She was promptly escorted by a clerk towards Arim''s office, her stride confident, eyes scanning the bustling hallways with calculated interest.
Arim rose from behind his desk when she arrived, a veneer of cordiality masking his underlying anxiety.
¡°Ah, Artificer Selen!¡± he greeted with a respectful nod. ¡°Thank you for coming on such short notice.¡±
Selen responded with a knowing look, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of her lips. ¡°Guildmaster Arim,¡± she replied smoothly, ¡°I assume this is about the Bloodmoon Thorn?¡±
Arim¡¯s wry smile deepened the lines on his face, betraying a mix of relief and trepidation. ¡°It may be,¡± he said, pausing for effect. ¡°But more importantly, this meeting is to facilitate an introduction with one of my esteemed acquaintances.¡±
Selen arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. ¡°Unless there¡¯s an extremely lucrative offer on the table,¡± she said good-naturedly, ¡°I believe I stand to gain more from the auction, I warn you in advance.¡±
Before Arim could respond, the door creaked open and a guard entered hastily. His eyes darted nervously between Selen and Arim. ¡°Senior Ji has arrived again,¡± he announced. ¡°He wishes to speak with you, Guildmaster.¡±
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The involuntary shiver that passed through Arim did not escape Selen''s notice. She filed away that piece of information for later use. Regaining his composure quickly, Arim chuckled with forced mirth.
¡°Perfect timing,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°Bring him in.¡±
Silas stepped into Arim''s office, a faint smile playing on his lips. His eyes met Selen¡¯s, who leaned back slightly and let out a low whistle.
¡°Well, you¡¯re definitely no senior,¡± she remarked, her voice carrying a note of playful flirtation.
An audible gulp escaped Arim as he stood by, his composure wavering. Silas chuckled, the sound low. ¡°I¡¯m flattered,¡± he said. ¡°Truly a lucky coincidence I arrived when I did. I¡¯m sure Arim has you here after my persistent badgering today.¡± He cast a slightly apologetic glance at Arim.
Arim nodded stiffly, beads of sweat forming at his temples. ¡°It was no trouble for someone such as Senior Ji,¡± he said, though his mind screamed, Horseshit, you psycho!
Selen laughed, the sound bright and genuine. ¡°A handsome man like yourself doesn¡¯t need an intermediary if he just wanted to meet me,¡± she teased. ¡°But I assume this is a business call?¡±
Arim''s internal voice roared again, You are digging us both a grave here, you idiot! Outwardly, he forced a polite smile. ¡°I do believe I am unnecessary here. The Alchemist''s Guild has only acted to facilitate your meeting. My trust in Senior Ji is boundless.¡± He turned to leave. ¡°I shall leave you two to talk.¡±
Silas¡¯s laughter filled the room, though it held an edge in Arim''s ears that made his stomach tighten even more. ¡°Thank you for that,¡± Silas said warmly before raising an eyebrow. ¡°But have you also prepared the money you owe me?¡±
Arim nodded frantically and reached into his robes to produce a sealed letter. He handed it to Silas with shaking hands. ¡°It¡¯s a check for the amount owed,¡± he stammered. ¡°You can withdraw it at the Empire¡¯s State Bank.¡±
Silas accepted the letter with a nod of thanks as Arim scurried away like a frightened mouse, leaving Selen intrigued and Silas smiling in the quiet room.
Selen watched him with keen interest, her blue eyes searching his face for clues to his intentions. The tension that had filled the room dissipated slightly as they were left alone together, each appraising the other.
¡°You have my attention,¡± Selen said, breaking the silence.
Silas¡¯s smile widened ever so slightly.
Selen''s gaze lingered on Silas, curiosity evident in her eyes. ¡°Why is the Guildmaster crapping his pants when talking to you though?¡± she asked, her tone light but genuinely curious.
Silas leaned back slightly on his seat, his smile growing more pronounced. ¡°Arim and I have a bit of history,¡± he began, his voice steady. ¡°His Master and I were good friends. We learned together, advanced our skills side by side¡. Arim was introduced to me by his late Master, so he has had a... respectful fear of me ever since.¡±
Selen''s eyebrow arched in intrigue. ¡°I see,¡± she said slowly. ¡°Forgive the rudeness, but as a fellow cultivator of the mystic arts, I¡¯m curious about your age.¡±
Silas chuckled softly, the sound almost melodic. ¡°Not as old as you might think,¡± he replied with a slight wink. ¡°But decently old enough. The title ¡®Senior¡¯ was given to me by a group of people who sought me out for insights.¡±
Selen''s cheeks flushed ever so slightly, embarrassment evident. ¡°I must admit, I haven¡¯t heard your name before,¡± she confessed.
¡°That¡¯s natural,¡± Silas said smoothly. ¡°Ji would perhaps only be mentioned by old fart alchemists looking for new ideas.¡±
She laughed softly, shaking her head. ¡°I see,¡± she said again, more to herself this time. Her gaze met his once more, sincere and curious. ¡°May I ask your true name if you wouldn¡¯t mind?¡±
Silas¡¯s smile softened. ¡°Ji is honestly enough,¡± he said simply.
Selen nodded slowly, shrugging her shoulders.
¡°You were correct though,¡± Silas continued, his tone shifting. ¡°Now it¡¯s time to discuss the reason for our meeting.¡±
Arim bolted down the stairs, each step echoing his frantic pace. He pushed open the heavy door to the storage rooms on the second floor, where rows of shelves held countless vials and jars. His hands shook as he reached for a concoction labeled ¡°Clear Mind,¡± gulping it down with a grimace. Next, he grabbed a curative for poisons and an assortment of restorative tonics, swallowing each one in quick succession.
His mind raced, replaying every detail of his encounter with Silas. The fear that gnawed at him whispered that he might have missed something, some small slight that could provoke the man''s wrath. He whispered a fervent prayer to Rovinius, the god of alchemy. ¡°Please let me survive this encounter,¡± he muttered, clutching a vial tightly.
Once he felt sufficiently fortified against any possible trickery or toxin, Arim straightened his robes and took a deep breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow and walked out of the storage room, his footsteps now measured and composed.
The second floor buzzed with activity as alchemists mixed potions and debated theories. Arim made his way through the crowded space, stopping to observe and offer guidance. His presence electrified the room; young apprentices eagerly absorbed his advice while seasoned alchemists nodded appreciatively at his insights.
Arim¡¯s initial anxiety began to ease as he lost himself in the familiar rhythm of instruction. An hour passed swiftly as he moved from station to station, feeling almost normal again.
Then it hit him¡ªa sixth sense, an instinct honed by years of surviving dangerous encounters. He turned toward the staircase just in time to see Silas and Selen descending together, their conversation punctuated by Selen¡¯s light chuckle and Silas¡¯s wry smile.
Arim''s heart skipped a beat. He forced himself to approach them calmly. ¡°How did it go?¡± he asked, his voice steady despite the churn of dread in his stomach.
Silas met his gaze with that unsettling smile to his eyes. ¡°Unfortunately,¡± he said, almost mockingly polite, ¡°we couldn¡¯t come to a deal.¡±
Inwardly, Arim screamed at himself: ¡°Kill me! No wait, don¡¯t!¡± But outwardly, he managed a stiff nod, doing his best to hide the tremor in his hands.
Silas watched as Selen assessed him with her sharp blue eyes, the air between them thick with calculations. "I would like to purchase something from you," he began, his tone casual as if he were asking for a loaf of bread.
A knowing smile played on Selen''s lips. "If you''re after the Bloodmoon Thorn, you''ll need to bleed a lot of money in compensation Mr. Handsome. Or¡" she added with a flirty look in her eyes, "try your luck fairly at the auction." Her tone became deadpan on the last part.
Silas chuckled softly, amusement coloring his features. "Not that, Master Artificer."
Her expression shifted to one of surprise and confusion. She inclined her head slightly to the side. "What then?"
As the sun cast its rays through the window, Silas''s shadow loomed over Selen. Something from his shadow slithered into hers, unnoticed by her.
"I want information on where you got it," he stated plainly.
Selen¡¯s lips tightened into a thin line. "I cannot."
"Is there any chance it can be traded for?" Silas asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
She shook her head sadly. "No. The contract I took forbids me from revealing anything, I assume you are familiar with [Contract Vow''s]?"
"A pity," Silas said with genuine regret before shifting gears smoothly. "Well then, let''s make the best of this meeting. We might as well both make a new friend today if there''s no deal to be struck."
Their conversation flowed effortlessly from there, touching on various aspects of Selen''s life and work. She spoke passionately about her latest projects and the intricate balance between magic and craftsmanship with a fellow cultivator.
Silas listened attentively, interjecting occasionally with insightful comments that revealed his understanding of magical engineering. The hour slipped by unnoticed as they delved into topics ranging from the challenges of working with volatile materials to the eccentricities of clients.
As they finally stood to leave, Silas offered a warm smile. "I''m not sure I''ll make it to the auction, I shall try though, but I do hope we meet again."
They exited together and briefly conversed with Arim, who Silas observed had indulged in a cocktail of alchemical products. Stroking his chin, he spoke to the man, as if just remembering something.
"Actually, Arim," he continued as if recalling something important, "I need to talk to you in your office once again."
He could almost hear Arim yelling profanities in his mind.
Chapter 4: Layered Shadows
Selen strode out of the Alchemist''s Guild with a brisk pace.
As she walked through the streets of Rhysling, the Artificers'' Guild loomed ahead¡ªshe was greeted by the familiar hum of machinery and the scent of enchanted oils.
"Good afternoon, Master Selen!" The receptionist, a young woman with ink-stained fingers, beamed at her.
"Afternoon," Selen replied, her voice warm but businesslike. "Is Vis available?"
"Yes, Master. He''s on the third floor," the receptionist replied, motioning for an escort.
Selen followed a guild apprentice through winding corridors lined with shelves of magical blueprints and half-assembled constructs. They reached the third floor, where Vis awaited her in his cluttered office. The middle-aged man looked up from his workbench, his eyes lighting up as he saw Selen.
"Selen! Good to see you!" he greeted warmly.
She returned his smile with a nod. "I''ve finished tuning the golems for the Magistrate. I''ll move on to the alarm system next, hopefully going to have it all done before the auction."
Vis leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased. "Excellent work as always. The merit points for this task will be credited to your account along with the monetary reward."
In Selen''s shadow, Nyx observed silently, his eyes absorbing everything with keen interest. "Well this is convenient," he thought to himself, finding Selen''s diligence quite useful for his and Silas''s own purposes.
Selen and Vis exchanged a few more words about upcoming projects and guild affairs before she took her leave.
Nyx yawned internally as they made their way out. "Boring," he thought, impatient for more excitement.
Selen exited the Artificer''s Guild. Nyx, all the while still melded into her shadow.
Selen navigated through Rhysling''s lively streets, making her way toward Spirit¡¯s Gazebo.
The restaurant''s serene garden, adorned with glowing lanterns and mystical flora, came into view. The air was rich with the delicious scents.
Selen stepped inside, greeted by the staff. A waiter approached her quickly with a respectful bow, guiding her to a private booth shielded by talismanic barriers.
She perused the menu briefly before making her standard choice. "Willow Deer tenderloin, well done" she said to the waiter, her voice routine.
Nyx¡¯s feathers ruffled in indignation as he stewed in her shadow. "Well done? Blasphemy! And that fatty meat?! Your ass is already crushing me here!" he thought with outrage, his eyes narrowing at her decision.
Moments later, a friend of Selen''s approached her booth¡ªa woman with auburn hair and a mischievous aura around her. She paused at the edge of the table. "Mind if I join you for lunch?"
Selen gestured to the empty seat across from her. "Of course, Lyra."
They chatted about their shared profession, discussing recent projects and exchanging insights on magical engineering techniques. Their conversation soon shifted to lighter topics¡ªgossip about the castle staff recorded in the golems'' memory banks.
"You wouldn¡¯t believe some of the things I''ve seen," Selen said with a conspiratorial smile. "Cheating on partners, gambling debts... even clandestine meetings between maids¡and I mean just the maids." She said with a wink.
Lyra leaned in closer, eyes wide with happiness and interest. "Really? Spill it!"
Nyx listened attentively to the gossip. "This could be useful stuff," he thought to himself. "Though it will definitely let me have some fun."
Selen returned to the castle. The guards at the entrance, clad in armor, acknowledged her as she passed.
As she walked through the main hall, her ears picked up snippets of surrounding conversation.
"Did you hear about that man found dead earlier?" one guard said, his voice low.
"Yeah, a crow''s beak right through the skull," another replied, shaking his head. "Gruesome way to go."
Selen shrugged off the news. People died every day; it wasn''t her concern.
"It was squishier than usual," Nyx mused to himself from her shadow. "If you¡¯re going to be an ass, you have to be able to be one." His thoughts held a hint of amusement as he mentally mapped out Selen''s path through the castle.
She moved with purpose, heading toward the various nooks and crannies where there were hidden artificer markings. Her hands worked deftly, coaxing the magical symbols into visibility with a gentle touch. The intricate designs glowed faintly before fading back into invisibility, securing the castle''s defenses in ways only she understood.
Nyx, concealed within her shadow, allowed a small strand of his energy to flow toward the defense mechanisms she was working on. Unnoticed by Selen, this energy interaction triggered a response from the complex system.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Suddenly, alarms blared throughout the castle corridors. Traps that had been set sprang to life; arcane bolts shot from hidden turrets, narrowly missing her. Panic surged through Selen as golems¡ªones she had just fine-tuned¡ªlurched into motion and advanced toward her with menacing intent.
"What¡¯s happening?" she muttered under her breath, in her eyes there was palpable confusion. She darted between them, her mind racing to understand why everything was malfunctioning simultaneously.
From within her shadow, Nyx let out a silent laugh. The chaos unfolding around Selen was a source of immense amusement for him. "Funny!" he thought with dark glee.
Selen¡¯s hands moved frantically over an exposed rune panel as she tried to regain control of the situation. Her heart pounded in her chest as each second felt like an eternity.
Nyx remained concealed but continued observing the scene.
Selen slumped against the stone wall of the castle corridor, her fingers raw and her mind weary. She had spent the entire day troubleshooting malfunctioning defenses, each new issue compounding her growing frustration. Arcane bolts, animated golems, and traps¡ªevery safeguard had turned against her. The signs pointed to a curse or powerful sorcery, something far beyond ordinary sabotage.
She finally finished fixing and reactivating the last mechanism. Her hands trembled as she tucked her tools back into her belt, the sense of unease gnawing at her. Selen shook off the exhaustion and made her way to the Magistrate''s audience hall.
The rotund man looked up from his paperwork as she entered.
"Magistrate," she began, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. "The castle''s defenses went haywire today. I suspect a curse or sorcery might be at play."
The Magistrate''s expression turned grave, his calm facade slipping to reveal genuine concern. "Someone is out to get me it seems then," he muttered under his breath, glancing around the room as if enemies lurked in every shadow.
Nyx cackled to himself silently, not concealing his amusement at the paranoia he had caused.
Selen offered words of caution, trying to soothe his fears while emphasizing the need for vigilance. "We should take extra precautions and perhaps consult a specialist in curses or dark magic."
The Magistrate nodded solemnly. "Indeed. Your insight is invaluable Master Selen." He then shifted topics to lighten the mood, his curiosity piqued by recent events. "Did you manage to strike it rich with the alchemists?"
Selen shook her head with a small smile. "No, unfortunately not. I did make a new acquaintance though¡ªa rather enigmatic man named Ji. We were supposed to have a dinner introduction, but we met unexpectedly in the Guildmaster''s office."
The Magistrate listened to her and said "Ji, you say? Interesting¡"
Arim hunched over on the floor, his breath ragged, skin cracking and drying out in quickly. Silas observed, his expression inscrutable. The alchemist''s office felt like a tomb, every sound amplified by the eerie silence save for the dry heaving of Arim.
"If I want to poison you or puppeteer you," Silas''s raspy voice cut through the tension, "no matter what tonic you drown yourself with¡ It cannot save you."
Arim coughed out an apology, his voice barely a whisper, "Senior Ji... I''m sorry if I insulted you..."
Silas''s finger tapped the desk once, and Arim''s affliction reversed almost instantly. His skin regained its color and moisture faster than it had deteriorated. Relief flooded Arim¡¯s eyes as he gasped for air, his body trembling.
"Fetch me an Ambitious Mimic," Silas demanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.
Without a second thought, Arim scrambled to his feet. His hand flew to a hidden switch beneath a roof board. The safe above it clicked open, revealing the rare herb nestled within. In his haste, he activated a "Liberated Flight" potion etched onto his body¡ªa waste of precious resources but necessary to comply with Silas''s order.
Arim grabbed the Ambitious Mimic and handed it over reverently. "Here you are, Senior Ji," he said, bowing low.
Silas took the herb with a nod of approval. "We will see each other again."
Internally, Arim screamed in dread, "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" But outwardly, he put on a polite smile. "Anytime, Senior Ji. Anything you need."
Silas turned away from Arim without another word, leaving the Guildmaster to recover.
Selen entered her prepared guest chamber within the castle. She moved to the bed, her fingers trailing over the plush covers before she knelt down, pulling out a suitcase from underneath. Vicious wards crackled along its surface, closer to the arcane intricacies of Magicraft than the practicality of Artifice.
She pulled off an inconspicuous earring and channeled her energy into it. The small piece of jewelry shifted into a specific shaped key, bridging the gap between three wards on the suitcase¡¯s top. With a faint hum, the wards deactivated, and the case popped open.
Inside lay her treasure trove: journals filled with her meticulous notes, several smaller Bags of Holding where she kept her most precious materials, and one that held her clothes. Among these was a container, enchanted with intricate runes and glyphs. Inside it was a vicious-looking crimson plant, resembling more a bared tree branch than a plant stem.
Nyx watched from her shadow, he memorized the earring¡¯s transformation and how it disabled the wards. "Jackpot," he thought.
Selen selected a Bag of Holding containing her clothes and pulled out a fresh set. She closed the suitcase, reactivating its wards with a quick touch of her earring key before sliding it back under the bed.
She walked to an adjoining washroom intending to clean the grime of the day off her.
Nyx, having completed his task of observation, slipped away from Selen''s shadow as she began to disrobe.
In the form of an undetectable shadow, he melded seamlessly into the dim light of the guest chamber, slipping under the door and into the halls.
Nyx navigated the castle with ease, his new knowledge of its layout and defense mechanisms made him invisible to the naked eye. He skirted around enchanted wards and silently fluttered past guards on patrol. His sharp mind catalogued every detail, every hidden corner possible.
Finding himself with time to spare as evening barely began to set in, Nyx indulged in a bit of pleasure reconnaissance. He slipped into a nearby corridor where he could hear muffled voices from ahead. Through keyholes and opened windows, he watched and listened.
He pieced together identities from Selen''s stories¡ªan affair between a maid and a guard that would make even the most seasoned gossip writer blush, a nobleman''s secret trysts, whispers of embezzlement from the castle treasury and crippling gambling debts. Each tidbit of information was filed away in his sharp mind.
Satisfied with his findings, Nyx drifted towards the audience hall where he sensed a familiar presence. There sat the Magistrate of Rhysling, alone in deep contemplation. The rotund man was visibly distressed, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead as he wrestled with his thoughts.
Nyx nearly burst into audible laughter as he saw the Magistrate lift his regal top knot, revealing an unexpected secret: beneath the carefully arranged hair lay a bald head, his hair a toupee. The sight was almost too much for Nyx to bear without breaking his silence.
Silas would amusedly grunt at this information he thought.
Having gathered all that he needed, Nyx decided it was time to return to Silas with his findings. He slipped back through the corridors as silently as he had come in. His mission complete, he took flight into the night sky to rejoin his Master.
Chapter 5: - O
Silas returned to his room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts. He shut the door behind him with a click.
Warm lanternlight brightened the room as the afternoon sun dimmed.
His thoughts sharpened into bullet points, each one representing a step he must take. Twelve reagents¡ªeach essential to his goal¡ªneeded to be gathered. Two were already in his possession: the Soulshade Lily and the Crystalline Morrowroot, safely tucked away in his satchel. The Bloodmoon Thorn, currently with Selen, would soon be within his grasp.
Her information could prove to be either invaluable or a waste of time. Silas knew that she might not even realize just how much her potential knowledge was worth to an alchemist, much less to him. Her knowledge, the location where the herb was found¡ªcould be a key to expediating the next steps of his mission.
He couldn''t afford for his presence to resonate throughout the Empire just yet, even less across the entire continent. The risks of premature exposure were too great, the potential delays too costly. Every move had to be efficient, every interaction must be a step forward.
Drawing attention from the wrong individuals this early would introduce complications he wasn''t willing to manage¡ªat least not until he had secured The Rovinius Enlightenment from the capital''s primary Alchemist guild branch. That scroll contained ancient insights on energy manipulation and alchemical mixtures, knowledge he needed.
Silas glanced at his hands, seeing past the facade of his more amiable appearance to his true hands, marred by scars and burns. "There is time," he murmured to himself, voice gravelly and soft. "I will finish it... then accounts will be settled."
With a deep breath, Silas centered himself once more, clearing his mind of all but the present. His hidden purpose steadied him, each inhale drawing in resolve and each exhale expelling doubt.
Nyx would return soon with additional information. Silas trusted the crow implicitly; Nyx''s loyalty and cunning were unparalleled, even if he was possessed by the God of Mischief.
Evening shadows stretched long across the room as Silas sat by the window, awaiting Nyx''s return. The lanternlight cast an eerie glow upon him, accentuating the lines of his face and the depth of his eyes. The crow arrived onto the sill after a few more moments, a triumphant feeling in his intelligent gaze. With a flick of Silas''s fingers, paper and ink floated from his satchel to the small desk in the corner, carried by an unseen force that obeyed his every whim.
Nyx hopped down, his talons clicking softly on the wooden surface. The crow began to sketch with surprising dexterity using the ink and one of his feathers, mapping out a path through the castle corridors
The container it was kept in appeared next in Nyx¡¯s drawing, intricate details showing the mystic symbols and glyphs designed to contain its chaotic aura and preserve its shelf life. Each line and curve was rendered with precision, capturing the most minute details of the object that surrounded the Bloodmoon Thorn.
Silas observed the drawing, his eyes narrowing as he took in the elaborate preservation methods. They were intricate, indeed, but not beyond his capabilities. He could almost feel the pulse of the herb''s latent energy through the ink on the parchment, proof of Nyx''s skillful depiction.
Nyx paused, turning his head mischievously to Silas before adding another figure to the sketch: a bald man with an arrow pointing to his head and a toupee hovering above it. Silas grunted, earning an amused caw from Nyx.
"Surprisingly easy to get in and out," Silas muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, more to himself than to Nyx. His eyes scanned the drawing once more, ensuring that no more hidden dangers could be deduced.
With a fluid motion, he extended his hand, and as if by some miracle, a small liquid orb materialized out of thin air. The liquid was covered in a thin film that shimmered faintly with dim ethereal energy. Several alchemical patterns, intricately etched into his skin, began to dull and fade as their power transferred to the the orb.
"Have this solvent come into contact with the top of the container." Silas instructed. "It will place the protections into dormancy until it evaporates after a few seconds, be quick."
Nyx nodded, understanding clear in his eyes as he squawked a few animated squawks at Silas.
Silas raised an eyebrow but then nodded back. "Very well, I will make them. Your objective first though."
Nyx fluffed his feathers in assurance before returning to the sketch, making final adjustments with meticulous care should Silas need it further.
Silas¡¯s focus shifted from the exchange to his satchel, a high-class Bag of Holding with a polished leather exterior and intricate runic embossing that shimmered faintly to the keen observer.
He willed a small set of alchemic tools to emerge, each piece gleaming with a pristine luster that spoke of meticulous care. The tools, arranged in an orderly fashion, seemed almost eager to be put to use.
From within the depths of the satchel, Silas also produced the Ambitious Mimic. The unassuming plant, with its delicate leaves and vibrant flowers, appeared deceptively innocent in his grasp, a contrast to the intentions lurking behind his eyes.
The plant''s appearance belied its true potential, a deceptive facade that mirrored Silas''s own complex nature perhaps.
He laid it gently on the desk beside his systematically arranged tools. With a focused intensity, he began the intricate process of synchronizing the Ambitious Mimic to take on the properties and appearance of a Bloodmoon Thorn, a task that required both finesse and deep knowledge of both herbs.
He worked with a masterful grace, his movements swift, each gesture purposeful. His fingers danced over the Mimic, their touch both delicate and oppressive, as if coaxing the very essence of the herb to bend to his will.
First, he examined the Ambitious Mimic''s leaves, noting their delicate veins and subtle hues. The faint patterns seemed to shift under his work. He traced them slowly, envisioning the transformation that would soon take place.
He infused it with a controlled burst of energy from within himself, causing the leaves to shimmer and shift. Gradually, their color deepened to the rich crimson hue characteristic of the Bloodmoon Thorn.
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While the metamorphosis took hold, Silas turned his attention to working on other matters requested by Nyx. He selected several ingredients from his satchel, each chosen for their specific properties and the detailed requests made by the crow. His hands worked, crushing and blending the ingredients with a steady rhythm. The air filled with a potent mix of aromas, a heady blend.
He moved deftly between flasks and beakers, measuring precise quantities and combining elements in perfect harmony. Mixtures were distilled over a low flame until they were placed into their final receptacles.
With every completed potion, Silas¡¯s skill became ever more evident¡ªhis knowledge of the craft was vast, encompassing both the mundane and the arcane. He could identify the most obscure herbs by scent alone and knew the precise moment when a concoction reached its peak potency. One would truly be hard-pressed to find an alchemist more skilled than him, a master who could transform the ordinary into the extraordinary with a mere thought and slight touch.
As he completed his work on the rest of the concoctions, Silas turned his attention back to the Ambitious Mimic. The herb had flawlessly assumed the guise of a Bloodmoon Thorn¡ªits leaves now thorn shaped shimmered like polished rubies. Satisfied with the transformation, he carefully placed it into an airtight container, one specially designed to preserve its deceptive appearance until Nyx switched the herbs out.
With that task done, he reached into his satchel and retrieved a specialized sash he had crafted for Nyx. The sash was a masterpiece of utility, adorned with holders for vials, pills, powders, and papers¡ªeach compartment meticulously designed for the crow''s easy access.
Silas loaded it up with care, placing everything in its designated slot.
"Come here," Silas called softly.
Nyx fluttered over from his perch and landed on the table beside him. Silas helped Nyx put on the sash. The crow flapped his wings experimentally before settling comfortably into it.
"Good?" Silas remarked as Nyx gave an approving squawk.
The preparations were complete.
Nyx, now fully geared up, threw a salute at Silas. The action causing the vials and powders to jingle softly against each other inside his sash. Silas watched him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Remember," Silas rasped, his voice carrying an edge of urgency, "while we have ample time, it''s best to remain expedient in our objectives. You know what''s at stake."
Nyx''s demeanor shifted instantly. The crow''s usual carefree aura melted away, replaced by a solemn nod. The gravity of their mission wasn¡¯t lost on him; he understood.
"Get the thorn safely out and into the container holding the Mimic," Silas continued.
"And look into those journals you saw for any information about where it was found. Once you have them, you''re free to do whatever you want."
Nyx bowed his head in understanding. Silas watched as his familiar disappeared into the night sky, a shadow blending seamlessly with the darkness.
Satisfied with Nyx¡¯s departure and confident in his companion¡¯s capabilities, Silas turned his attention to his next task: Getting The Rats to spill some more information for his journey forward.
He moved through the bustling evening streets of Rhysling, heading for the bank.
The introduction of the new currency had injected a temporary vigor into the banks operations, a state unlikely to last after the transition finalizes.
Approaching a staff member stationed near the entrance, Silas asked, "Where to withdraw a payout from the Alchemists'' Guild?"
The staff member, a young man with neatly combed hair and an eager-to-please demeanor, gestured towards a staircase. "Second floor, Sir. The guild payout tellers are located there."
With a curt nod, Silas ascended the stairs. He navigated through clusters of people¡ªsome agitated, others merely curious about the new banking system.
The woman behind the counter he was pointed to offered a practiced smile as he stepped forward.
"Good evening," she began. "Are you here to make a transaction?"
"Yes," Silas replied, sliding the slip with his account identification across the counter. "The name for the transfer should be Ji."
The teller''s smile remained fixed as she took the slip and disappeared into a back room. Moments later, she returned, her expression betraying a flicker of surprise.
"Your total payout shows 75 thousand Reshal," she informed him, her voice tinged with awe.
Silas''s face remained impassive. "I''d like to withdraw 130 notes of five hundred Reshal, 75 notes of one hundred Reshal, and the rest in mixed denominations."
The teller nodded briskly and turned to fulfill his request.
She handed several rolls of cash over to Silas. He placed them inside his satchel before turning away and heading towards the entertainment district.
The air here was thick with the mingled scents of roasted meats and cheap perfumes. His eyes scanning for his destination.
Eventually, he spotted it: a bar bearing a unique insignia of one closed and one open eye. To most, it was just another drinking hole, but to those in the know, it was a hub for the cross-continental black market of information brokers.
Pushing open the wooden door, Silas stepped inside. The bar''s interior was dimly lit, with barmaids sporting deep necklines weaving through the crowd as they served patrons. Handsome bartenders engaged in small talk while keeping mugs filled.
Silas took an empty seat at the bar and caught a bartender''s eye. "A discounted Morning Reminder," he ordered.
The bartender chuckled, shaking his head. "We don¡¯t do discounts tonight, but I can offer you a Nosy Witch. One of the cheaper drinks."
Silas matched his chuckle with a smile of his own. "I''ll take a Thieves Comeuppance instead."
The bartender nodded and then signaled to one of the barmaids. "Seat this gentleman in a private booth and entertain him while I get his drink ready," he instructed.
The barmaid, catching Silas¡¯s eye with a wink, gestured for him to follow her. Once inside the booth, her demeanor shifted from flirtatious to professional. "What words have value tonight?" she asked.
Silas reached into his satchel and pulled out a roll containing 130 notes of 500 Reshal. The woman''s eyebrows lifted slightly but she maintained her composure as she listened.
"Well," Silas began, "I do believe words about the Alchemist Grandmaster have value. Though a whisper of Moonlight Dew and Golden Sun Ginseng have their place in my heart as well." He placed a roll of 50 one hundreds on the table between them.
"A vice of any gentleman is to know the lady that has caught his eye," he continued. "Snippets of history from Artifice guildmember Selen have a weight of their own." With that, he placed the remaining 25 rolls of one hundreds onto the table.
The barmaid fanned herself with her hand before sweeping all the rolls off the table and below her seat into some hidden compartment. She exited the booth but returned within minutes carrying a tray with a drink and several scrolls.
She set them down in front of Silas and gave him another wink before leaving him alone once more.
His focus was entirely on the scrolls before him. He unrolled the first one, revealing intricate inkwork detailing Moonlight Dew and Golden Sun Ginseng. His eyes narrowed as he read about their recent sightings with the master of the Traveling Orchid dance troupe.
Their style of cultivation, niche in its combat application, employed strikes hidden within graceful dance movements.
The notes further detailed the reason behind this peculiar gathering of herbs in his hands.
The master intended to create a faux eternal youth potion called ¡°Everbloom,¡± a vanity project for his favored prostitute in a brothel located in Sichal.
Silas leaned back, infuriated that someone was using such potent ingredients for mere superficial desires.
He moved to the next scroll, his expression turning more serious as he examined the sparse information on the Grandmaster of the Alchemists'' Guild. Despite paying a higher price for this intel, it offered little beyond confirming that the Grandmaster was in his twilight years at 628, his lifespan drastically cut short from an encounter with a Highranker on the Blacklist. The old man was now seeking a replacement, a detail that piqued Silas''s interest.
Redundant information for Silas cluttered parts of the scroll, but one significant detail stood out: the new Empress¡¯s desire to integrate Guilds more closely as state organs was causing headaches for the Grandmaster.
This shift indicated an opportunity Silas could potentially exploit.
Finally, he unrolled Selen''s scroll, scanning through her history from childhood to her current posting. It outlined her professional trajectory and weaknesses¡ªmost notably her penchant for expensive foods. Numerous miscellaneous details about her were dispersed throughout, but one fact grabbed Silas''s interest: her most recent assignment had been in Sichal, prior to her arrival in Rhysling. This raised his eyebrow.
Silas closed each scroll and set them back on the tray, watching them turn to ash as he began sipping his drink.
Chapter 6: Unseen Menace
Nyx soared through the night sky, relishing the cool wind against his feathers, a sensation that invigorated his very being.
At his current altitude, he remained undetectable, not even a shadow against the starry expanse. With each powerful flap of his wings, he drew closer to his target, the anticipation building within him.
As he flew, Nyx indulged in a wave of nostalgia. It had been quite some time since he had last donned his "toolbelt," and the implements now in his grasp revived long-buried emotions, ones he had yearned to feel once more. Memories of past escapades, each more daring than the last, flickered through his mind like distant echoes.
Descending onto the castle rooftops, Nyx landed silently on a gable, recalling the intricate layout below. Every detail of the defense systems was etched into his memory: the arcane wards, pressure-sensitive tiles, and ever-vigilant golems that patrolled the grounds.
The crow flitted across the rooftops until he found his entry point: an inactive chimney above the kitchens. Squeezing through the narrow opening, he let gravity guide him downward, landing so softly in the soot-coated grate of the fireplace that not a single speck of ash floated up to betray his presence.
From within the old oven, Nyx quickly scanned the room before beginning his transformation. His feathers dissolved into an inky substance that clung to the surrounding surfaces, allowing him to meld seamlessly with the shadows. Noticing a cook finishing up preparations for the evening meal, he slinked silently into the man''s shadow, observing everything in the kitchen with keen interest. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air, a tantalizing aroma that only heightened his senses.
The kitchen bustled with activity as various cooks moved between counters and stoves. Nyx made a mental note of the pantry area where they stored the food they were cooking, considering the possibility of leaving them a special gift later.
His stealthy journey then began in earnest, moving from one shadow to another, avoiding detection effortlessly. The staff remained oblivious to his presence as he slipped past them like a ghost.
Reaching a familiar hallway, Nyx paused momentarily to ensure it was clear before continuing.
Confidently navigating the corridors, he moved toward Selen''s room within Castle Rhysling¡¯s labyrinthine interior.
The passages offered him plenty of cover, and Nyx slipped through the shadows with fluid and precise movements. His sharp eyes kept track of every detail, from the cracks in the stone walls to the subtle shifts in light that signaled the approach of guards or servants. Each step brought him closer to his goal, his senses heightened and his mind focused on the task at hand.
Nyx entered the guest wing, his overly acute hearing picking up a cacophony of sounds. Amidst the usual rustling of a castle at night, one sound in particular caught his attention.
From one room, he could make out a tryst between three maids. Their giggles and hushed murmurs mingled with the scent of perfume and sweat, creating a mix that made Nyx''s feathers bristle with disgust.
Selen''s gossip from earlier had been inaccurate about the number of participants. Irked by the inaccurate information and the repulsive stench, Nyx marked this room for some future shenanigans.
Moving on, Nyx''s heightened senses detected the rhythmic clanking of metal feet. Ahead, two golems patrolled the corridor, their mechanical movements surprisingly fluid for constructs of their kind. Nyx took a moment to study their patterns, noting the intervals and the slight halting in their steps, before making his move. He pulled a small vial of Gizmo''s Spite from his sash, the liquid inside shimmering ominously under the dim light.
With deft precision, he moved across the ceiling, his shadowy claws finding purchase on the ornate moldings. Sprinkling tiny drops on each golem as he passed overhead, he watched as the liquid seeped through their exteriors, targeting their cores with insidious intent. Upon contact, the potion began its destabilizing work, designed to cause malfunctions when golems detected someone. The result would usually be either an explosion or a shutdown, depending on the extent of the damage inflicted by the concoction.
Satisfied with his work, Nyx moved on to his primary goal: retrieving the Bloodmoon Thorn and Selen''s journals. He would not fail.
Nyx arrived at Selen''s door and slinked underneath it, becoming one with the shadows beneath the armoire. He observed Selen hunched over her desk, illuminated by the glow of her writing light. The key to her case still dangled from her ear, catching the light with every subtle movement of her head.
Nyx''s mind worked swiftly. ''''How to get thunder thighs out of here without the key?''''
He reached into his sash then and pulled out a container filled with an extremely potent itching powder. Nyx shifted his position, aligning himself perfectly for a throw. With a flick of his shrouded wing, he sent the powder sailing through the air with frightening accuracy.
The powder landed precisely on Selen''s earlobes. Almost immediately, she began to fidget, her ears turning an alarming shade of red.
"Damn it!" she muttered, annoyed at the sudden irritation. She yanked off the earrings and tossed them onto the nightstand near her bed, rubbing her now discolored ears while wondering what caused her to break out.
Nyx watched with satisfaction as Selen''s annoyance grew. She stood up abruptly, knocking over a stack of parchment in her haste. Muttering curses under her breath, she stormed out of the room, presumably to find something to soothe her irritated skin.
The crow seized the opportunity, flitting from his hiding spot to the nightstand. With a silent movement, he snatched the key into his beak.
Swiftly but silently, Nyx pulled out the case from under the bed and inserted the earring key. He channeled his energy through it, mimicking Selen''s movements earlier in the day. The wards deactivated with a faint hum, and the case was no longer protected.
Nyx opened the case with swiftness, his beady eyes locking onto the Bloodmoon Thorn nestled within. The deep crimson hue of its thorns gleamed like polished rubies under the dim light, an ominous beauty that sent a thrill through the crow''s sharp mind. He wasted no time, carefully placing the small orb of ointment Silas had given him onto the container. The shimmering runic inscriptions adorning it went dim, their glow fading into nothingness, as if snuffed out like a flame.
Nyx then reached for the Ambitious Mimic, prepared to switch it with the real herb. However, as soon as he opened the container and the plants energy reached him, a wave of unease washed over him.
Something was not right¡ªthe energy it was releasing felt off, almost as if it were a shadow of what it should be. He thought to himself, ''''Well, shit. Up to Silas to figure it out.'''' The man had a knack for sensing the unseen, perceiving the uncanny with an almost preternatural intuition.
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Determined to follow through with their plan nonetheless, Nyx placed the Mimic Silas had crafted into Selen''s container while securing the "Bloodmoon Thorn" in the one previously holding the mimic. The switch was seamless.
A loud clattering echoed through the halls outside. One of the sabotaged golems had detected Selen and, true to its rigged nature, exploded in a violent burst. Nyx could almost see the shock on her face, her demeanor shattered by the sudden destruction. Her voice, usually relaxed and unbothered, now carried an edge of panic as she began yelling for guards to prepare for the worst in case of an intruder.
The commotion outside intensified further, the chaos feeding on itself like a wildfire. The second golem exploded with a deafening roar nearby, sending another wave of panic rippling through the castle.
Nyx worked quickly, gathering all of Selen''s journals from inside the case and the one on her desk. He scanned the room, ensuring he missed nothing of importance. He rolled the container with the Mimic he placed just in front of the door before closing and securing the case once more.
Returning the key to its earring shape, he placed it exactly where Selen had left it, a meticulous attention to detail during his clandestine tasks that Silas had always admired in his feathered companion. With a final glance around to ensure everything was in place, Nyx brought his wing down hard onto the case cracking it with sheer physical brutality. The defenses activated immediately, resulting in a blue-colored explosion that rocked the room, sending shards of magical energy cascading like a shattered chandelier.
By the time the detonation finished, Nyx had already slipped out of the room and was making his way back through the corridors from where he came. His movements were fluid and swift, navigating through shadows and avoiding detection with practiced ease. The commotion outside played to his advantage, the chaos masking his escape.
Nyx thought to himself, ''''Well, that was surprisingly easy! Even have a bit of time for some fun! Self-care!'''' He almost let out an audible squawk of mirth, the anticipation of the ensuing bedlam feeding his dark amusement.
Selen darted from one golem to another, her silver hair flowing as she checked their mechanisms with growing frustration. Only the two near her were malfunctioning so far.
Guards swarmed the other guest rooms, their shouts echoing through the halls.
Nyx now deciding to stir some chaos thought to himself, ''''Something light to start the crowd!'''' his knack for theatrics taking over. His scouted knowledge of the castle''s arcanist defenses came into play as he began a rampage through the guest wing.
One by one, he sprung traps and triggered alarms, adding compounding layers of pandemonium to an already chaotic scene.
Selen''s face twisted in concentration as she tried to isolate the cause of the malfunctioning systems and track down the probable intruder.
Nyx, meanwhile, switched from triggering defenses to indulging in a more malicious mischief. The crow slipped into the room where the maids had been engaged in sultry, scandalous behavior earlier. One could almost hear Nyx''s dark mirth as he cracked an ampule between his talons inside, releasing a potent aphrodisiac into the air. The maids, in the midst of getting dressed and cleaning up, felt their necks and ears grow pink once again. Almost as if in a trance, they began to undo whatever progress they had made in destroying the evidence of their scandal.
Unceremoniously, they descended back into more base behavior with alarming swiftness. To add to their future misery, Nyx carefully let a few drops of an especially strong adhesive fall onto the places where skin met lips or other intimate parts. The adhesive, nearly invisible, would ensure their entanglement was both literal and figurative, creating a scene of chaos and humiliation that would reverberate throughout the castle. The crow''s eyes gleamed with malevolent satisfaction as he watched the maids'' futile attempts to extricate themselves, their panic and confusion now was adding another note of fun to the pandemonium Nyx so enjoyed orchestrating.
The guards would undoubtedly find a "wonderful scene" when they arrived, further complicating their frantic search. Nyx could almost hear their shouts and curses, the clamor of armor and the futile attempts to restore order.
With his task complete and some fun had in the guest wing, Nyx made his way back toward the chimney he had entered from, his sleek form blending seamlessly with the shadows. The crow''s mind was already on his next prank, intending to make good on his earlier promise to leave a gift while he was in the kitchen.
The Magistrate jolted awake, the cacophony of alarms and shouts piercing the night. His heart pounded, but not with fear for an assault underway¡ªno, he was ready for what was to come. The disruptions earlier today had given him the foresight to prepare himself and his staff for the eventuality of an attack, even though this one came quite fast. Now, as chaos erupted, his guards moved with precision towards the chaotic guest wing.
He rose from his bed, his rotund form moving with surprising agility.
He had come to Rhysling on appointment from the late emperor, expecting the worst. The city had been a notorious cesspool of corruption and decay. Nearly a decade of his tireless work had transformed it into one of the Empire''s most well-functioning cities. He had cleared its streets of crime, rebuilt its infrastructure, and even managed to attract mystics back to its fold. This was not his first brush with danger in his years ruling, nor would it be his last.
The Magistrate approached a hidden panel behind a painting in his room, revealing ampules of Necroclasm and a rather well-used saber. He gripped the blade tightly, whispering seemingly to the blade itself, "Once more..."
With this blade in his hand, he quickly transformed from a seemingly uptight, pudgy administrator into a horrifying second-step expert, rather unexpected from a servant of the Empress this far away from court¡ª this was a man capable of fighting through an army if pushed to the extreme.
The man was an enigma, a paradox of appearance and capability.
The Magistrate exited his room with purpose, intending to quell the trouble himself if need be.
As he rushed through the corridors towards the source of the commotion, he felt a slight breeze under his toupee while passing by the kitchens. He dismissed it as inconsequential; there were more pressing matters at hand.
Strange sounds grew louder as he neared one of the epicenters of the disturbance.
The Magistrate reached a corridor where guards were struggling to contain an automated crossbow shooting lightning at them, it was apparently misidentifying them as enemies.
He leaped over the guards, smashing the trap rather than cutting it with a single blow.
The Magistrate bellowed orders to his men from the front, making their morale soar as they moved forward to end whatever was causing this disturbance.
Nyx had sown some trouble in the castle food stores with random, undetectable spots of laxatives that would keep the staff occupied for days unless they threw all the food out.
Glancing through an open door in the kitchens, he spotted the Magistrate sprinting down the halls with surprising speed.
The Magistrate¡¯s aura had shifted, his energy transformed. Nyx tilted his head in curiosity, thinking, "Huh, never would have guessed." He had pegged the Magistrate as a competent administrator but never a practitioner of any significance.
Seizing the opportunity, Nyx swooped down upon him silently and slipped a special concoction under the man¡¯s toupee¡ªan alchemical blend designed to combust his hair when exposed to enough sweat. The Magistrate didn''t notice, he was too focused on rallying his guards and restoring order to pay mind to the slight disturbance atop his head.
Nyx took to the air once more, weaving through the castle corridors and out the chimney. His wings beat rapidly as he made his way back to Silas, the cool night air slicing through his feathers again. A worry tugged at him though¡ªthe Bloodmoon Thorn. There was going to be a problem with it, he was sure. The volatile nature of the herb made it hard to discern what exactly. Nyx couldn''t shake the feeling that nothing had gone awry but that they were suckered somehow.
He hoped Silas would have a new plan hatched if the worst came to pass. Silas always did, but the stakes were high this time, and Nyx''s unease gnawed at him.
Nyx landed gracefully on the windowsill of their room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge. The warm glow of enchanted lanterns cast a soft light over the room, creating an illusion of tranquility. Silas awaited his return with an air of calm that belied the tension in Nyx¡¯s mind. The crow hopped inside and perched on Silas¡¯s shoulder, feeling the familiar weight of his Master''s presence.
Silas turned to face Nyx, his voice laced with anticipation. "Well?" he rasped, his eyes dark and unreadable.
Nyx recounted his actions, detailing every move he made, and Silas listened intently, his piercing gaze fixed on the crow. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the wooden armrest of his chair, a subtle sign of his impatience.
When Nyx finally presented the strange Bloodmoon Thorn he retrieved, Silas''s eyes narrowed as he took the herb into his hands. He inspected it meticulously, turning it over and scrutinizing every piece of the crimson thorn under the lantern light. The room seemed to hold its breath as Silas''s fingers traced the intricate patterns on the herb.
Taking a deep breath, he let the air out slowly.
Nyx knew exactly what this meant. His earlier hunch being most likely correct, and a single phrase echoed through his mind: "Well... shit."
Chapter 7: The Dream of a Master
Arim sat in his office, his heart still racing from the encounter with Silas. Word was sent out that he was not to be disturbed until further notice, his voice barely concealing the tremors of fear.
As the door closed, he felt the weight of isolation settle upon him.
He sank into his chair, the luxurious padding doing little to ease his tension. His thoughts turned to Nathaniel, his late Master. A man whose obsession with knowledge had cost him his life and left Arim bound in chains of debt and fear. Nathaniel''s stern visage haunted him even now, years after his demise.
Arim traced a finger along the intricate patterns on his desk, the carvings a mockery of the once-glorious path he had hoped to tread. His eyes unfocused as memories surged forth¡ªNathaniel hunched over ancient tomes, eyes alight with manic determination. The countless nights spent in dim light, deciphering notes that no human should have touched.
He raised a trembling finger to his forehead, feeling the cooling effect of one of the stored potions embedded into the grooves carved into his skin. It was a sedative, a necessary thing to ease his mind from the strain of dealing with Senior Ji again. He pressed lightly, and a thin stream of liquid seeped into his system, its calming effects were immediate.
His breath steadied as he moved his chair near the window, seeking solace in the view of Rhysling¡¯s bustling streets below. The city carried on oblivious to his turmoil, its people wrapped in their own lives and concerns. Arim leaned back, letting the potion¡¯s effects pull him into a hazy state of tranquility.
He choose to get some sleep over spending time refining his cultivation at this moment; he couldn''t afford to let his mind fail him, rest was necessary.
The shadows outside elongated as twilight gave way to night, and Arim''s eyelids grew heavy. The lines between reality and dream blurred as he drifted off into a restless slumber.
In his dreams, he found himself back in Nathaniel''s study¡ªa room filled with dusty scrolls and arcane artifacts. The air was thick with incense and candle smoke. His master stood before him, just as he remembered¡ªtall and imposing, with eyes that seemed to pierce through Arim¡¯s very soul.
¡°Are you paying attention, Apprentice?¡± Nathaniel¡¯s voice echoed through the dreamscape, stern and unyielding.
Arim¡¯s heart pounded as he struggled to respond. He felt like a child again under Nathaniel¡¯s intense scrutiny. The scene wavered around him as if the dream itself questioned his presence there.
He tried to focus on Nathaniel''s face¡ªthose eyes that held both knowledge and madness in equal measure¡ªbut they seemed to shift and change like shadows. Arim¡¯s mouth opened to speak, but no sound emerged. The dream held him captive in its surreal grasp, refusing to let him break free or wake up.
The old study seemed larger than it ever had in reality, its walls stretching endlessly into darkness. Scrolls whispered secrets he could not decipher, and artifacts glowed with an eerie light that cast unsettling visages across Nathaniel¡¯s stern features.
Arim felt a familiar dread wash over him¡ªthe same dread that had plagued him during those late-night sessions with Nathaniel.
The dream shifted slightly, becoming even more real; Nathaniel¡¯s stern eyes never left him as if waiting for an answer Arim wasn¡¯t sure he could give.
¡°Are. You. Paying. Attention?¡±
Arim answered, ''''Yes Master.''''
Arim lay ensnared in the web of his own subconscious, deep in a dream that felt more like a haunting.
Nathaniel''s imposing figure loomed larger than life. The ethereal study around them seemed alive. Nathaniel''s eyes bore into Arim, demanding his absolute attention.
¡°Good,¡± Nathaniel¡¯s voice reverberated through the dreamscape as he resumed his lecture. ¡°Pay close attention, Arim. Your path forward hinges on your understanding of cultivation¡¯s depths.¡±
Arim nodded fervently, his eagerness for knowledge apparent. He watched as Nathaniel gestured grandly, conjuring ethereal diagrams in the air.
¡°There are four levels of cultivation,¡± Nathaniel began. ¡°Each level presents its own challenges and rewards, drastically varying across professions.¡±
The diagrams morphed into images of warriors and paladins in various stages of cultivation.
¡°A Warrior at the second step,¡± Nathaniel continued, ¡°can have a lifespan nearing a millennium simply from the power of their base energy. These individuals can combat spirit beasts with their bare hands and lead armies to victory with unmatched prowess.¡±
The image shifted to a paladin adorned in radiant armor, casting spells that seemed to light up the entire room.
¡°A second-step Paladin,¡± Nathaniel said, ¡°can live for twice as long as a warrior and employ energy spells that are as beautiful as they are deadly. Their physiques might may be lesser compared to Warriors, but their adaptability in combat makes up for it.¡±
Arim absorbed every word, nodding along as if the motion alone could cement this knowledge within him.
Nathaniel¡¯s gaze turned sharper, more focused as he spoke about their shared profession.
¡°Alchemists like us,¡± he said with a hint of pride tinged with bitterness, ¡°are somewhat different. At the second step of cultivation, an Alchemist can live for around six hundred years. Our strength lies not in physical might or direct spellcasting but in our unparalleled versatility.¡±
The ethereal diagrams now showcased alchemists concocting potions and elixirs, transforming mundane substances into objects of power.
¡°With access to certain rare reagents,¡± Nathaniel elaborated, ¡°we can craft life-extending elixirs. A second-step Alchemist could potentially extend their lifespan beyond thrice that of their limit. Even a first-step Alchemist can surpass a millennium if fate smiles upon them.¡±
Arim¡¯s eyes widened at this revelation; he could feel the hunger for such power gnawing at him.
¡°Remember this well,¡± Nathaniel said gravely. ¡°Knowledge is your greatest weapon and shield. Use it wisely or it will be your undoing.¡±
Arim nodded yet again, more fervently this time as if he would engrave each word onto his soul.
Nathaniel''s figure seemed to grow even more imposing as he continued his lecture. The air around them crackled with an unseen energy, amplifying the weight of his words.
¡°Alchemists,¡± Nathaniel said, ¡°have our own way of naming those that have reached certain levels of accomplishment. Those at the first level are known as Masters. The majority of Alchemists you¡¯ll encounter fall into this category.¡±
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Arim, ever the eager student, raised a hand as if in a classroom. ¡°What about those who go beyond the first level?¡±
Nathaniel¡¯s eyes flashed with a mixture of pride and bitterness. ¡°The second level is where we find Sages. Out of a thousand Alchemists, 990 would be at the first step. Only ten would make it to the level of Sage.¡±
Arim absorbed this information, his mind racing with the implications. ¡°What makes a Sage so special?¡±
¡°Sages possess not just skill but an innate understanding of alchemical principles that goes beyond anything a Master Alchemist can conceive,¡± Nathaniel explained. ¡°Their abilities in potion-making, transmutation, and crafting miracles are exponentially greater than those of Masters. They have the capability to engrave lasting Alchemical symbols onto their skin and utilize the effects of their mixtures as though they were genuine spells. The marks created from consuming the stored mixture can then be repurposed for the same or different substance, provided the Alchemist can endure containing the effects.''''
The diagrams floating in the air shifted once more, showing figures covered by radiant alchemical circles, their hands weaving complex patterns in the air.
¡°What about the third step?¡± Arim asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Nathaniel¡¯s demeanor changed instantly; rage and frustration marred his otherwise composed visage. ¡°The third step,¡± he spat out, ¡°is where we find Paramounts. There are only seven known Paramounts in existence. One of them is the Grandmaster of our Empire''s Alchemist¡¯s Guild.¡±
Arim''s eyes widened further. ¡°Seven? That¡¯s...¡±
¡°Pathetic,¡± Nathaniel interjected, his voice dripping with contempt. ¡°Of those seven, none have ever revealed how they achieved such power. Six have been missing for centuries¡ªthe oldest for nearly a millennium.¡±
Arim shivered at Nathaniel¡¯s tone but dared to ask another question. ¡°What do we know about their abilities?¡±
Nathaniel sighed deeply, a sound filled with years of unfulfilled ambition and bitterness. ¡°We know very little about what Paramounts can truly do. What we do know is that their abilities are magnified to a ridiculous degree. Their concoctions can alter the laws of nature themselves; their transmutations defy all known limits.¡±
¡°And their lifespans?¡± Arim probed further.
¡°Potentially crossing over three millennia,¡± Nathaniel said with a grimace. ¡°Allegedly.¡±
The ethereal diagrams now displayed towering figures whose very presence seemed to distort time and space around them.
¡°And the fourth step?¡± Arim asked hesitantly.
Nathaniel scoffed, his expression turning almost derisive. ¡°Transcendents? Those are nothing more than myths, legends whispered among Alchemists too scared to admit their limitations.¡±
Arim could sense the depth of Nathaniel¡¯s frustration and anger but didn¡¯t dare push further.
¡°There¡¯s no concrete evidence that anyone has ever reached this mythical fourth step,¡± Nathaniel continued, his voice now a low growl. ¡°It remains an enigma, something that may not even exist.¡±
The room grew colder as Nathaniel¡¯s anger seemed to manifest in the dreamscape itself, causing Arim to shiver involuntarily.
¡°Understand this well,¡± Nathaniel concluded, fixing Arim with a piercing gaze that seemed to look into his very soul. ¡°Knowledge is power¡ªbut it is also a curse if you do not wield it wisely.¡±
Arim nodded solemnly.
Nathaniel''s presence began to waver as if he were being pulled back into whatever dark corner of Arim¡¯s mind he resided in.
¡°Remember what I¡¯ve taught you today,¡± Nathaniel''s voice echoed as his form began to dissolve into mist.
Arim''s dream shifted abruptly, transporting him to a secluded valley far removed from the eyes of civilization. Towering cliffs enclosed the area, and the dense foliage around them seemed to pulse with life. Nathaniel stood beside him, his piercing blue eyes scanning their surroundings with predatory alertness.
"Today, you will witness the difference between how a first-step alchemist approaches combat and how a Sage does," Nathaniel declared, his voice reverberating through the valley.
Arim blinked in confusion but said nothing as Nathaniel removed his outer robe, revealing a muscled frame covered in intricate alchemical circles. Each circle seemed to pulse with an eerie glow, casting shifting shadows on his skin.
¡°What do you mean, Master?¡± Arim asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.
Nathaniel smirked but didn¡¯t respond immediately. Instead, he raised his hand and let out a sharp whistle. From the underbrush emerged a massive spirit beast¡ªa panther with fur as black as midnight and eyes that glowed an unsettling green. The beast¡¯s low growl resonated through the valley, making the ground tremble.
¡°This beast will serve as demonstration,¡± Nathaniel said calmly as if discussing the weather. ¡°Now observe.¡±
The panther charged at them with terrifying speed, its jaws wide open and ready to tear flesh from bone. Nathaniel didn¡¯t flinch. Instead, he reached into his pouch and began tossing potions at the beast. The first flask shattered on impact, releasing a cloud of acrid smoke that made the panther recoil momentarily.
¡°Watch closely,¡± Nathaniel instructed as he deftly dodged a swipe from the beast¡¯s massive paw.
Arim''s eyes were wide as he observed his Master maneuvering with calculated ease. Nathaniel tossed another potion that exploded into sticky webs, entangling the panther''s legs for just a moment. He used that split second to create distance between them.
"This is how a first-step alchemist fights," Nathaniel explained between dodges and throws. "We use potions, evasion, and whatever tools are at our disposal."
Arim marveled at the display but noticed something odd¡ªNathaniel¡¯s movements were growing less frantic and more deliberate. A sudden shift in energy output caused unease to coil in Arim¡¯s stomach like a living thing.
¡°And this,¡± Nathaniel said ominously as he stopped throwing potions altogether, ¡°is how a Sage fights.¡±
The alchemical circles on Nathaniel¡¯s body began to glow with an intense light. He raised his hands, and from them erupted clouds of toxic haze that enveloped the charging panther. The beast roared in agony as its skin began to blister and peel under the corrosive mist.
But Nathaniel wasn¡¯t done. With another gesture, arcs of electricity crackled from his fingertips, striking the panther with lethal precision. The beast convulsed violently before collapsing to the ground.
Still unfazed, Nathaniel unleashed torrents of fire that bathed the spirit beast in flames. The once-formidable creature was quickly reduced to a charred husk.
Arim stood frozen in awe at the spectacle before him. His Master had transformed into an unstoppable force of nature right before his eyes.
¡°Look around you,¡± Nathaniel commanded.
Arim tore his gaze away from the defeated panther to survey their surroundings. The once lush valley was now scorched and poisoned; trees were charred blackened stumps; patches of earth smoldered where flames had licked them clean of life.
Nathaniel turned back to Arim, completely unfazed by the destruction around them. His eyes bore into Arim¡¯s soul as he said softly yet firmly,
¡°Remember this difference well.¡± The dream grew hazy once again.
The valley faded, and the familiar sight of Nathaniel''s study emerged. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and jars of strange ingredients loomed over a large wooden desk cluttered with alchemical apparatus. The scent of musty parchment and potent herbs filled the air. Arim found himself standing in front of Nathaniel, who appeared older, his white beard now no longer peppered with hints of black.
"Drive," Nathaniel began, his voice commanding yet soft. "It is the most crucial element in alchemy. Without it, one cannot hope to progress."
Arim nodded. He remembered countless nights spent here, absorbing every word Nathaniel had shared.
"You see, Arim," Nathaniel continued, "motivation can stem from noble causes or even the most trivial of desires. It doesn''t matter whether you seek to heal the sick or simply to amass wealth; what matters is that you have a reason that pushes you forward."
Nathaniel paused, his piercing blue eyes locking onto Arim''s. "Alchemy is both a gift and a chain. It allows us to create wonders but also limits our advancement. Unlike others, our path is fraught with unique challenges."
Arim swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Nathaniel''s words.
"Now," Nathaniel said, leaning forward, "Meditative techniques¡ All professions have them¡ªmethods to gather and refine energy. For us alchemists, these techniques work well up to the first step. Beyond that? They become nearly useless."
Arim furrowed his brow in confusion.
Nathaniel sighed deeply. "To advance beyond a Master Alchemist, we must refine the energy within us. We must condense it, sharpen it until its quality rivals the quantity of other professions'' energy. Only then can we break through to become Sages."
He gestured towards his own chest where faint glowing circles pulsed under his skin. "These are alchemical circles, not just for creating potions but etched onto my very flesh to elevate me higher."
Arim was in awe.
"A Sage bears these marks," Nathaniel explained. "They enhance our potion-making abilities and combat prowess while extending our otherwise short lifespans."
Arim leaned closer, utterly absorbed.
"These circles allow us to produce enhanced effects directly from our bodies," Nathaniel continued. "From emergency body-strengthening potions to grand electric discharge potions for defense¡ªit is this fusion of energy and inscription that sets Sages apart."
The dream shifted once more.
Arim now found himself sprinting through dimly lit corridors towards Nathaniel''s study door. His heart pounded as he yelled breathlessly, "Master! A new Paramount has appeared in Rodam!"
The urgency in his voice echoed down the hallway as he burst into the study...
Chapter 8: The Nightmare of an Apprentice
Arim stumbled into the study, breathless and drenched in sweat. Nathaniel, who was engrossed in a thick tome, looked up with a mixture of curiosity and irritation. The dim light made the room feel even more oppressive.
"Master! Master!" Arim''s voice trembled as he struggled to catch his breath.
Nathaniel''s piercing blue eyes locked onto Arim. "What is it? Speak up."
"Rubelio... the city of Rubelio... it''s been turned into a hellscape!" Arim gasped, his voice cracking under the weight of the news.
Nathaniel''s expression shifted from irritation to keen interest. He leaned forward, his fingers drumming on the desk. "What happened?"
"A new Paramount Alchemist has appeared!" Arim continued, his words tumbling out in a rush. "One of the few survivors said he looked like a gaunt specter from the depths of the abyss. They said he had a sadistic laughter that would chill anyone to the bone!"
Nathaniel''s eyes widened slightly, and a manic gleam began to form within them.
"He unleashed such a potent miasma of toxins," Arim said, shuddering at the memory of the reports, "that out of the city''s population of seventy-five thousand, less than five hundred people survived. They barely managed to outrun the miasma."
Nathaniel stood up abruptly, knocking over a stack of papers on his desk. He moved closer to Arim, his face inches away. "And what else? What did this Paramount do?"
Arim swallowed hard, feeling Nathaniel''s intense gaze boring into him. "He stole decades'' worth of herbs collected by their Alchemist¡¯s Guild and scrolls filled with their accumulated knowledge."
A grin spread across Nathaniel''s face¡ªa grin that sent a chill down Arim''s spine. "And he''s still loose?" Nathaniel''s voice was almost gleeful.
"Yes," Arim replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "The oligarchy of Rodam has set him as their topmost wanted criminal. They''ve mobilized their entire army to hunt him down!"
Nathaniel let out a low, maniacal chuckle that grew louder and more unhinged. He grabbed Arim by the shoulders, his fingers digging into Arim''s flesh painfully.
"This could be our chance!" Nathaniel exclaimed, shaking Arim slightly. "Do you understand? This could be our opportunity to learn the secrets of the third step!"
Arim stared at Nathaniel, a mixture of fear and confusion in his eyes. "But Master... this Paramount... he''s dangerous..."
"Exactly!" Nathaniel interrupted, his eyes blazing with excitement. "A true master of toxins and alchemy! If we can find him... if we can learn from him..."
Arim felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he looked into Nathaniel''s crazed eyes. The scene of the dream once again changed.
Arim''s dreamscape twisted and warped, pulling him from the study to the bustling border town of Exin. He recognized it immediately¡ªthe town was perched on the very edge of The Empire, brushing shoulders with the treacherous lands of Rodam. Cobblestone streets bustled with merchants and travelers, each preoccupied with their own business.
Nathaniel stood beside him. His long, flowing white beard swayed slightly in the breeze, and his piercing blue eyes seemed more focused than ever.
"Remember, Arim," Nathaniel began, his voice calm but firm. "We must be exceedingly polite. The man we are about to meet is one of utmost esteem."
Arim nodded, though a sense of dread gnawed at his insides. "Yes, Master."
Nathaniel adjusted his tattered robes, brushing off invisible dust as he continued. "No matter what he looks like or how he acts, you must address him respectfully as Senior Ji. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Master," Arim repeated, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
The scene around them morphed once more, depositing them in a serene park nestled within Exin''s borders. Children played near a fountain, their laughter echoing through the air as birds chirped from tree branches above. Yet all this tranquility did nothing to soothe Arim''s nerves.
Near a bench by the fountain stood a man feeding a flock of crows. His appearance was deceptively ordinary¡ªhe looked barely into his third decade of life, his features youthful and unassuming.
Nathaniel straightened his posture and meticulously adjusted his robes until he looked immaculate¡ªlike a pilgrim approaching the grand temple of Rovinius himself. With a final glance at Arim to ensure he followed suit, Nathaniel led them forward.
As they approached the man feeding the crows, Nathaniel''s voice took on an almost reverent tone. "Senior Ji," he began, bowing low and motioning for Arim to do the same. "I am Nathaniel, and this is my Apprentice Arim. We come as humble juniors seeking but a morsel of your vast knowledge."
The man¡ªSenior Ji¡ªlooked up from feeding the crows. His eyes locked onto theirs with an intensity that made Arim''s blood run cold. They were eyes devoid of any light or warmth¡ªvoids that seemed to consume all they beheld.
For the first time in his life, Arim felt what true horror was.
"Knowledge always has its price," Senior Ji said in a raspy voice that only they could hear. "What are you willing to pay?"
Nathaniel''s face lit up with a manic glee that bordered on madness. "Anything and everything!" he replied without hesitation.
A slow smile spread across Senior Ji''s face¡ªa smile that seemed to stretch unnaturally wide and reveal too many teeth. The crows around Arim spearheaded by one rather plump specimen cawed in what felt like mocking unison. The dream began to haze once again.
They were now in their hidden laboratory beneath Rhysling, a sanctuary of the secrets between Master and Apprentice. Dimly lit by flickering lanterns, the room was cluttered with glass vials, bubbling beakers, and intricate alchemical circles etched into every surface. The air was thick with the acrid scent of potions in various stages of creation.
Nathaniel and Arim were a frenzied whirlwind amidst the chaos. Their eyes gleamed with a madness born from their newfound abilities. They moved with feverish energy, their hands dancing over alchemical tools, crafting elixirs that shimmered with otherworldly hues.
"Look at this, Master!" Arim''s voice was filled with awe as he held up a vial containing a swirling golden liquid. "A Tonic of Enlightenment! I never thought I could create one so soon!"
Nathaniel''s laughter echoed through the lab, a sound that sent shivers down Arim''s spine despite his own excitement. "Senior Ji''s teachings are beyond anything we''ve ever known!" Nathaniel exclaimed, tears streaming down his cheeks. "To think all it took was every meager accomplishment I had, but it was more than worth it!"
The circles on his skin glowed faintly, imbued with the energy they had harnessed from Senior Ji''s instructions. Elixirs that once took days to perfect now materialized in hours.
Nathaniel stood before an array of completed concoctions, his eyes wild with elation. "Half-step Paramount," he muttered to himself, almost reverently. "I''ve nearly bridged the gap."
Arim set down his vial and turned to his Master, his own eyes reflecting the same fervor. "Master," his voice eager, "is there more we can offer Senior Ji? His knowledge is boundless¡ªwhat else can we give to receive more of his insights?"
Nathaniel paused for a moment, his expression twisting into an eerie smile that spoke volumes of his descent into madness. He wiped at his tear-streaked face with a trembling hand before turning to face Arim fully.
"We have nothing more ourselves," Nathaniel said slowly, each word dripping with sinister implication. "But others do."
Arim felt goosebumps form along his back, however, he nodded in agreement. The mania that had taken hold of him dulled any moral hesitation he might have once had. The thought of furthering his power overshadowed any lingering remnants of conscience.
"Praise be to your cunning Master!" Arim said fervently, bowing low before Nathaniel. His mind raced with possibilities as he considered who might have what they needed.
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Nathaniel¡¯s smile grew wider, a grotesque parody of joy as he gazed upon his Apprentice. "Indeed," he whispered, almost to himself. "Indeed."
They were lost to their mania, two souls consumed by ambition and guided by the teachings of Senior Ji¡ªthe enigmatic figure whose mere presence had propelled them into realms they had only dreamt of before.
Their journey into darkness had only just begun. The dream leapt forward in time when they once again met with Senior Ji, now inside their own home.
Inside Nathaniel¡¯s house in Rhysling, the air was thick with the scent of fresh food. The room flickered with the warm glow of candles.
At the center of it all sat Senior Ji, his presence dominating the room despite his outwardly benign appearance. His dark eyes glinted with a hidden depth as he observed Nathaniel and Arim, who were seated across from him at the long dining table. His portly crow, had a seat of honor beside him, a full serving of food laid out before the bird.
Nathaniel¡¯s eyes were red-rimmed, tears threatening to spill as he spoke in a voice choked with remorse. "Senior Ji," he began, his hands trembling as they clutched at his robe. "I... I haven¡¯t managed to gather more offerings than last time. My efforts have fallen short."
Senior Ji leaned back in his chair, a serene smile playing on his lips. "Pay no mind," he said amiably, waving a hand dismissively. "I am quite pleased that my friends here think of me so highly."
Arim¡¯s eyes shone with a fervor that bordered on fanaticism. He hung onto every word that fell from Senior Ji¡¯s lips, his admiration evident in the way he leaned forward eagerly.
Senior Ji turned his gaze to Arim, his smile widening ever so slightly. "Arim," he said smoothly, "I believe you are ready to engrave the Sage¡¯s grooves into yourself. Would you like my personal assistance?"
Arim¡¯s heart pounded in his chest as he nodded gratefully, his voice filled with reverence. "Yes, Senior Ji! I would be beyond honored!"
Nathaniel wiped at his eyes and forced a smile through his tears. "Your generosity knows no bounds, Senior Ji," he said earnestly.
Senior Ji chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to resonate through the room. "Not everyone would be willing to slaughter their colleagues across an empire for humble me," he remarked casually.
Nathaniel''s expression hardened with resolve as he met Senior Ji¡¯s gaze. "It is the bare minimum one should do for someone of your ever growing renown!"
The crow perched beside Senior Ji let out an approving caw, its beady eyes reflecting the candlelight as it pecked at its meal.
Senior Ji¡¯s smile remained enigmatic as he regarded Nathaniel and Arim.
The main hall of Nathaniel¡¯s house had been transformed into a space of ritual and solemnity. Incense burned at the corners, their wispy tendrils carrying the sweet, numbing scent that would serve as an anesthetic. Arim, bare-chested, sat in a meditative position at the center of the room, his eyes closed and breath steady. The anticipation in the air was palpable.
Senior Ji moved with grace as he approached the sitting Arim. In his hand, he held an elegant silver needle, its tip gleaming ominously under light. "Brace yourself," he said, his voice calm and soothing.
Arim took a deep breath, his energy sharpened into a stable mass within him. He was ready to endure whatever pain would come; this was his moment of ascension.
Senior Ji knelt beside him, positioning the needle with great care. He began carving the intricate grooves into Arim¡¯s flesh, each movement practiced and surgical. The needle traced paths resembling trenches across Arim''s body, creating the foundational patterns every Sage must bear.
Nathaniel hovered nearby, his eyes wide with both awe and trepidation. His hands clutched vials of his finest concoctions¡ªpotions painstakingly brewed for this very purpose.
As Senior Ji worked, he nodded to Nathaniel who began to hand him the vials one by one. The first was a body-strengthening potion. Senior Ji channeled it into the grooves he had carved, merging it with Arim¡¯s being. Arim¡¯s muscles tensed momentarily before relaxing under the anesthetic''s influence.
Next came a flight potion, its contents shimmering with a pale blue light. Senior Ji¡¯s needle danced across Arim¡¯s skin, integrating the potion seamlessly into his flesh. Then followed sedative potions to keep Arim calm when he needed it, combustion potions for controlled bursts of energy, and many more elixirs¡ªeach carefully balanced to avoid toxicity.
Hours passed in this manner, each minute dragging as if suspended in time. The crow perched silently on a nearby ledge, its dark eyes keenly observing every detail of the ritual.
Finally, Senior Ji finished carving the last groove and stepped back to admire his work. Arim¡¯s body was a canvas of intricate lines and glowing symbols, each mark representing hours of painstaking effort and alchemical infusion.
Nathaniel stepped forward, eyes glistening with pride and relief. "You¡¯ve done it," he whispered to Arim. "You¡¯ve crossed into the same realm as me."
Arim opened his eyes slowly, feeling a surge of new energy coursing through him. He rose to his feet unsteadily but with growing confidence as he felt the power settling within him.
Nathaniel embraced him warmly before turning to Senior Ji with reverence. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "Your guidance has made this foolish Apprentices growth possible!"
Senior Ji inclined his head graciously. "Celebrate this occasion," he said smoothly. "For I have something more to share¡ªa new technique in transmutation I have been developing."
Arim¡¯s eyes sparkled with eagerness as he exchanged an excited glance with Nathaniel. Both turned their attention fully towards Senior Ji.
"Please," Nathaniel said earnestly. "Enlighten us."
Senior Ji''s smile widened slightly as he spoke two words that caused the dreamscape to distort horribly around them: "[Soul Devouring]."
The scene twisted violently; walls warped and shadows lengthened unnaturally as if reality itself recoiled from those words.
His serene demeanor contrasted starkly against the spiraling madness enveloping them.
Arim and Nathaniel exchanged a glance that communicated volumes. The allure of Senior Ji¡¯s new technique¡ªSoul Devouring¡ªwas too potent to resist. Their minds churned with possibilities, both disturbed and intrigued by the possibilities. Arim¡¯s gaze shifted from Nathaniel to Senior Ji, whose enigmatic smile never wavered.
"We must test this immediately," Nathaniel declared, his voice laced with determination.
Arim nodded, the seed of a darker idea already taking root in his mind. "Senior Ji," he said, "could you kindly wait here for us? We need to prepare the material."
Senior Ji inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Of course," he replied.
Nathaniel led Arim out of the room, their footsteps echoing ominously. The dreamscape twisted subtly around them. As they reached a house near their own, Nathaniel turned to Arim with a glint of excitement in his eyes.
"Samuel" Nathaniel said with a grim smile. "He will serve perfectly as our test subject. His death will be an honor for the advancement of Alchemy!"
Arim¡¯s eyes gleamed with a mix of madness and anticipation. "Yes Master!" he replied, already formulating the steps in his mind.
They moved quickly, their actions driven by a blend of urgency and fervor. Within moments, they completed their ghastly work and they returned to Senior Ji¡¯s presence, carrying a sack stained with dark red. The crow perched on Senior Ji¡¯s shoulder cawed softly as they entered.
Senior Ji raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Who have you brought me?"
Nathaniel stepped forward and prostrated at Senior Ji¡¯s feet. "My brother," he said humbly.
A flicker of amusement danced across Senior Ji¡¯s features as he looked at Nathaniel. "My friend, you know the incense burnt here still lingers," he remarked, almost casually. "Its anesthetic effects are quite potent¡ªeven for those at the Sage realm."
Nathaniel frowned, confusion clouding his features. "Well yes Senior¡but what could you be meaning by that esteemed one?"
Senior Ji''s smile widened slightly as he turned to Arim. "Be proud of your Apprentice," he said softly, his words carrying an undercurrent of menace. "For not even you have noticed that you¡¯ve been bleeding out since you reentered this room."
Nathaniel''s eyes widened in shock and horror as he looked down at himself, finally registering the crimson stains spreading across his robes from his back. He staggered back, gasping for breath that would no longer come.
With an insane gleam in his eyes, Arim stepped forward and spoke in a tone tinged with madness. "My Master was too shy to offer himself as a prime test subject," he said with a twisted grin. "So I did as any good student would do and assisted him Senior Ji." He threw the bloodied sack he was carrying aside dismissively and pushed his master back to the front.
Nathaniel collapsed to the ground in front of Senior Ji, his body convulsing as life drained away from him. Senior Ji watched impassively as the scene unfolded before him.
Arim stood over his fallen Master, feeling a surge of exhilaration mingled with a dark satisfaction. This was the culmination of everything¡ªpower gained through sacrifice and ruthless ambition.
The crow let out another caw, its black eyes reflecting the light in the room and the bloody scene below.
Senior Ji¡¯s expression remained unreadable as he turned his gaze back to Arim. "Now," he said calmly, "come closer¡"
Arim''s steps faltered as he neared Senior Ji, dread curling around his insides like a vice. Senior Ji''s finger extended towards him, and the moment it made contact with Arim¡¯s forehead, an overwhelming surge of power and terror coursed through him. His stomach churned violently, and before he could comprehend what was happening, he doubled over and vomited, the bile splattering over Nathaniel¡¯s prone form below.
A chuckle rumbled from Senior Ji. "I must apologize," he said, his voice tinged with amusement. "I underestimated you upon our first meeting in the park. I did not believe you had it in you to tread the heights of alchemy."
Arim trembled uncontrollably as the weight of his actions started to settle on him. The realization of what he had just done washed over him in a nauseating wave.
Senior Ji clapped his hands together, breaking the silence that followed Arim''s retching. "You no longer need my assistance in maintaining your hunger for power," he declared. "For no hypnotic could have planted the seed of tonight''s idea in your mind, truly you have outdone yourself Arim."
With a swift motion, Senior Ji grasped Arim by the ear and pulled him upright. The acrid stench of vomit still clung to him, making his head spin.
"I am truly pleased by your progress," Senior Ji continued, a smile creeping across his face. "Tonight¡¯s incident shall be my boon to you."
Arim''s mind reeled as he tried to process the words being spoken to him.
"When the dust settles after tonight," Senior Ji instructed, "you will say that Nathaniel and his brother were heroes who defended the ruler of this city from an attack by..." The name distorted in Arim''s ears, rendering it unhearable and warping the very fabric of his dream.
Senior Ji tightened his grip on Arim¡¯s ear, forcing him to nod. Arim¡¯s brain struggled to keep up with the rapid turn of events.
"But before we conclude," Senior Ji added with a sinister edge to his voice, "we must try [Soul Devouring]. Do not worry; your master Nathaniel shall now forever be a part of you."
The dream shattered into a thousand jagged fragments at the sight of Senior Ji''s demonic face leering at him.
Arim awoke with a jolt, drenched in cold sweat. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath. Outside, darkness had fallen, but countless lights flickered from the direction of the Magistrate''s castle, clearly some incident was occurring. He reached up with trembling hands to touch his face, feeling the wetness of his tears mixing with sweat.
His body wracked with sobs as he covered his face with his hands and began to cry uncontrollably. The weight of everything he had seen and done pressed down on him like an iron shroud, suffocating and relentless.
Chapter 9: Unnerved
Silas sat in the dimly lit room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge, his fingers tracing the edges of the sealed container holding the Bloodmoon Thorn¡ªor rather, what was supposed to be the Bloodmoon Thorn. The air in the room felt heavy with the aroma of potions and herbs. Silas''s mind buzzed with thoughts, each one more troubling to him than the last.
Nyx squawked loudly to catch Silas''s attention. The portly crow''s feathers ruffled in agitation.
"Calm down," Silas muttered, his voice carrying an unusual softness given his typically harsh demeanor. He rolled the container between his fingers before setting it on the table. "We have a problem."
Nyx''s beady eye twitched. He flapped his wings once, twice, a silent demand for explanation.
"It''s not your fault," Silas continued, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Anyone else would have been fooled. This herb here¡ªit''s another Ambitious Mimic."
Nyx squawked indignantly, hopping from the table to perch on Silas''s shoulder where he peered at the container with a mix of anger and curiosity.
Silas leaned back in his chair, still under his disguise, and sighed. "The Rats gave me good information a few weeks back when I bought the details about sightings and sales of Bloodmoon Thorns," he said more to himself than to Nyx.
The crow tilted his head, watching Silas intently as if urging him to elaborate.
Silas''s eyes narrowed as he replayed events in his mind. "The original intel we got said that a thorn was known to be with an Artificer called Selen," he began slowly. "And that there was a thorn going to be sold in Rhysling."
Nyx squawked again, this time with an edge of impatience.
"Yes, yes," Silas waved a hand dismissively. "But considering what I''ve gathered today¡ªabout Selen specifically¡ªsomething doesn''t add up." He rubbed his temples before leaning forward, eyes locking onto Nyx''s.
"They gave us correct information but I drew the wrong conclusion," Silas said, almost to himself as he processed everything. "The real Bloodmoon Thorn might still be out there, but it''s not necessarily tied to Selen in Rhysling as we thought."
Nyx hopped closer, nudging Silas''s hand with his beak as if offering comfort or perhaps urging him to take action.
Silas patted Nyx on the head absentmindedly. "We''ll need to dig deeper," he mused aloud. "Figure out just what exactly is going on here."
The crow nodded once, understanding perfectly.
Silas took a deep breath and looked at Nyx. "We have more work to do for this herb, hand me the journals" he said simply.
The echo of clanging metal and arcane alarms still reverberated through the corridors of Castle Rhysling as the Magistrate and Selen walked with determined strides towards her room. The Magistrate''s face, a mask of concern, glanced sideways at Selen whose piercing blue eyes were filled with barely contained fury.
"It seems whoever caused this ruckus was targeting you specifically," the Magistrate began, his voice measured. "The most significant damage was in your quarters, after all."
Selen''s jaw tightened, her calloused hands clenched at her sides. "I had some very prized possessions in that room. If my Bloodmoon Thorn is missing or destroyed under your guards'' watch, you''ll be compensating me for the full price I would have gotten at auction!"
The Magistrate sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "Need I remind you that it was your defense systems that failed to stop the intruder?" His tone held a hint of reproach.
Selen shot him a sharp glare. "And need I remind you that those same defense systems were still in the process of being tuned? If anything, this incident proves they were necessary you bloody idiot!"
The Magistrate shook his head slightly but softened his tone. "Rhysling will not let its honored guest be harmed or her possessions stolen. If the herb is indeed missing, we''ll figure out a compensation."
Selen''s stern expression broke into one of elation at his words. "Well then, let''s see if my money ticket is still intact!" she said with a hint of optimism creeping into her voice.
As they approached Selen¡¯s quarters, the destruction became more evident¡ªscorched walls, splintered wood, and scattered magical components. The Magistrate motioned for the guards to stay back as he and Selen stepped into what remained of her room.
Their eyes immediately fell on the container amidst the wreckage. Miraculously untouched by the chaos around it, it lay there as if mocking their concerns.
Selen''s eyes widened with joy as she rushed to it. "The Bloodmoon Thorn!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of relief and joy. "It''s still here!"
The Magistrate heaved a sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing. "Well, it seems our intruder missed what he was looking for after all¡" he muttered under his breath.
"Indeed," Selen grinned widely, cradling the container like a precious child.
Turning to the staff gathered nervously outside, the Magistrate barked orders for them to prepare another room for Selen. They responded eagerly, assuring him that a room was already prepared and beckoning them to follow.
The walk to Selen''s new quarters was filled with light banter between her and the Magistrate, their earlier tension easing with every step. As they arrived at the door and stepped inside, however, both froze in their tracks.
Before them stood three maids in varying states of undress, tangled together in a compromising position that left little to the imagination. Their shocked expressions mirrored those of their unexpected audience.
The Magistrate¡¯s face turned beet red before he coughed violently, struggling to regain composure while nearly spitting out blood from sheer mortification.
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Selen¡¯s reaction was immediate; she threw her head back and laughed uproariously. The sound echoed down the hallway as tears of mirth glistened in her eyes.
"Well," she gasped between laughs, "this certainly isn''t what I expected!"
The maids scrambled to untangle themselves, however due to the adhesive Nyx bombed them with they quite literally could not, meanwhile the staff outside peeked curiously inside.
The Magistrate pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Let''s... find you another room¡ and kindly never mention this again,'''' he finally said.
The bustling of guards and the resetting of defense systems had died down, leaving a tense calm in the castle''s guest wing. Selen then finally settled into her new accommodations, ones free of maids in the middle of a threesome.
Inside her room, she flopped onto the plush bed with an audible sigh. She stared at the container holding what she believed to be her ''''Bloodmoon Thorn'''', her mind clearly a mess of thoughts. Her lips moved in a semi-silent monologue, a habit of hers.
"This has gotten out of hand," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper but clear in the stillness of the room. "I don¡¯t want to get hurt in this ass end of The Empire."
Her eyes grew distant as she recalled her lost journals. Those journals were more than mere logs¡ªthey were companions during long, solitary nights.
In a sudden burst of frustration, she grabbed the Mimic and hurled it across the room. The container hit the wall with a dull thud before rolling to a stop on the floor, unharmed but showing what she truly thought of the contents inside.
Selen exhaled deeply and began recounting her plans aloud, perhaps to ground herself. "Auction in two days," she said, counting off on her fingers. "Payout, get as far away from here as I can¡ then indulge in whatever pleasures I can think off..."
She stared at her hand for a moment, ticking off each step. "At least four days of leeway before the real problems come knocking¡"
Selen lay sprawled on her bed, eyes tracing the patterns on the ceiling as her mind whirred with thoughts. She clenched her jaw, feeling the frustration bubble within her. She knew she had to throw a fit tomorrow, show everyone her outrage at being targeted so blatantly.
"Who can I pin this on?" she murmured to herself, tapping her fingers rhythmically against the bedspread. Her thoughts shifted to the people she had interacted with recently, sifting through potential attackers.
An image of the good-natured gentleman Ji surfaced in her mind. She recalled his calm demeanor, the almost eerie ease with which he stopped pushing for the Thorn. A sly grin tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Mr. Handsome may actually be behind it," she whispered to herself, savoring the thought. There¡¯s no Alchemist worth a damn who would just give up after one question about a herb like the Thorn.
She pushed herself off the bed and padded over to the mirror, inspecting her reflection with critical eyes. Her hands patted her chest and then her buttocks, assessing her assets with a frown.
"Not enough here to disregard the Thorn¡¯s value over¡" she muttered, shaking her head slightly.
Selen¡¯s mind raced through various scenarios as she pondered over her next steps. And that would most likely mean another visit to Arim after sunrise.
She glanced at herself in the mirror one last time before turning away. "Senior Ji and I will have to have a date, it seems," she said with a sly smile.
Satisfied with her plan for now, Selen lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment of rest before the dawn brought new opportunities.
The first rays of dawn seeped through the heavy curtains of Silas¡¯s room, casting a muted glow on the cluttered table. Silas, eyes weary, closed the last of Selen¡¯s journals with a decisive snap. His lips twisted into a sardonic grin as he stretched out the pronunciation, "Selen," drawing it out as if mocking its very essence.
Nyx, perched on the back of a chair, cocked his head and squawked, a clear inquiry in his beady eyes.
Silas leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. "A decent talent on our hands, Nyx," he said, amusement lacing his raspy voice. "But I''d rather confirm it first."
Nyx ruffled his feathers, an impatient flutter as if demanding more details.
Silas chuckled darkly. "If my deductions about her nature are correct," he began, pausing to savor the thought, "we should soon receive a call from Arim." He leaned forward, eyes shining with calculation. "For now," he continued, pushing himself up from the chair with deliberate slowness, "let''s take a walk through the city and wait."
The streets of Rhysling were just waking up, merchants setting up their stalls and early risers bustling about their morning routines. Silas moved with among them peacefully, Nyx perched dutifully on his shoulder.
They wandered aimlessly at first, Silas''s keen eyes taking in every detail of the city''s morning life. The murmurs of the crowd began to reach his ears¡ªa mix of fear and fascination.
"Did you hear about the attack inside the park?"
"Aye, terrible murder recently. Some say it was a crow that took the man''s life."
Silas threw a side-eye glance at Nyx. The crow merely shrugged with his wings in a gesture that could only be described as nonchalant.
Time slipped by in measured steps as they continued their stroll through Rhysling¡¯s vibrant streets.
Just as Silas began to ponder another turn down an alleyway or perhaps into a more secluded part of town, he noticed a young messenger weaving through the crowd with urgency filling every step. The boy¡¯s eyes darted around until they locked onto Silas¡¯s form.
The messenger skidded to a halt before him, panting heavily. "Senior Ji," he gasped between breaths. "Guildmaster Arim requests your immediate presence."
Silas nodded curtly, acknowledging the boy''s message without a word. He turned on his heel and began walking towards the Alchemist¡¯s Guild, Nyx still perched on his shoulder.
Arim¡¯s office brimmed with the scent of rare herbs and alchemical brews. Selen stood by the window, applying a touch of potent perfume that Arim had provided. The golden sunlight filtering through the panes highlighted her silver hair, now tied back in a practical knot.
She adjusted her collar and glanced over at Arim. ¡°I apologize for my less than pleasant odor,¡± she began, her voice tinged with annoyance. ¡°The castle was a nightmare this morning. At breakfast, everyone¡ªeveryone, including the Magistrate himself¡ªwas struck with the most vile case of explosive diarrhea.¡±
Arim winced at her bluntness, though he couldn¡¯t hide his curiosity. ¡°And you?¡±
¡°Luckily,¡± she replied with a grim smile, ¡°I didn¡¯t attend the breakfast. But navigating through that hellish sight? Let¡¯s just say I needed something strong to mask the stench.¡±
Arim coughed and waved his hand dismissively, shifting gears. ¡°Let us move on from that... unsavory topic.¡± His tone turned serious as he looked directly into her piercing blue eyes. ¡°The accusation you¡¯ve brought today about Senior Ji is very dangerous if proven wrong.¡±
Selen folded her arms and met his gaze unflinchingly. ¡°He is the only one who aroused my suspicion,¡± she insisted. ¡°If he¡¯s innocent and still within the city, he should have no problem explaining himself to a humble Artificer like me.¡±
A sly smile tugged at her lips as she added, "And if I''m wrong about him, I¡¯ll more than make it up to him." She gave Arim a suggestive wink.
Arim breathed deeply, his eyes steel. ¡°You must hold Senior Ji in higher esteem for everyone¡¯s sake,¡± he said firmly.
Selen shifted uncomfortably under his intensified gaze, pondering the exact implications of his words.
The door suddenly swung open with a creak that seemed louder than usual in the tense atmosphere. Silas entered the room calmly with a pleasant smile.
¡°Greetings,¡± Silas began smoothly, acknowledging both of them with a slight nod. ¡°Apologies for consuming so much of your time these past couple of days, Arim.¡±
Arim nodded quickly and said it is no trouble, unease on his face.
Silas then turned his attention to Selen. "Would you indulge me by accompanying me to a nearby bar? I believe it might be more appropriate for discussing whatever concerns you have with me in a more private setting."
Selen hesitated briefly before nodding. "Perhaps¡" she agreed, offering a polite farewell to Arim as she moved towards Silas.
Arim watched them leave, suppressing the urge to yell out loud what echoed in his mind: "That woman will be the death of Rhysling..."
Chapter 10: Take Your Time
Silas and Selen stepped out of the Alchemist¡¯s Guild into the bustling streets of Rhysling. The late morning sun cast it''s shadows, and the air was filled with the clamor of merchants, children laughing and the occasional clink of metal.
As they walked, Selen glanced at Nyx perched on Silas¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Is that a familiar?¡± she asked, her curiosity evident.
Nyx waved his wing at her as if in greeting, causing Selen to chuckle. Silas nodded. ¡°Yes, he is my spiritual companion to be exact,¡± he confirmed. ¡°He¡¯s quite unique.¡±
Selen¡¯s eyes sparkled with interest. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of familiars but never seen one so... interactive.¡±
¡°He has his own personality,¡± Silas replied.
Nyx puffed up his feathers in acknowledgment, clearly enjoying the attention.
They continued walking towards the entertainment district, where the same bar Silas had visited the day before awaited them. The streets grew livelier as they neared their destination, with performers and street vendors adding to the vibrant atmosphere.
Selen shifted the topic as they walked. ¡°Do you know how serious the matter I wish to discuss is?¡± she asked, her tone turning more pointed.
Silas met her gaze calmly. ¡°Whatever topic may come up,¡± he assured her, ¡°we will end the day as friends.¡±
Selen quirked an eyebrow at his choice of words but didn¡¯t comment further on it. Instead, Silas asked her, ¡°What has kept you in Rhysling? Besides the auction?¡±
She smiled faintly. ¡°I find Rhysling¡ intriguing,¡± she said.
Selen then added quickly, ¡°I find the city quite pleasing. Everything here can just make you relax and let down your guard.¡±
Silas shook his head grimly. ¡°The atmosphere you speak of came at a horrible price though, perhaps you are not aware?¡± he mentioned quietly. ¡°Years ago¡ the old Magistrate died after Rhysling suffered a horrible tribulation that took my old friend Nathaniel¡¯s life.¡±
Selen¡¯s curiosity was piqued. ¡°Nathaniel? Is that Guildmaster Arim¡¯s Master you mentioned?¡±
Before Silas could answer, Nyx squawked loudly and suddenly flew off to land on top of a young man who had been walking by.
¡°Excuse him,¡± Silas said with a slight smile. ¡°He saw an acquaintance he wanted to spend some time with.¡± He turned back to Selen and continued, "Yes, Nathaniel was Arim''s Master¡ªa truly ''great'' man."
Selen nodded thoughtfully as they resumed their walk towards the bar.
Jules was in high spirits, his hands deftly smoothing mortar between bricks as he and his new coworkers worked on touching up a store that specialized in selling headwear. Around him, the laughter and banter flowed easily, punctuated by the occasional obscene joke that had everyone in stitches.
"You hear the one about the shepherd and the bull?" one of his burly coworkers asked, setting off another round of laughter.
Jules chuckled along, feeling a sense of camaraderie. Life in Rhysling was turning out far better than he had hoped. Silas and Nyx had done him a solid favor by pointing him towards the Mason''s Guild, which not only set him up with work but also provided a place to stay. Sharing quarters with four other men wasn¡¯t ideal, but it was good enough and came with its own set of advantages¡ªlike not having to worry about the punishment sent to men and women by the gods¡ªrent.
He thought back to his journey to Rhysling, marveling at how much had changed for him quite easily within a couple of days. His musings were interrupted by a sudden weight on his head and a familiar squawk. Jules''s eyes lit up as he realized who it was.
"Master Nyx!" he exclaimed, bowing immediately to greet the portly crow perched precariously atop his head. Nyx had to jump off to avoid losing balance but flapped his wings gracefully before settling on a nearby stack of bricks.
Jules straightened up quickly. ¡°Sorry about that¡¡± he said, though the movement he just did wasn¡¯t exactly too polite knocking the crow off his head, it seemed to serve Nyx¡¯s vanity adequately.
However, his coworkers looked puzzled at his reverence toward a crow. One of them opened his mouth to say something likely rude when Jules interjected swiftly.
¡°This noble crow saved my life while I was traveling,¡± he explained earnestly. ¡°You should show some respect.¡±
The two men exchanged glances but decided to roll with it. ¡°Well then,¡± one said, turning to Nyx, ¡°thank you for bringing Rhysling this workhorse safe and sound.¡±
The other followed suit. ¡°Yeah, thanks Mr. Crow!¡± he added with an exaggerated bow.
Nyx squawked and nodded regally, clearly pleased with the acknowledgment.
Jules couldn''t help but grin as he watched Nyx bask in the attention. "He¡¯s not just any crow," Jules continued, feeling a sense of pride swell within him. "He''s a cultivator''s companion!"
The word cultivator elicited nods of recognition from his coworkers. Even in the bustling cityscape that saw more and more of them, amazing tales of cultivators and their exploits traveled fast.
Nyx preened himself, clearly satisfied with their reverence. Jules felt an odd sense of relief; having Nyx here somehow made him feel calmer, though remembering the scene of the crow eating his coin made him remember another task.
¡°I still need to change my money for the new one,¡± Jules muttered under his breath as he resumed work on the bricks. The reminder brought him back to practical matters at hand¡ªa task that needed addressing sooner rather than later if he wanted to fully settle into this new chapter of life.
As they worked side by side, Jules couldn''t help but think about how fortunate he was. He glanced at Nyx again who was now perched majestically on top of a stone pillar watching their work like an overseer ensuring everything was done correctly.
Although¡ He couldn''t shake the feeling that something strange was going to happen today¡
Silas and Selen arrived at the entrance of a nondescript bar, its wooden sign bearing the subtle symbol of a winking eye¡ªa mark known only to those familiar with The Rats. The exterior of the establishment gave a truly inviting warmth.
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Silas observed Selen closely, his eyes catching the brief flicker of shock that crossed her face before she regained her composure. It was a fleeting moment, but Silas had been watching for it.
A wisp of a smile played on his lips as he stepped forward. "Quite the place for a conversation," Selen remarked, her voice laced with crude humor. "You planning on us being those kind of friends at the end of it?"
Silas chuckled, his voice carrying a subtle undertone. "I simply enjoy the atmosphere."
They pushed through the heavy wooden door inside. The bar exuded an air of casual disarray, with patrons scattered around tables in various states of leisure and business. Silas approached the barmaid, a woman with sharp eyes.
"A private booth," he requested simply.
The barmaid nodded and motioned for them to follow. As they moved through the room, Selen leaned in towards the barmaid with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Anything ''special'' today, or just the ''classic''?"
The barmaid tilted her head to the side, her expression one of mild confusion. "We¡¯re not a brothel here," she replied matter-of-factly.
Silas laughed softly, catching Selen off guard. "Such forward questions," he teased.
Selen stumbled over her words, her usual confidence momentarily shaken. "I didn¡¯t mean¡ªwell, it doesn¡¯t matter."
The barmaid led them to a private booth at the back of the bar, its secluded nature perfect for their purposes. She pulled back the sliding door that separated it from the rest of the establishment and gestured for them to enter.
"Take your time before ordering," she said before leaving them alone.
Silas extended a hand from inside, Selen took him up on his gentlemanly gesture and allowed him to settle her down onto a seat. He then settled into the other side of the booth, his eyes never leaving Selen. The enclosed space seemed to amplify their presence, making every movement feel a lot more significant.
Selen nodded to him, her earlier embarrassment already fading as she regained her thoughts. They sat in silence for a moment, each sizing up the other.
Silas leaned back slightly, allowing himself to get more comfortable.
Jules wandered through the bustling streets of Rhysling, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. Nyx perched on his head, the crow¡¯s talons gripping his hair with a firm but oddly comforting pressure. Jules couldn¡¯t shake the image of the roaring flames that had engulfed the store where he¡¯d been working just moments earlier.
The day had started fine, with Jules and his fellow masons hard at work on the renovation project. They¡¯d been in good spirits, joking and laughing as they laid bricks and mixed mortar. But then, out of nowhere, the store had burst into flames. The owner had come running out, his face a mask of fury and fear.
¡°Who here is courting death?!¡± he¡¯d screamed, his voice echoing through the street.
Jules had stood there in shock, watching as people rushed to help extinguish the fire. The owner had thanked them for their work but made it clear that he¡¯d have to pause the renovation until he got to the bottom of what had happened.
Now, as Jules walked towards the bank to exchange his old coins for Reshal, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder if Nyx¡¯s unusually good mood was a clue to what had transpired. The crow seemed almost gleeful, its feathers puffed up.
¡°Did you have something to do with this?¡± Jules muttered under his breath, glancing up at Nyx.
Nyx squawked happily in response, his talons tightening their grip on Jules¡¯s head. The young mason sighed, deciding it was best not to dwell on it for now. At least the unexpected turn of events had freed up his day.
The bank loomed ahead, its grand facade a stark contrast to Jules¡¯s dazed state. He entered and joined the queue, absently rubbing at a spot on his forehead where Nyx¡¯s talons had pressed a bit too hard.
When it was finally his turn, Jules stepped up to the counter and handed over his old coins. The teller gave him a look but said nothing as she counted out the new Reshal notes.
¡°All done,¡± she said, sliding the notes across the counter.
¡°Thanks,¡± Jules replied, pocketing them quickly.
As he turned to leave, he felt Nyx shift on his head. ¡°Well,¡± he said aloud, ¡°since we¡¯ve got some free time now, is there anything you want to do?¡±
Nyx squawked again, this time with an unmistakable note of excitement. Jules felt a sudden tug as Nyx¡¯s talons gripped tighter and began pulling him in a specific direction.
¡°Hey! Slow down!¡± Jules yelled as he stumbled forward, trying to keep up with the crow¡¯s insistent guidance.
Passersby turned to stare at the comical sight¡ªa young man being led through the streets by a crow perched atop his head. Jules¡¯s protests grew louder as they neared Rhysling¡¯s entertainment district.
¡°Seriously! Where are you taking me?¡± he shouted.
Nyx responded with another happy squawk and continued pulling Jules towards a nondescript building tucked between two larger establishments. The sign above the door read ¡°The Lucky Coin,¡± and from within came the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses.
¡°A gambling den?¡± Jules asked incredulously as they reached the entrance. He glanced up at Nyx again. ¡°Really?¡±
Nyx flapped his wings once in affirmation before settling back down on Jules¡¯s head.
¡°Well,¡± Jules sighed, pushing open the door with one hand while steadying Nyx with the other. ¡°I guess we¡¯re going gambling.¡±
The interior was well lit and filled with smoke and chatter. Tables were scattered throughout the room, each one surrounded by people engrossed in various games of chance. Jules hesitated for a moment before stepping further inside, feeling both out of place and oddly curious about what lay ahead.
Nyx guided him towards an empty table near the back where a croupier was asking for patrons to step right up. As they approached, several heads turned to watch them¡ªsome with amusement, others with suspicion.
Jules took a deep breath as he watched Nyx perch on the side of the table, handing the croupier Reshal, which he noticed was now missing from his pocket...
Inside the booth, Selen got herself comfortable in her seat across from Silas. She put on a smile and was about to say, "Let¡¯s get down to business then," before Silas interrupted her mid-sentence.
His face dropped all pretenses of nicety as his now cold, dark gaze made her seize up momentarily.
"A word of advice¡ The Rats won¡¯t inform occasional patrons about their most valued customers," he stated, his voice a chilling monotone.
Her mind flicked to the barmaid who had acted dumb when she asked in code if she was dealing with another person ¡°in the know.¡± She was about to say something while moving herself towards the door when she saw Silas place a ¡°Bloodmoon Thorn¡± onto the table. She then realized she could not move her body. The wrongness of the situation set off all the alarms in her head.
Silas cracked his neck to the side twice, his demeanor matter-of-fact. "Honestly, I am slightly disappointed with you¡ giving your hand to an Alchemist. Quite easy to get slipped a paralytic," he explained.
He pointed out the bracelet peeking out of her sleeve. "Artifice tools like that can stop many tricks like this if they are in the same realm. Quite useless otherwise. Something many second-step Artificers always consider."
Dread crept in on Selen as she struggled internally against her paralysis. Silas then put on a smile that could not be called a smile as he clapped gently.
"I truly appreciate the little hustle you''ve created! Although I am unsure of some minor details concerning it¡ I am a fan I will admit," he said, moving to her side and picking up her chin to point it up towards him, locking their eyes.
"The paralytic will wear off in a few moments, do not worry about it." He pulled out a small vial with a terrifying crimson-colored liquid in it. Cracking the top open, a red haze began to waft from it slowly before he poured the contents down her throat.
"Unfortunately now, you are poisoned with something a bit more sinister and you have a very generous chance at death" he informed her, pulling out another ampule. "This is the cure; you will get it after our little heart-to-heart conversation ends if we indeed end up as friends."
He rubbed a finger roughly into her cheek before saying, "I was expecting another Artificer considering how you¡¯ve gone about working for their guild so smoothly; however... an Illusionist?"
As the paralytic wore off, Selen managed to raise her eyebrows in shock. Oddly enough, instead of asking for the cure or what he was going to do to her , she asked him, "How did you¡ª"
Silas cut her off again. "It is not my first time meeting one of your kind. Once one knows what to look for, illusions lose much of their potency¡" he commented simply.
Giving her a nod of approval then, Silas remarked, "You are a talented con artist nonetheless!"
He then asked in a surprisingly friendly tone, "Where are Selen and the Thorn?"
Chapter 11: Gambling
Inside the rowdy gambling house, the air buzzed with excitement and the clatter of dice. The energy inside the den was palpable, but one particular table drew all of ones attention¡ªa table where a crow had become the center of a spectacle.
"YEAH BABY!" Jules yelled, his voice booming over the noise as he stood behind Nyx. The lad''s freckled face lit up with unrestrained joy, his stout build vibrating with enthusiasm. The crowd roared in response, their cheers echoing through the gambling den as Nyx threw the dice down the table with a nonchalant flick of his wing.
The dice tumbled and rolled, finally coming to a stop. The crowd erupted into an even bigger cheer as the croupier¡¯s eye twitched in disbelief. Jules couldn''t help but smirk at the scene¡ªNyx had managed to charm this entire room with nothing more than a few rolls of dice.
Nyx brought his wing to the front of his beak and gave it a blow, mimicking a gesture of casual ease, as if saying ¡°par for the course.¡± He then pulled out a note of 100 Reshal from somewhere within his feathers and slipped it not so discreetly to the waitress bringing him a steady supply of whiskey. Her face lit up in gratitude for the generous crow, her eyes sparkling with appreciation.
The crowd around them began to murmur amongst themselves. "Those rumors about vicious crows attacking people in the park? All bullshit," one man said, shaking his head.
"Yeah, this crow''s alright by me," another chimed in, nodding towards Nyx.
Nyx nodded back as if he were agreeing with their sentiments. Then, with a flourish of his wing, he pointed to his whiskey glass and then gestured towards the crowd gathered at the table. The waitress leaned in closer to understand.
"Do you want to buy everyone a drink?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief and excitement.
Nyx squawked affirmatively, causing another cheer to erupt from those around him. The waitress hurried off to fulfill the order while Nyx basked in his newfound popularity.
Jules continued to revel in the moment, laughing heartily and slapping backs as if he were among lifelong friends rather than strangers brought together by chance and a crow.
Inside the booth, Silas leaned back, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the table''s surface. Across from him, "Selen" took a shaky breath, her eyes darting around as if seeking an escape route that didn¡¯t exist.
"What will you do to me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don¡¯t believe for a second that you¡¯ll just let me walk out of here."
Silas¡¯s gaze was steady, his eyes like twin abysses drawing her in. "Where are Selen and the Thorn?" he repeated, his tone devoid of any false warmth this time. "I will find out whether you¡¯re willing or not. Answer for a chance to live; play at negotiations, and you won¡¯t even have that."
The illusionist''s face contorted in pain as a sharp ache began to manifest in her gut. She clenched her teeth, struggling to maintain composure. "Still in Sichal," she managed through gritted teeth. "Breaking through to the second step. She still has the Bloodmoon Thorn."
Silas nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "Quite convenient," he murmured, watching as confusion flickered across her face.
"Why the hustle? Why Rhysling?" he pressed.
"Money," she replied after a moment''s hesitation. "Adequate distance and easier to slip into the Guild¡¯s service as they¡¯re still just setting up here."
A low chuckle escaped Silas''s lips. "Just money? No lofty ambitions or revenge plots?"
"Both won¡¯t lead to an enjoyable life," she said with a raised eyebrow, her voice tinged with a hint of defiance despite her situation.
The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a predatory smile as he considered her words.
Silas tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table''s edge. "Thank you for your forthrightness," he said, his voice smooth yet chilling. The illusionist, still reeling from the pain in her gut, felt a shiver run down her spine.
She let out a defeated sigh, her shoulders slumping. Silas¡¯s lips curled into a small, amused smile. "Why the defeatist attitude?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Why not cling to life more fiercely?"
She cast her eyes downward, avoiding his piercing gaze. "In this business," she murmured, "situations like this are always a possibility. It was just... shit luck that someone like you wanted the Thorn."
Silas nodded, a glint of agreement in his eyes. "Indeed," he said softly. His gaze sharpened as he noticed her hand subtly moving towards her sash. "And best not think that little gadget you''re reaching for will do anything except cause you harm."
Her teeth gnashed together as she looked up, tears forming unwillingly at the corners of her eyes. Silas clapped his hands once, the sound sharp in the tense air. "Excellent acting," he remarked with a hint of mockery.
The illusionist quickly stopped her tears, wincing as the pain spread further from her abdomen. She took a shaky breath and asked, "What happens now?"
Silas leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing with interest. "An enemy today, a friend tomorrow, perhaps," he mused. "Tell me, little lady who claims to want a decadent life¡ how far are you willing to go to grant your desires?"
He slid an ampule across the table towards her. Her eyes widened as she quickly reached out for it, her fingers trembling slightly as they closed around it.
Silas watched her intently, his expression unreadable as she held the antidote in her hand.
The gambling den buzzed with excitement, the air thick with the scent of sweat and ale. Laughter and shouts of victory echoed off the walls, but none louder than the joyous cries coming from a particular table where Nyx, the portly crow, sat surrounded by piles of cash. Jules was on his knees behind him, tears streaming down his freckled face as he kowtowed repeatedly.
"Thank you, Mr. Crow! Thank you!" Jules''s voice cracked with emotion, his gratitude spilling over in every word.
Nyx puffed out his chest feathers proudly, a gleam of satisfaction in his beady eyes. The table was littered with Reshal notes. Around them, a crowd of onlookers cheered and clapped, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle.
A waitress approached their table, her tray balanced expertly on one hand. She set down another round of drinks before addressing Nyx directly. "Mr. Crow," she began, her voice carrying a note of awe, "a distinguished customer has sent this for you."
She held out a small invitation card, embossed with gold lettering and intricate designs. Nyx tilted his head to the side, eyeing the card with interest before giving a knowing squawk. He pecked at the card gently, then looked up at the waitress.
"The House of Jade Pleasures," she continued, "extends a VIP invitation to you and your friend here." She glanced at Jules, who was still prostrating himself in gratitude.
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Nyx gave another squawk, this one filled with approval. With a swift motion of his beak and wings, he swept all his winnings off the table into Jules''s bag. The crowd around them erupted in applause and cheers as Nyx hopped down from his perch.
"Goodbye, Mr. Crow!" several voices called out in unison.
Nyx flapped his wings once for emphasis before grabbing Jules by the scruff of his neck with surprising strength for a bird of his size. Jules yelped in surprise but quickly found himself being dragged towards the exit.
The waitress watched them go, waving politely. "Goodbye, Mr. Crow," she said softly as they disappeared into the bustling den''s entrance.
As she turned back to her duties, she felt something ruffle under her sleeve. Her eyes widened as she discovered a thick wad of Reshal notes tucked there discreetly. She gulped and quickly hid it from view, her heart pounding with both excitement and fear at her unexpected windfall.
The other patrons continued to chatter excitedly about their encounter with Nyx while she tucked away her unexpected tip securely. The den''s atmosphere remained electric long after Nyx and Jules had left for their next adventure at The House of Jade Pleasures.
Selen wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the bitter taste of the antidote still lingering on her tongue. Relief washed over her almost immediately, and she leaned back against the plush seat of the booth.
"So," she began, her voice steady but edged with defiance, "what''s going to stop me from getting away now or screaming for help?"
Silas raised a brow, his expression calm and almost amused. "You''d be dead before you could twitch towards the door," he replied smoothly. "And this booth is reinforced by Magicraft to remove sound. No one will hear you."
Selen''s eyes narrowed, but she knew he spoke the truth. She had felt the paralytic''s potency and the mysterious poison''s pain firsthand and had no reason to believe his death threats were empty.
"Now," Silas continued, his tone polite but firm, "would you kindly answer my previous question?"
She took a deep breath, weighing her options. "Whatever I can get away with," she finally said, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips.
Silas''s smile widened slightly. "A wonderful attitude," he remarked. This time, his smile elicited a different kind of feeling in Selen''s stomach¡ªone that was both unsettling and intriguing.
"What would you like to be called?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Zinnia," she answered.
"Zinnia," Silas repeated thoughtfully. "Would you like to make even more than you could ever imagine from this auction?"
Zinnia raised an eyebrow skeptically. "You threaten me, almost kill me, both you may still do¡ and now you want to work with me? ¡What would your friend Arim say?"
Silas''s voice turned monotone as he replied, "Whatever I want him to."
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Do I have a choice?"
"Of course," Silas said with a casual shrug. "You can leave, but I may find you. You can report me, and I may kill you. You can assist me and take a gamble¡ªor perhaps you can end your troubles yourself permanently. All choices you can think of are on the table for you."
He leaned back against the seat, his eyes still locked onto her. "I think your unique talents could help us both get what we want."
Zinnia studied him for a long moment, weighing his words carefully. The tension between them crackled like static in the air.
Finally, she sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Alright," she said begrudgingly. "Let''s hear what you have in mind."
Silas chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate through the booth. "It looks like we will indeed be friends," he said, tapping a knuckle on the side of the table.
The barmaid reentered almost immediately, her demeanor professional but curious. Silas ordered drinks for both of them, causing Zinnia to raise an eyebrow in mild surprise.
"Discussing your plan over drinks?" she asked, her tone laced with curiosity.
Silas had a small smile playing on his lips. "We''ll discuss my plan tonight in my room."
Zinnia''s eyes gleamed with mockery as she smirked. "So you''re one of those? Shame, I almost thought you had some strange scumbag charm..."
Silas interrupted her smoothly. "I''m about as interested in defiling you as I am in eating this table between us."
Her eyebrow quirked in slight irritation at his brusque dismissal. "Why not now?"
"We have time enough for now," Silas replied, his voice calm and measured. "I wish to hear how you came to be involved with Selen and the Thorn. In turn, you can ask me questions I won''t answer."
Zinnia''s forehead creased as a vein visibly popped, her frustration growing. She took a deep breath, reigning in her temper. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "Want the story from the top?"
Silas gestured with a hand, inviting her to begin. The barmaid returned with their drinks, placing them on the table before retreating once more.
Zinnia took a sip of her drink. "It all started in Sichal, of course¡" she began, her voice steady despite the underlying tension.
Nyx''s squawks of pleasure echoed inside one of the rooms of The House of Jade Pleasures. The establishment, known for its luxurious decor and extravagant services, had never hosted a guest quite like this before. Within one of the largest rooms, a peculiar scene unfolded.
Two first-step body cultivators, their lovely faces covered in glistening sweat, let out breathy sighs. Their hands moved rhythmically over the back of a crow¡ªan unusual patron by any standard.
Nyx lay sprawled under them on the bed, his wings spread wide as he enjoyed the intense massage. The two women exchanged bewildered glances, their muscles straining with the effort it took to satisfy their avian client.
"When Madam told us we were booked by a ''peculiar individual,'' I didn''t think she meant this," one of the women murmured between labored breaths.
"I thought it would be some extreme play," her companion replied, her voice tinged with both amusement and exhaustion. "But a crow? Who could have imagined?"
The crow in question used the incense smoke wafting around the room to form letters in mid-air. "Harder," they read, compelling the women to press even more firmly into his feathers.
They complied, their surprise mingling with a sense of professional pride as they worked harder than they had in a long while.
An hour passed, and Nyx finally relented. He squawked in satisfaction and hopped up from the bed, his feathers ruffling contentedly. The women paused, wiping sweat from their brows and exchanging looks of disbelief.
"Lay down, disrobe your tops," Nyx''s next command floated before them in smoky letters.
They obeyed without hesitation, curiosity piquing their interest as they settled onto the bed. To their astonishment, they felt feathers tickling their backs before sensing an unfamiliar energy flowing into them.
"A Qi massage?" one thought before her mind was overtaken by an intense wave of pleasure. Moans filled the soundproof room as Nyx''s energy worked through their back meridians. Toes curled and bed sheets were bitten as they experienced sensations unlike any they''d ever known.
Nyx finished his massage with a gentlemanly flourish, hopping off their backs and onto the floor with a satisfied squawk. He landed with a soft squelch into a puddle of something that had formed during their session.
As he made his way out of the room, the two body cultivators lay on the bed, utterly spent but deeply satisfied. They would have stories to tell¡ªif anyone would believe them¡ªabout the day they massaged a crow who returned the favor with an unforgettable Qi massage.
Nyx strutted down the hallway, his head held high and wings slightly spread as if he owned the place. The House of Jade Pleasures had certainly lived up to its name tonight. He was curious how Jules was doing.
Nyx strutted down the lavishly carpeted stairs, his feathers still ruffled from the intense massage session. As he descended, his eyes caught sight of Jules in the main hall. The young lad sat on a plush velvet couch, surrounded by six working girls who were indulging him far too much. Jules''s eyes sparkled with delight as he chatted animatedly, his freckled face glowing with excitement.
Nyx tilted his head, observing the scene with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. The lad had likely blown through all the cash they had won at the gambling den. Nyx shrugged to himself, deciding it was time to extricate Jules from this situation before things got any more out of hand.
With a powerful flap of his wings, Nyx took flight and swooped down towards Jules. His talons latched onto the young man''s head, lifting him off the couch with surprising ease. Jules yelped in surprise but quickly recovered, turning back towards the working girls with a broad smile and a wave.
"Goodbye for now!" he called out cheerfully.
The girls responded with enthusiastic farewells, their voices filled with genuine affection. "Come visit us again soon, Jules!"
Nyx dragged Jules out of the brothel and into the streets. The evening air was cool and filled with the distant sounds of revelry from nearby taverns and inns. As they walked towards their homes, Jules began talking to Nyx, his voice filled with wonder.
"Master Nyx," he said earnestly, "brothels sure work differently in the big city. The girls even paid me for the good time and invited me to their private houses for some extra fun!"
Nyx paused, his talons still gripping Jules''s head and forcing him to stop as well. He turned his sharp gaze towards Jules, his beady eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"What¡¯s wrong?" Jules asked, confusion evident in his voice.
Nyx released his grip on Jules''s head and landed gracefully in front of him. The crow tilted his head as he scrutinized Jules''s pants, a sense of disbelief washing over him.
"What...in the name of...?! A MAGIC CO-"
Jules looked down at Nyx, still perplexed by the crow''s sudden change in behavior. "Master Nyx? Is something wrong?"
Nyx shook his head vigorously, trying to clear his thoughts.
As they continued their journey through Rhysling, Nyx couldn''t help but marvel at the young man''s naivety and prowess.
Chapter 12: Simplicity
Zinnia stared at Silas with a pout, her face scrunched up in indignation. Silas raised an eyebrow, his expression as unreadable as ever. The lighting of the booth was managing to eerily obscure his features, making him look even more enigmatic.
"Alright, alright," Zinnia began, her voice tinged with annoyance. "You want to know how I met Selen? Fineee~."
Silas leaned back into his seat, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. Zinnia''s eyes flickered to the rhythmic movement before she continued.
"In Sichal, I was working as a liaison between the underground markets and customers looking to get things they probably~ shouldn''t," she explained. "You know, rare artifacts, forbidden tomes or scrolls, that sort of thing. I took commissions for making sure everyone met the correct people."
She paused, her eyes turning distant as she recalled the events. "A few weeks back, a lass with bright silver hair came fidgeting to meet me. She looked like she was about to jump out of her skin!"
Silas''s gaze remained steady on Zinnia, his interest piqued but his demeanor unchanging.
"She asked for my help to get someone that looked like her," Zinnia continued, "someone willing to work with her on a job with high risk and higher reward. She seemed desperate¡ but determined."
Zinnia ran a hand through her own hair, the silver strands shimmering before shifting into a bright red hue and once again changing into a violet color. She held the transformation for a moment before letting it revert back to bright silver.
"Selen''s eyes practically lit up in amazement when she saw that," Zinnia said with a small smile. "She couldn''t believe her luck to directly meet someone who could change their appearance so effectively."
Silas nodded slightly, acknowledging the skill involved in such an illusion.
"I told her if the job was workable, I could take it on," Zinnia continued. "But I needed details first. She was hesitant at first but eventually opened up about what she planned."
"It was risky," Zinnia said softly. "But the payoff... it was too tempting to pass up."
"So we planned," Zinnia continued. "We plotted details. It wasn''t easy, but we made it workable."
She leaned back in her seat mimicking Silas, her pout from the start replaced by a satisfied smirk. "And that''s how I met Selen and started getting involved in this whole mess~."
Silas leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he listened to Zinnia recount her meeting. His fingers continued their rhythmic drumming on the table, a subtle indication of his impatience.
"Too concise," Silas interjected in a monotone voice, cutting through Zinnia''s narrative. "How much of the story are you leaving out?"
Zinnia shrugged nonchalantly, her expression dismissive. "Most of it," she admitted. "A large part is irrelevant to the result."
Silas''s gaze bore into her, unyielding. "You expect me to believe you just ousted yourself as an Illusionist to an official member of a mystic guild? Just like that?"
Zinnia rolled her eyes dramatically, a hint of exasperation coloring her features. "Of course not, sheesh!" she retorted. "But it makes the story shorter and doesn''t change the end."
Silas leaned back again slightly, his lips curling into a faint smile. "A strange one¡" he commented. "Most practitioners of Illusionist arts that I have met lacked your sharpness of mind."
Zinnia arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "It''s stranger to me that you know about a niche cultivation path like mine."
Silas chuckled softly, a sound devoid of warmth. "Many who go down your path end up with fractured minds," he explained. "Tricking oneself and the world can become a truth that destroys the trickster, my little Illusionist friend."
Zinnia stuck her tongue out at him in a deadpan manner, unimpressed by his insight. "Do you want the story or to discuss Illusionists?" she asked pointedly.
Silas raised his glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before nodding in agreement. "Continue," he said.
Zinnia sighed and resumed her tale.
Selen''s room at the inn in Sichal was modest but functional, filled with the tools and trinkets of an Artificer. The air inside was thick with the scent of oils and metals, a trademark of her craft.
Zinnia lounged on a chair, her eyes sharp and attentive as Selen carefully opened a small, ornate box.
Inside lay the true Bloodmoon Thorn, its deep crimson thorns gleaming like polished rubies. Selen''s hands trembled slightly as she held it up for Zinnia to see.
"Impressive," Zinnia remarked, a smirk playing on her lips. "But you do realize you''ve just shown a treasure to a thief."
Selen stumbled over her next words, clearly taken aback by Zinnia''s bluntness. "I... I thought you should¡ª," she stammered.
Zinnia sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Get on with it," she urged, waving a hand dismissively. "I assume the deal you''re offering has more returns than just stealing this herb."
Selen took a deep breath, steadying herself. "Yes," she began, her voice gaining confidence. "An Artificer''s advancement requires a large number of high quality Earth Crystals or an exceptionally powerful Life Crystal to be drained and used as a supplement to our meditation technique. It''s essential for achieving the required amount of energy¡"
Zinnia made a circular gesture with her palm, indicating for Selen to speed up her explanation.
"I''m getting ready to advance," Selen admitted, her eyes meeting Zinnia''s with determination. "But I don''t have the private funds to complete my breakthrough. And I don''t want to bind myself even closer to the Artificer''s Guild for a subvention¡"
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"The thorn you have there is yours by right, else your guild would have confiscated it¡" Zinnia interjected. "However~ no matter the price you get for it, even at auction, you won''t be able to gather enough money for the Crystals you need I suppose?"
"Exactly," Selen confirmed. "So I had an idea¡ªsell two of them..."
Zinnia''s interest piqued at this revelation. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Go on," she prompted.
Selen reached into her case once more and pulled out another Bloodmoon Thorn. For a moment, Zinnia''s brow furrowed in confusion until Selen clarified.
"This one is a fake," Selen explained, holding up the second thorn. "A Mimic."
Zinnia¡¯s voice had a rhythmic quality to it, like a bard weaving an intricate tale. But Silas found himself growing impatient with her pacing.
¡°Stop.¡± He interrupted, his voice cutting through. ¡°This plan sounds like something a child would come up with.¡±
Zinnia narrowed her eyes, her face hardening. ¡°Would it work?¡± she challenged, her tone defiant.
Silas allowed a small smile to play at the corners of his mouth. ¡°Of course it would!¡± he admitted. ¡°Quite literally a plan so outlandish no one would consider such simplemindedness to be a grand deception.¡±
Zinnia¡¯s expression softened slightly, but her eyes remained sharp. She gestured for him to continue, clearly curious about his thoughts.
Silas leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. ¡°I would wager a guess the plan was then for Selen to go into closed-door cultivation inside Sichal,¡± he began, his voice raspy.
He paused, watching Zinnia¡¯s reaction. She nodded slightly, encouraging him to go on.
¡°You would head over to Rhysling,¡± Silas continued, ¡°where you knew an auction for cultivators would take place soon at the Starlight Bidders¡¯ Hall. You would assume Selen¡¯s identity and do what she would inside Rhysling¡ socialize, work, relax, perhaps even grow fond of this charming city. All the while, the real Selen would be waiting to appear inside Sichal when the fake Bloodmoon Thorn was discovered.¡±
Zinnia¡¯s lips curled into a knowing smile as she raised her hand and started making a gesture as if she were ringing a bell.
¡°Ding Ding Ding,¡± she said playfully. ¡°We have a detective here!¡±
Silas raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by her theatrics. ¡°Finish the story,¡± he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Zinnia sighed dramatically but complied. ¡°Alright,¡± she said, settling back down. ¡°So I spread word through The Rats that a Bloodmoon Thorn would be on sale here.¡±
She took a sip of her drink before continuing. "I had to make sure everything was perfectly set up," she said softly, almost as if speaking to herself. "Every detail of ''''Selen'''' had to be flawless~."
Silas watched her intently.
This woman wished to style herself as no mere novice illusionist; instead a perfectionist of deception and misdirection.
"Go on," he commanded.
Zinnia met his gaze and continued with renewed focus. "I used my skills to manifest Selen''s presence in Rhysling," she explained. "I attended gatherings and meetings as her, spreading word about the Thorn''s upcoming availability at auction."
"And when the time came for it?" he prompted.
Zinnia smiled slyly. "I would make sure everyone believed they were bidding on the real Bloodmoon Thorn," she said with satisfaction. "But in reality¡"
She trailed off deliberately, letting Silas fill in the rest with his imagination.
"A simple trick," Silas finally said, breaking the silence that had settled over them. He then asked what their idea was for after the auction.
Zinnia smirked and said ''''Even simpler¡''''
Zinnia stood by the window, her red hair catching the light as she listened intently to Selen.
Selen paced the room, her silver hair gleaming. ¡°Once a day or two passes after the auction ends,¡± she began, her voice steady but laced with anticipation, ¡°I will come back from my closed-door cultivation and make a scene at the guild. I¡¯ll claim my identity must have been impersonated when hearing about the auction...¡±
Zinnia raised an eyebrow, leaning against the windowsill. ¡°And then?¡±
Selen stopped pacing and turned to face her. ¡°I¡¯ll spread word that the real Bloodmoon Thorn is still with me in Sichal, far away from Rhysling,¡± she said confidently. ¡°Out of compassion for those who were tricked, I will then place the real Thorn up for a new auction here, giving everyone a chance to get the herb once again...¡±
Zinnia¡¯s lips curled into a skeptical smile. ¡°And this auction will have far more publicity than the first one, getting you a better chance at striking it rich?¡± she remarked.
¡°Exactly,¡± Selen confirmed. ¡°The buzz around my impersonator and the revelation of the fake Thorn will draw in even more curious gazes.¡±
Zinnia crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°What¡¯s to stop me from just taking all the money from the sale of the fake Thorn?¡± she questioned, her tone challenging.
Selen hesitated for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. She gulped before responding. ¡°It would be in your best interest to return with the money¡¡± she said slowly. ¡°I will allow you to take all of the excess profits from both auctions once I get enough for my Earth Crystals, along with a commission fee.¡±
Zinnia¡¯s skepticism deepened. ¡°And if I don¡¯t?¡±
Selen¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°I will probably still get enough for the Crystals from the real herb''s sale and hunt you down, or perhaps let others get wind of you,¡± she promised. ¡°Cross me, and you¡¯ll find yourself facing far more trouble then you would humoring me...¡±
Silas rubbed the bridge of his nose as Zinnia finished recounting the scene. He could almost see Selen¡¯s intense gaze and hear Zinnia¡¯s skeptical tone as they hashed out their plan.
¡°The ideas you came up with in this story,¡± Silas began, his voice tinged with disbelief, ¡°are quite literally those of a child.¡±
Zinnia grinned at him from across the table. ¡°What¡¯s worse is that you can see the logic behind it,¡± she said knowingly.
Silas sighed deeply, shaking his head slightly. ¡°Knowing how the cultivator world works¡ yes,¡± he admitted.
Zinnia¡¯s grin widened as she leaned back in her chair, clearly pleased with herself. ¡°I warned you it was an even simpler plan for when the cat got out of the bag~¡± she said triumphantly.
Silas studied her for a moment longer before letting out a low chuckle. Despite himself, he couldn¡¯t help but be impressed by their audacity.
Several hours had quickly passed inside the booth. Silas was relaxed in his seat, his eyes fixed on Zinnia as she answered the rest of his questions.
Zinnia stretched out, her arms reaching above her head as she let out a satisfied moan. "Mmmm," she sighed, her body arching slightly before she relaxed back into her seat. Her gaze settled on Silas, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "So, what''s your angle here exactly? Aside from the herb."
Silas didn''t move a muscle from his spot, his expression stoic. "I''ve already told you everything you needed to know when we first met," he replied smoothly. "Information on where the Thorn was found."
Zinnia tilted her head, a skeptical smile playing on her lips. "If that''s the case, why not just finish me here and rush to Sichal? Force it out of Selen?"
Silas''s eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained calm. "I could use some more Reshal for my future," he said. "Besides, as you''ve said, Selen will sell the Thorn in Sichal when this fake is noticed. I was going to make a trip there even without this debacle. It¡¯s in my interest not to cause panic in that city by brutalizing an Artificer there."
Zinnia placed her hands far across the table and leaned forward, her assets getting pressed into the table her interest shifting. "So what¡¯s your proposition to me for a bigger payday, friend?"
Silas''s lips curved into a faint smile. "That topic will be discussed inside my room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge."
Zinnia rolled her eyes but couldn''t hide her curiosity. "Fine," she said with a mock sigh of resignation. "But considering the strange occurrences around the Magistrate lately, I should probably go assure him I''m fine." She made a face, sticking out her tongue at Silas.
Silas nodded, his expression hardened once more. "Indeed."
Zinnia stood up, stretching once more before giving Silas a pointed look. "When do we meet up?" she asked.
Silas glanced at the door before meeting her gaze again. "Sunset." he said simply.
With that, Zinnia turned and made her way out of the bar, unobstructed by Silas.
Chapter 13: Comfortable?
The sun had started it''s descent from midday, painting the sky with soft orange hues. Zinnia walked briskly through the streets, her mind filled with thoughts of the conversation she had just had with Silas. A slight chill began to form in the air as she approached Castle Rhysling.
Inside her head, Zinnia had a conversation with herself, her thoughts swirling like a storm. ''''Such a shitty situation,'''' she thought bitterly. ''''The Ji fucker strong-armed me into agreeing to partner up. Ahhh~~ My stomach''s been killing me the whole damn conversation.''''
She sighed inwardly, her steps echoing against the cobblestones. ''''I said what he wanted to hear,'''' she continued, ''''and I did my best to sell myself as well¡''''''. But doubt gnawed at her, and she wondered if she should run to the Magistrate and report that she was being threatened.
''''Would it even matter?'''' she questioned herself, feeling a churn in her stomach at the thought. '''' I feel like it would be a dead end.''''
As Zinnia passed through the gate, she wrinkled her nose at the lingering stench from this morning''s incident involving mass diarrhea. The smell had mostly dissipated, but traces of it still clung to the air like an unwelcome memory.
She made her way toward her room, lost in thought, when a manservant came running towards her. His face was sickly pale, likely a victim of the morning''s misfortune. He stopped in front of her, panting heavily.
"The Lord Magistrate wishes to speak with you honored guest!" he managed to say between breaths. "It''s about your new acquaintance."
Zinnia tilted her head to the side, confusion flickering across her features. "My new acquaintance?" she echoed.
The manservant nodded weakly before straightening up and trying to compose himself. "Yes, he insists on seeing you immediately."
Zinnia''s mind raced once more as she agreed and followed him through the winding corridors of Castle Rhysling. The walls seemed to close in around her as they walked, and she couldn''t shake the feeling that this meeting would only complicate things further.
Great, she thought sarcastically as they neared their destination. ''''Just what I needed¡ªanother layer of intrigue to keep track of.''''
With each step closer to the Magistrate''s chambers, Zinnia prepared herself for whatever lay ahead.
Still masquerading as Selen, she arrived in front of the Magistrate. The air in the room felt heavy, a mixture of incense and the lingering scent of the morning''s horror. She took in the sight of the Magistrate, noting how he seemed to be rather worse for ware.
''''He seems to have aged since last night¡ either worries about the attacks are getting to him or the shits hit him with a vengeance¡'''' she thought to herself, a wry smile tugging at her lips.
She put on a brighter smile and asked, "What is the matter, Lord Magistrate?"
The Magistrate returned her smile, though it was tired and worn. "Nothing bad," he assured her, his voice carrying a hint of weariness.
He breathed in deeply, his chest rising and falling with a heavy sigh. With a solemn look in his eyes, he continued, "I remembered why the name Ji was familiar to me."
Zinnia''s brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "Why?" she asked, tilting her head.
The Magistrate stood up and moved toward a nearby window, his back now facing her. The fading light from outside made it''s way across the room as he began his story.
"The previous administrator of Rhysling who ruled some forty years back was not a competent man, not even a good man by any measure," he sighed. "he was murdered¡ perhaps as a divine punishment for his actions¡ he had one of the greatest misfortunes possible befall both him and Rhysling in the last days of his life¡ I dare not mention it''s name."
Zinnia listened intently, her mind racing with questions, but she kept quiet. The Magistrate''s voice grew more somber as he spoke.
"More than thirty years would pass before I was dispatched to replace him¡ the Imperial Court could not spare their resources on an already ravaged Rhysling while the entire Empire was under threat."
He turned slightly, his profile outlined against the window''s light. "The only reason Rhysling wasn¡¯t completely obliterated the same night after my predecessor died was due to the intervention of one man called Ji."
Zinnia''s confusion deepened. The Magistrate continued, his voice steady and reverent.
"He never asked for thanks or took credit for the deed," he said. "But the Imperial Palace was informed of the exact events by one of the survivors who saw everything unfold."
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, unable to hide her bewilderment.
The Magistrate turned fully now, facing her with a grave expression. "I strongly believe the hero of that night is the man you have been meeting," he said.
He paused for a moment before adding, "The survivor who reported to the crown was none other than Guildmaster Arim. His Master and his Master''s brother died heroically in those tragic events¡"
"What do you want from me by telling me all this?" she asked, her voice measured and calm.
The Magistrate''s eyes, though weary, held a glint of sincerity. "I simply wish for you to know that you are dealing with a truly powerful and benevolent individual if he is indeed the one I am thinking of," he said.
Zinnia''s mind raced. ''''Benevolent my fine ass! That fucker has to be a stone cold killer!'''' she thought, but she kept her face composed.
The Magistrate continued, "You have been a good friend to Castle Rhysling during our short acquaintance. I wanted you to be informed as much as possible." He offered her a tired smile. "You are free to go if you have no further questions."
Zinnia forced a smile onto her lips. "Thank you for your kind intentions Lord Magistrate," she said, inclining her head slightly.
He chuckled softly. "Please, call me Lachlan," he said. "It''s a name I so rarely hear nowadays."
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She nodded. "Of course, Lord Lachlan."
With that, she turned and made her way out of the room. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions as she navigated back to her quarters.
''''What kind of game is Ji playing?'''' she wondered. She had seen enough in their brief interactions to know that he was anything but benevolent. Calculating, dangerous, and unpredictable¡ªthose were more fitting descriptions.
Reaching her room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, letting out a long breath. The events of the day replayed in her mind: The change of plans, Ji''s unsettling presence and and now this new layer of complexity.
She moved to the small desk in her room and sat down heavily on the chair. Her fingers drummed on the wooden surface as she tried to piece everything together. If that man was indeed this powerful figure from Rhysling''s past, it added another layer of danger to her already precarious situation.
Zinnia glanced at herself in the mirror across the room, still in Selen''s form. She let out a bitter laugh. "Benevolent," she muttered under her breath. "Rightttt~."
The Illusionist within her knew better than to take things at face value. She had to tread carefully, now more than ever.
''''Alright,'''' she thought, ''''let''s think this through.'''' She needed to figure out Ji and how to go about her next steps.
Silas made his way back to the inn, his mind half-occupied with thoughts of Nyx. The crow had a knack for disappearing, but Silas knew better than to worry. Nyx was more than capable of taking care of himself. He pushed the thought aside, letting the city''s atmosphere wash over him.
As he was near the exit of the entertainment district, his attention was caught by a commotion near the square. A young priest of Probitas stood atop a makeshift platform, passionately delivering a sermon. The priest''s voice carried through the air, condemning the entertainment district''s vices and urging the crowd to turn their attention back to the divine.
"Turn away from the filth that corrupts your souls!" the priest cried, his eyes blazing with fervor. "Probitas calls for your devotion, for your unwavering integrity!"
Silas let out a low chuckle, amused by the priest''s antics. The crowd seemed half-interested, some nodding along while others cast skeptical glances. Silas decided to approach, curiosity piqued.
"Faith¡¯s been slipping, huh?" Silas asked, his raspy voice cutting through the sermon.
The priest paused mid-sentence, turning to face Silas. His eyes narrowed as he took in Silas''s appearance.
"Another one of you undevout," the priest said with a shake of his head.
Silas widened his eyes in genuine surprise. "Out of anyone here," he said slowly, "I am probably the one with the most belief in the existence of the gods."
The priest re-examined him, his skepticism wavering slightly at the remark. A smile crept onto his lips as he spoke. "If that is true, then you are truly a blessed individual!"
Silas scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Blessed? Definitely," he nodded in agreement.
¡°Tell me, if you would, what a priest of Probitas is doing in Rhysling?¡± Silas asked casually.
The priest responded without hesitation, ¡°For the auction, of course! Any trade institution that wishes to demonstrate its integrity must call upon the devout of Probitas to oversee the proceedings!¡±
Silas nodded at the younger man, agreeing with his statement. Yet, as he did, an idea began to form inside his head...
The priest''s eyes followed Silas''s movements as he extended a small phial toward him. "What''s this?" the priest asked, eyeing it warily.
"A tonic for energy," Silas replied smoothly. "So that you may continue spreading your message here while you wait for the auction."
The priest hesitated, suspicion flickering in his eyes. Silas put on a kind smile, one that radiated sincerity.
"It will simply give your voice more passion." Silas said softly.
The priest felt an odd sense of truthfulness emanating from Silas. He thought to himself that a higher-level priest could probably discern more about this man than he could. Still, something in Silas compelled him to take a chance.
"Thank you," the priest said finally, accepting the phial.
Silas inclined his head slightly in farewell. "Goodbye and good luck." he said before turning and making his way back toward the inn.
As he walked away, he heard the priest resume his preaching with renewed vigor. Silas couldn''t help but sigh at how easily people could be swayed by a few well-chosen words.
Reaching the Merry Minstrel Lodge, Silas entered without another glance back outside. The inn''s warmth enveloped him as he crossed the lobby and headed toward his room.
Silas sat in his room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge, a scroll of human anatomy spread out before him on the table. The intricate diagrams and arcane symbols drawn on the body held his attention as he traced the lines with a finger, his mind absorbing every detail. Outside, the sun began its descent.
"Almost time," Silas murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper.
As if on cue, a flutter of wings drew his attention to the window. Nyx landed gracefully on the sill, his feathers ruffled from his latest escapade. Silas raised an eyebrow and took a deliberate sniff of the air around Nyx.
"Brothel?" Silas asked, a hint of amusement in his raspy voice.
Nyx squawked and nodded vigorously, confirming Silas''s suspicion. The crow''s eyes were alight with mischief as he settled himself more comfortably on the sill.
Silas nodded in acknowledgment. "A guest will arrive soon for us," he informed Nyx, turning back to his scroll for a moment before another thought struck him. "Is the boy still alive?"
The question set Nyx off into a burst of animated squawks and flaps. He hopped from one foot to another, recounting his day''s adventures with exaggerated gestures. Silas listened intently, deciphering the crow''s excited retelling. When Nyx squawked about Jules''s naive words and the aftermath of the brothel, Silas couldn''t help but let out an actual laugh¡ªa rare sound, very much confirming a little humanity within him.
Nyx paused in his storytelling and tilted his head, squawking a question at Silas.
Silas crossed his arms over his chest. "What happened in the bar?" he echoed thoughtfully. He told Nyx about the Illusionist''s deception and their exchange.
Nyx squawked again, this time with a note of curiosity.
"She can serve our ends well," Silas stated.
Time passed in comfortable silence as Silas returned to studying the scroll, occasionally glancing at Nyx who preened himself contentedly on the windowsill. The room grew darker as evening settled in fully.
A soft cough interrupted their quietude, followed by a gentle knock at the door. Silas''s eyes flicked toward it as he heard one of the inn''s staff whisper through the wood.
"Honored guest," came the hushed voice, "a visitor wishes to have a meeting with you."
Silas exchanged a look with Nyx before rising from his chair¡
Silas opened the door to his room, his eyes immediately locking onto the figure standing behind the inn''s staff member. The woman was hunched over, an eyepatch covering one eye, and her mouth gaped with missing teeth. Her appearance was almost grotesque in its pitifulness.
The staff member leaned closer to Silas, his voice barely a whisper. "She insists she must meet with you under your invitation to solve a ''problem'' you''ve been having."
Silas''s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the woman. Leaning in close to the staff member''s ear, he spoke softly but with an edge that brooked no misunderstanding. "I trust you will handle this with the utmost discretion."
The staff member nodded quickly, his professionalism unwavering. "It shall be as you requested, Sir."
Silas gave a curt nod and stepped aside, allowing the woman to shuffle into the room. He shut the door behind her with a deliberate click, sealing them in privacy.
"If this is some attempt at getting even with me," Silas began, his voice laced with sarcasm, "it could use more work."
The old woman straightened up abruptly, pulling off the eyepatch to reveal a perfectly healthy eye beneath. Her mouth shifted as teeth reappeared, and within moments, "Selen" stood before him in all her charm.
Zinnia raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk playing on her lips. "A good way to keep mouths shut," she remarked. "The staff of a fancy place like this would definitely not want to get branded as inconsiderate."
Before Silas could respond, Nyx fluttered from his perch and landed on top of Zinnia''s head. With a squawk and a flap of his wings, he dragged her down until she was on her knees down on the floor.
Silas watched the scene unfold, pulling out a chair and sitting down in front of her. He looked down at Zinnia, who now sat cross-legged on the floor with Nyx perched on her head.
"Comfortable?" Silas asked dryly.
Zinnia adjusted herself slightly but made no move to rise. "As comfortable as one can be under such circumstances," she replied.
Zinnia met his gaze evenly. "Well? I am here."
Silas''s lips curled into a half-smile. "Indeed you are."
Chapter 14: Targets
Silas adjusted himself in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. The room was well-lit, creating an almost surreal atmosphere of a criminal on trial with Zinnia cross-legged on the floor in front of him. Nyx remained perched on Zinnia''s head, his look filled with amusement and malice in equal measure.
"Let''s get to the point," Silas began, his voice low. "You want know why you''re here."
Zinnia shifted slightly, her gaze steady "I assume it''s not just to play games again?" she replied.
Silas leaned forward, his hand moving slowly across his face. As he did so, the effects of the blue pill he had consumed earlier began to fade. His features transformed, revealing the true visage beneath¡ªthe ghastly allure that had both beckoned and repelled many. His eyes, now darker and more intense, seemed to draw in the very light around them.
Zinnia''s eyes widened in shock. "Good gods!," she muttered, "you look like you crawled out of the underworld!"
Silas chuckled softly, though there was no warmth in it. "Flattery will get you nowhere," he said. "Now, show me what you are hiding underneath¡"
Zinnia hesitated for a moment before sighing. With a wave of her hand, the illusion that cloaked her features dissipated. Her red hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her face, adorned with freckles had a strange sort of unassuming charm.
Silas studied her intently. "Interesting," he murmured. "I see why you feel the need to obscure your features."
Zinnia''s eyes narrowed in annoyance. "And I see why you prefer hiding yours," she retorted.
Silas ignored her jab and leaned back once more. "I have a proposition for you," he said, his tone turning serious. "Would you be interested in the single greatest payday a thief could have in this country?"
Zinnia''s expression shifted from annoyance to intrigue. "Go on," she urged.
Silas''s smile widened ever so slightly.
"I''m heading towards Lythoria after Sichal," Silas began, his voice smooth but laced with an edge. "There''s an item I need from an old acquaintance there."
Zinnia''s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. "And what item might that be?" she asked, her tone cautious.
Silas''s lips curled into a faint smile. "That you do not need to know. It however is more than likely not within my acquaintances house, but rather inside one of three vaults," he continued.
Zinnia''s eyes widened in shock. "You''re insane!" she exclaimed. "You realize messing around like that in the capital is suicide?!"
Silas remained unfazed by her outburst. "The reward will be worth it," he said calmly.
"You''re talking about potentially pissing off the Imperial Guards!" Zinnia pressed on, her voice rising with urgency. "They''re almost all second-step warriors or martial artists! And if you cause too much trouble for the guilds, they might send out their Guardians!"
Silas interrupted her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yes well, more than likely all of them will be very upset. The vaults I wish to strike are in fact the Alchemist''s Guild headquarters, the Temple of Rovinius, and the Imperial treasury," he stated matter-of-factly.
Zinnia''s jaw fell open in shock. Before she could close it and respond, Nyx deftly slipped a pill into her mouth. She coughed violently, her face contorting in pain and confusion.
"What the fuck?!" she managed to choke out between coughs.
Silas tilted his head slightly, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Are your intelligent-looking eyes just for show?" he asked coolly.
Zinnia glared at him through gritted teeth as Nyx kept her firmly seated on the floor.
"Your greed is sufficient to walk back into a viper''s nest for a promise of reward," Silas continued, his tone turning darker. "It will make you a rich woman, I assure you. But during our affiliation, your freedom will now no longer be yours."
He reached into his satchel on the table and pulled out a small metal tin. Opening it revealed several pills nestled inside.
"That pill is a slow-acting poison," he explained calmly. "These are suppressors, not cures." He held up one of the pills between his fingers. "You can live about seven days without one of them. After that... well, let''s just say your death would be quite a sight."
Zinnia''s eyes flickered with fear and anger as she stared at him.
"You''ll receive the true antidote after we complete my goal," Silas concluded.
Nyx ruffled his feathers atop Zinnia''s head as she processed this new reality.
In the heart of Lythoria, the Empire''s capital, the shrine to Rovinius stood as a beacon of enlightenment and transformation. The grand structure, adorned with intricate carvings and celestial motifs, drew scholars and Alchemists from across the continent. Within its hallowed halls, the air was thick with the scent of incense and the murmurs of fervent prayers.
Past the bustling corridors filled with priests and supplicants seeking divine guidance, above the archives brimming with ancient texts and alchemical scrolls, lay a secluded chamber. This was the sanctum of the Archbishop of Rovinius, a man burdened by a weight that seemed to crush his very soul.
The room was barely lit by flickering candles, casting terrifying shadows across the room. In the center stood a small statue of Rovinius, its golden eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. Before this sacred effigy knelt the Archbishop, his knees bloody from continuous kowtows. Tears streamed down his weathered face as he whispered desperate apologies to his god.
"Forgive me," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I beg for your forgiveness."
His hands trembled as he clutched at the hem of his ornate robes, fingers stained with blood from where they had dug into his flesh. The Archbishop''s eyes were hollow, shadowed by sins and deep remorse.
"We had no choice," he continued, his words choked with sorrow. "The beast... it was too much. Its mania was unending!"
He slammed his head down in front of the altar, a dull thud echoing through the cold, silent room. Each impact seemed to reverberate through his very being, a physical manifestation of his inner torment.
"We did what we had to!" he whispered hoarsely. "All twelve Archbishops... we couldn''t let the faithful lose everything!"
His voice grew softer, barely audible over the sound of his labored breathing. "A miracle within our power was not enough to stop a creature so broken... it... it was the only way!"
The Archbishop''s tears mingled with the blood on the floor as he continued his supplication. His body shook with each sob, each word a plea for forgiveness that seemed to fall on deaf ears.
The statue of Rovinius stood unmoved in the center of the room, its golden eyes watching over him with an inscrutable gaze. The divine figure''s presence was both comforting and condemning, a witness to the Archbishop''s anguish.
As he knelt there in despair, time seemed to stretch on endlessly. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on his face, highlighting every line etched by years of guilt and sorrow.
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In this sacred chamber, where logic and reason were revered above all else, the Archbishop found himself lost in a sea of emotion. His faith had been tested beyond its limits, and now he sought solace in the only way he knew how¡ªthrough fervent prayer and self-punishment.
But even as he slammed his head against the cold stone floor once more, a part of him wondered if forgiveness for their sacrilegious acts twenty years ago would ever truly come¡
Zinnia glared at Silas, her unhappiness palpable.
¡°You¡¯re really fucking insane!¡± she spat, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief.
Silas met her gaze with a calm, perhaps even clinical detachment. ¡°How else would you guarantee someone''s allegiance without at least the fear of death?¡± His tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather.
Zinnia''s glaring eyes narrowed, skepticism painted on her freckled face. "So, you think you can just make me fall in line with threats and fear?"
Silas''s rubbed his chin as he then told her. "Fear, my little thief, is a powerful motivator. It can bend even the strongest wills. But it¡¯s not the only tool at my disposal if you wish for something more painful."
Zinnia stuck her tongue out at him, a childish gesture that seemed out of place given the gravity of their conversation. Silas continued as if he hadn¡¯t noticed.
¡°This little adventure of mine we will undertake, is what will satiate a deceitful little money grubbing glutton like you. Worry not, by the time we reach the capital, you will believe in my¡ capabilities.¡± He smiled after finishing his last sentence, a smile that sent a shiver down Zinnia¡¯s spine.
He clapped his hands together suddenly, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet room. ¡°Now,¡± he said, his tone brisk and businesslike, ¡°since you have been informed of your new job, let¡¯s discuss the auction at Starlight Bidders¡¯ Hall.¡±
Zinnia threw her hands up in frustration. ¡°You can¡¯t just switch from planning to rob the fucking capital back to a little auction hustle!!!¡± Her voice rose with each word, echoing off the walls.
Silas didn¡¯t acknowledge her outburst. Instead, he turned his attention to Nyx, who flew over to his satchel and pulled out the Mimic he had stolen from Zinnia. The crow dropped it into Silas¡¯s hand with an amused caw.
¡°¡so it was indeed you messing with the castle,¡± Zinnia muttered under her breath, more to herself than to anyone else.
Silas played with the Mimic in his hands, turning it over and examining it. ¡°The Mimic in your room right now is of much higher quality then this one,¡± he said casually. ¡°This one could fool many Masters and even some second-step Sages¡ Hmm, perhaps I would even dare to say the only other profession, aside from us Alchemists, that could see through it''s flaws are true second step Artificers, or Artifact Engineers if you would prefer.¡±
Zinnia¡¯s curiosity got the better of her. ¡°What¡¯s the flaw?¡± she asked.
Silas looked down at her, ¡°It wasn¡¯t attuned through one¡¯s energy, but rather using an Artificer¡¯s manufacturing tools powered by low class Earth Crystals¡¡±
The opulence of the meeting room in Lythoria¡¯s Alchemist Guild was overshadowed by the tension that hung thick in the air. Grandmaster Ryker, his face marred by a grotesque scar and his hands appearing as if they were forged from liquid mercury, stood at the head of a grand table. With a sudden, violent motion, he slammed his fist down, shattering the table into splinters.
¡°Incompetent fools!¡± he roared, his voice echoing off the intricately decorated walls. The five alchemists seated around him recoiled at his fury. Each one wore expressions ranging from fear to desperation.
Ryker¡¯s eyes blazed with an intensity that seemed to cut through them. ¡°The Empire has twelve million citizens,¡± he continued, his voice dripping with disdain. ¡°For ten years, you have failed to find even one mortal who meets my requirements!¡±
His words hung in the air like a death sentence. The Alchemists exchanged nervous glances but dared not speak.
Suddenly, Ryker¡¯s body convulsed with a violent cough, and he spat out a drop of purple liquid that sizzled upon hitting the floor. It began to evaporate almost immediately, sending tendrils of menacing wind swirling around the room.
Panic erupted among the gathered Alchemists. Each one scrambled to use their concoctions designed for the most dire of emergencies¡ªAlchemist grooves came to life, vials were uncorked, powders were scattered, and incantations were muttered as they fortified their defenses against the potential toxin. They locked their energy tightly within themselves, not allowing even the finest strand to leak out.
Ryker sneered at their frantic actions. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a blinding white flame that seemed to materialize from nothingness in his hand. The Alchemist¡¯s Flame¡ªa hallmark of a third-step Alchemist, a Paramount¡ªburned brightly as he directed it toward the violet drop on the floor.
The flame engulfed the drop, working meticulously to de-concoct the violent mixture. The room was filled with an eerie silence as everyone watched the flame consume and neutralize the threat.
Satisfied that the danger had passed, Ryker collapsed back into his chair with a weary sigh. ¡°A dead creature commands more expediency from you than your own Grandmaster,¡± he said bitterly.
He coughed again, this time expelling blood that stained his lips crimson. His disfigured face twisted in pain and frustration as he lamented his wretched fate. The room remained silent, each Alchemist too afraid to speak or move under Ryker¡¯s baleful gaze.
Finally, one of them mustered the courage to break the silence. ¡°Grandmaster Ryker,¡± she began tentatively, ¡°we will redouble our efforts.¡±
Ryker¡¯s eyes flicked toward her, and she shrank back under his scrutiny but held her ground.
¡°See that you do,¡± he said coldly.
Silas leaned back in his chair continuing his talk, his eyes latched on to Zinnia. Nyx moved to perch himself on the windowsill, preening his feathers with great care. Zinnia then asked a question she was curious about.
¡°Indulge me¡ how do you know so much about other professions?¡± she asked, crossing her arms.
Silas¡¯s lips curled into a faint smile. ¡°Learning has always been a hobby of mine,¡± he replied, his tone casual. ¡°You should perhaps acquire it yourself. It may serve you well if you survive me!¡±
Zinnia rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his suggestion. Silas closed his eyes for a moment, as if recalling a distant memory.
¡°The reason I knew you were an Illusionist,¡± he began, ¡°is because I met one in my youth. We had a little ''trade of knowledge'' if you will. She showed me a few tricks to recognize Shapeshifters.¡±
Zinnia¡¯s eyes bulged out of her eye sockets. ¡°Wait!¡± she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. ¡°An Illusionist broke the taboo of silence and traded out secrets?!¡±
Silas opened his eyes and looked at her with a bemused expression. ¡°Who the fuck was going to know?¡± he said with a rumbling low laugh that seemed to resonate through the room.
However, almost as soon as the laugh started it then abruptly stopped, as if someone had cut the strings of a puppet. Silas¡¯s then resumed speaking, almost mechanically.
¡°Tomorrow at the auction,¡± he began, his voice devoid of any previous mirth, ¡°you will play your part according to this version of events.¡±
Zinnia blinked, clearly confused by the sudden change in his demeanor but listened closely nonetheless.
¡°You will enter the auction hall disguised as Selen of course, I will attend it alongside Arim¡¡± Silas began unveiling his thoughts. He continued, ¡°When the Bloodmoon Thorn is presented...¡±
By the time Silas finished speaking, Zinnia¡¯s face was frozen in a stupefied expression. Nyx hopped from the windowsill onto her shoulder and pointed at her face with one wing, letting out a series of squawking laughs that filled the room.
Inside the Imperial Palace''s secret chamber, Empress Imela stood at the center, her sharp features illuminated by the crackling energy that surrounded her. Her dark hair, styled neatly to one side, framed her intense eyes. She extended one hand, summoning a bolt of lightning that danced between her fingers. With the other hand, she conjured a swirling vortex of water, each droplet moving in perfect harmony with the electric current.
From a shadowed corner of the room, Emperor Aldous watched his daughter with a stern, yet approving gaze. His bald head and severe expression gave him an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. The deep wrinkles on his face spoke of a life spent in intense discipline. Though the world believed him dead, Aldous had in fact chosen to step back from the throne, passing it on early to his more than capable daughter.
"Focus on your breath," Aldous instructed, his voice commanding yet calm. "Your energy is no longer in the first stage, the transformed mana you possess must be converted fully into elemental energy. The two elements you are holding now must be harmonized if you are to ascend to a higher level, let them flow together as one¡"
Imela nodded, absorbing his words with the same intensity she applied to her training. She closed her eyes briefly, centering herself before opening them again. The lightning and water began to move in sync, their energies intertwining seamlessly. With a final gesture, she dispersed both elements into the air.
Breathing deeply, Imela turned to face her father. "How was that?"
Aldous gave a nod of approval. "Excellent. You''ve begun to master the balance between lightning and water."
She smiled faintly at his praise before taking another deep breath. "How is everything within the Empire?" he asked.
"The economy is booming, so quite good¡" Imela began, her tone confident yet measured. "My reforms have borne fruit. The people have accepted me into their hearts as the new ruler quite quickly."
Aldous listened intently as she continued.
"The army remains loyal," she said. "The churches'' influence has waned more significantly since their stunt twenty years ago. They are very much drained of power."
Aldous nodded again, a rare smile touching his lips. "You''ve done well, Imela."
Her expression softened for a moment before she asked, "Do you think these peaceful times will last?"
The former emperor shook his head slowly. "Peace never lasts forever," he said with a hint of regret in his voice. "But at least you don''t have to deal too much with the Archbishops or ''those'' plagues."
Imela''s brow furrowed slightly at his choice of words. "The Archbishops will eventually regain their power," she pointed out pragmatically. "And new troublemakers can always appear once the old ones are gone."
Aldous chuckled softly at his ever-serious daughter¡¯s response. "With a mind like yours," he said warmly, "your era can only ever be more glorious than mine."
Imela''s lips curved into a small smile at his words before she returned to her usual composed demeanor.
The bond between father and daughter was evident in their exchange¡
Chapter 15: The Auction
The sun was approaching it''s zenith as it bathed the Starlight Bidder''s Hall in a warm light.
A crowd had formed in front of the grand auction house, a gathering of cultivators from various guilds and sects. Some engaged in pleasant conversation, their voices a mix of excitement and anticipation. Others stood aloof, their expressions unreadable as they observed the scene with indifference. The air buzzed with the energy of so many powerful and varied individuals in one place.
Silas, still going by his persona as Senior Ji, stood out among the crowd. Perched on his shoulder was Nyx, who surveyed the crowd with a slight measure of boredom. Silas engaged in idle chatter with Arim, the Rhysling Alchemist Guildmaster, who appeared outwardly quite energetic.
"Honored Senior, have you heard about the batch of Arianic Catalysts from the Rodam Alchemists that will be on sale?" Arim asked, his voice steady but his eyes darting around nervously.
Silas nodded slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I did. Overpriced and underwhelming as usual¡"
Their conversation was interrupted by a lively greeting from Zinnia, disguised as Selen.
"Guildmaster Arim! Senior Ji!" she called out cheerfully. "What a delightful morning for an auction!" a cheeky wink followed her greeting.
Arim''s face lit up with relief at her arrival. "Master Selen," he greeted her warmly before turning to Silas. "It''s good to see that you and Senior Ji have settled your misunderstandings."
Zinnia flashed a flirty smile at Silas, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, we''ve come to an understanding," she said playfully.
Silas met her gaze with an inscrutable expression, his eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts. "Indeed," he replied smoothly.
Before the conversation could continue further, an employee of the Starlight Bidders¡¯ Hall approached Arim and whispered something urgently into his ear. Arim''s expression shifted from relaxed to concerned in an instant.
"Excuse me," he said hastily to Silas and Zinnia. "As one of the patrons of the hall, I must attend to a little matter that has popped up about who is going to host the auction."
With that, Arim hurried away, leaving Silas and Zinnia standing together amidst the bustling crowd.
Zinnia leaned closer to Silas, her voice low yet perky. "Soo, think you will get lucky inside the auction today~?"
Silas chuckled briefly before responding in a measured tone. "Oh we shall see I suppose, my luck has not failed me yet when it comes to making a deal."
Nyx ruffled his feathers and let out a soft caw as if agreeing with Silas.
The two stood in silence for a moment, observing the varied cultivators around them.
For now, patience was key.
Kell stood among his followers, a small group of disciples from the Rumbling Earth Sect. His green eyes sparkled with excitement as he spoke, his voice youthful and enthusiastic.
"I''ve heard that today''s auction will feature some awesome rare weapons!" Kell said, his hands gesturing animatedly. "I can''t wait to see what treasures we might get!"
His followers nodded in agreement, their expressions mirroring his anticipation. One of them, a tall young man with a serious demeanor, spoke up.
"Young Master, it''s good to see you so lively."
Another disciple, a petite woman with a gentle smile, added, "Yes, Young Master. We wish you the best of luck in today''s auction. May you find something truly remarkable."
Kell''s face lit up with gratitude. "Thank you all. Having you by my side means a lot to me!"
As they continued their conversation, the atmosphere remained light and pleasant. Kell''s followers were genuinely pleased to see their young master enjoying himself outside the confines of their sect''s compound.
Suddenly, a playful smack landed on Kell''s back, causing him to turn around in surprise. Standing behind him was the Young Mistress of the Heavenly Flame Sect, dressed in a fiery red silken dress that tantalized the eyes of anyone with the guts to look at her.
"Emma!" Kell exclaimed cheerfully. "What brings you here?"
Emma''s eyes were filled with joy as she crossed her arms and tilted her head slightly. "I could ask you the same thing, Kell. It''s not every day I see the Young Master of the Rumbling Earth Sect out and about like this."
Kell blushed slightly and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Well, I thought I''d give myself a break and have some fun."
Emma chuckled softly. "It''s good to see you out here, Kell. I thought I''d give you some face by accompanying you today."
Before Kell could respond, a commotion drew their attention. The crowd''s focus shifted towards the entrance of the auction house where a Priest of Probitas stood towering over two individuals¡ªa staff member based on the uniform and a man who was dressed in clothes. Both were on their knees, clutching their injured hands.
The Priest''s mace was bloodied, and his voice rang out with righteous fury as he berated the two men.
"You dare attempt bribery in the presence of Probitas?!" he thundered. "Justice will be served for your dishonesty!!!"
The crowd murmured among themselves as they watched the scene unfold. Kell''s expression turned serious as he observed the priest''s actions.
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Emma leaned closer to Kell and whispered, "Looks like things are getting interesting."
Kell nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the priest and the two men on their knees. The calm atmosphere from moments ago had been replaced by tension and curiosity as everyone waited to see what would happen next.
The priest''s mace gleamed ominously as he raised it high, his voice booming with self-righteous fury.
Silas moved swiftly, his black robes flowing around him like shadows. He reached the Priest just as the mace began its deadly descent. With a firm grip, he caught the priest''s wrist mid-swing. The force of his intervention sent a ripple through the crowd.
The Priest of Probitas turned, eyes blazing with anger. "You dare!" he spat, almost choking on his rage.
Silas met his gaze with a soft smile and bowed his head slightly. "Why attack these men, honorable Priest?" His voice was calm, almost soothing.
The man in finer clothes saw his chance and spoke up, desperation coloring his words. "This Priest is a nutjob! He accused me of bribing this staff member when I was just gifting him for helping put out a fire that struck my hat shop the other day. I''m not even participating in the auction!"
The Priest''s face quickly turned bright red, embarrassment replacing his earlier fury. He gnawed at his teeth, struggling to find words.
Silas released his grip on the priest''s wrist and nodded thoughtfully. "I see. It is good to see your enthusiasm from yesterday remains intact," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "However, overzealousness is never a good thing!"
Recognition dawned in the priest''s eyes as he finally took in Silas''s face. His shoulders slumped, and he lowered his head reluctantly. "I have shamed myself," he admitted.
As they conversed, a commanding voice cut through the tension like a blade. "What is going on here?"
All heads turned towards the entrance of the Starlight Bidders¡¯ Hall. There stood the Magistrate of Rhysling, armed with a saber at his side. His rotund frame did nothing to diminish the authority that radiated from him.
Silas stepped back slightly, allowing the Magistrate to take in the scene fully. The crowd parted to give him space as he approached, each step echoing with purpose.
"What is this commotion about?" he demanded.
The Priest of Probitas swallowed hard before speaking. "I... I believed these men were guilty of bribery," he stammered.
Lachlan''s gaze hardened as he looked at the two men still kneeling on the ground. "Is this true?" he asked them directly.
The man in finer clothes shook his head vigorously. "No, Lord Magistrate! I was merely showing gratitude for assistance rendered."
Lachlan considered this for a moment before nodding slowly. "Very well," he said finally. "Rise."
The two men scrambled to their feet, relief evident on their faces.
Lachlan turned back to Silas and gave a small nod of approval. "Thank you for intervening," he said quietly.
Silas inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment but remained silent.
With order restored, Lachlan addressed the crowd that had gathered around them. "There will be some changes to the auction this time to ensure the safety of all bidders!" he spoke firmly.
A loud cough broke through the murmurs of the crowd. Heads turned towards the entrance of the auction house where Arim stood, his face flushed from exertion. The Alchemist''s Guild leader cleared his throat again, ensuring he had everyone''s attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Arim began, his voice carrying a practiced authority. "For those who may not know me, I am Arim, leader of Rhysling''s Alchemist''s Guild."
A ripple of recognition passed through the crowd. Some nodded in acknowledgment while others whispered among themselves. Silas watched Arim closely, noting the slight tremor in his hands and the way his eyes darted nervously.
Arim continued, "I want to extend my gratitude to our esteemed Lord Magistrate for his willingness to address you all today." He paused, turning towards Lachlan with a respectful nod. "However, I believe it would be more appropriate for me to address our guests and explain the changes to today''s auction."
Lachlan chuckled warmly. He nodded graciously at Arim. "Of course, Guildmaster Arim," he said with a smile. "I apologize for my haste!"
Although, after he finished speaking he felt as if a strong wind had just hit his toupee strangely enough... The Magistrate adjusted himself almost imperceptibly before stepping back to allow Arim to take center stage.
Arim took a deep breath and began outlining the new rules for the auction. "Today, our Lord Magistrate will act as your auctioneer!" he announced. "Those who wish to bid on items must immediately pick up their chosen item and pay the seller under the watchful eye of our honored Priest of Probitas."
The Priest of Probitas nodded solemnly at this mention, his earlier fervor seemingly not lost to him.
Arim continued listing off changes and additional rules designed to ensure fairness and transparency in today''s proceedings. As he spoke, Silas felt Lachlan''s presence beside him.
The Magistrate approached with a smile that looked genuine. He cupped his hands towards Silas in a gesture of respect that drew gasps from some onlookers, including Kell and other cultivators who had witnessed Silas''s earlier intervention.
"Senior Ji," Lachlan began, but Silas raised a hand to stop him.
"The past is the past," Silas said calmly. "What little I had done has already been forgotten by me and should be by you as well, Lord Magistrate."
Lachlan sighed deeply, bowing his head slightly. "You have truly humbled me," he admitted.
Silas nodded once in acknowledgment but said nothing further. His gaze shifted back to Arim, who was wrapping up his announcements with an air of finality.
Kell watched from a distance with wide eyes, clearly astonished by what he had just witnessed¡ªthe deference shown by one of Rhysling''s most powerful figures towards this enigmatic man¡
As Arim concluded his speech and invited everyone inside for the auction to begin, Silas remained where he was for a moment longer. He could feel the weight of many eyes upon him¡ªsome curious, some wary¡ªbut none dared approach or question him directly.
Silas settled into his VIP seat in the gallery, the plush cushion beneath him quite pleasant. He leaned back, allowing himself a moment of comfort as he surveyed the scene below. The Starlight Bidders'' Hall was abuzz with activity, a symphony of murmurs and rustling fabric as attendees found their places.
Nyx, ever the diligent, slinked around people''s shadows, taking in every detail of the room''s layout and the people within.
A servant approached with a drink, bowing slightly before placing it on the small table beside Silas. He nodded in acknowledgment, lifting the glass to his lips and savoring the rich flavor. His gaze drifted down to the first rows where the sellers were seated. Among them, he spotted Zinnia. She sat with an air of eagerness. Although¡ "This is going to hurt¡" she was likely thinking.
Behind the sellers, loose cultivators and wealthy mortals filled the seats. Servants moved among them, offering refreshments and snippets of information. Silas''s eyes flicked over their faces.
In the other galleries, he saw several Sects native to the Empire. Their robes were distinctive, each one an homage to their unique traditions and power structures. Silas dismissed them from his mind; they were not his concern today.
Kell''s voice carried over from his own gallery seat, animated as he spoke to his subordinates and Emma about the man who had stood up against the priest earlier. "That guy was incredible!" Kell said with enthusiasm that made Emma smile.
Silas raised an eyebrow at Kell''s admiration but quickly refocused on Zinnia. She shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable despite her best efforts to appear composed.
Nyx nestled into someone''s shadow below, ready to spring into action if needed. The crow''s thoughts mirrored Silas''s own: "The fun is about to start."
Arim took center stage once more, his presence commanding attention as he addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "the auction is about to begin. I must remind you that only those bidding should make any sound during this time."
With that announcement made, Arim stepped aside and left the stage to Magistrate Lachlan.
Silas took another sip of his drink and thought to himself: "Showtime¡"
Chapter 16: Bidding
The Magistrate of Rhysling, Lachlan, stood at the center of the stage, unrolling a scroll with flourish. The crowd''s murmurs died down as he began to speak.
"Esteemed guests, we commence today''s auction with an extraordinary item," Lachlan announced, his voice carrying through the hall. "I call forth Erian of Sekalan!"
A man in simple yet elegant robes rose from his seat, cupping his fists towards the Magistrate in a gesture of respect. He ascended the stage with brisk steps, his demeanor composed and confident. From within his large sleeve, Erian produced a small box, its surface adorned with intricate carvings.
"Honored attendees," Erian began, his voice steady and clear. "I present to you a Focus Gem crafted by the late Artifice Savant Imberalim of the Nation Hidden by Leaves."
A ripple of interest passed through the crowd. Silas leaned forward slightly, intrigued by the mention of Imberalim. The name was familiar.
"This Focus Gem," Erian continued, "is a masterpiece of craftsmanship and magical engineering. Any Artifice Engineer with this gem could create a defense system capable of deterring practitioners even at the third step!"
Erian''s words rippled in the air as he finished his presentation. The Magistrate nodded appreciatively and took over.
"The authenticity of this item has been guaranteed by the Artificer''s Guild," Lachlan declared. "The bidding will start at¡ª"
As the auction got underway, the gallery where Kell sat with Emma was filled with whispers.
"What do you think of it?" Kell asked Emma, his tone curious.
Emma considered for a moment before replying, "Hmm¡ It''s good, but while a Focus Gem is important, finding an Artificer willing to use a Savant''s Gem would be costly¡"
Kell looked surprised. "Oh, you know about stuff like this?"
Emma smiled slightly. "My mother has taught me much about the outside world. As Heiress, having my wits about me is essential!"
Kell chuckled and scratched the back of his head. "You''ve definitely put more time into your studies then me..."
His servants behind him exchanged wry smiles at their Young Master''s humility.
"I try my best." Emma said with a wink that caused Kell to blush slightly.
While they were enjoying themselves¡ a fidgeting Priest of Probitas was standing at attention on the stage. The priest''s thoughts seemed almost audible: ''''Any who dare commit dishonest acts today will be struck down!'''' He also mused about thanking the kindly Alchemist for yesterday''s tonic¡ªit had indeed made him feel much more energetic.
In the midst of these varied conversations and thoughts, Silas noticed Nyx moving stealthily among mingling shadows in the crowd below.
''''Hmm,'''' Nyx thought to himself, ''''hopefully a good one shows themselves¡''''
The auction continued around them, each bid bringing the first sale closer to it''s completion, until finally...
"Sold! To the esteemed Artificer Lyra from our very own Artificer''s Guild!" the Magistrate''s voice rang out with finality. "One hundred and ten thousand Reshal."
Lyra bowed gracefully towards the Magistrate, her movements dignified. She handed over the amount due to a staff member, all under the vigilant eyes of both the Priest and the Magistrate.
As she returned to her seat, happy faces greeted her, likely indicating this was a group purchase. Erian, though slightly displeased with the final price, stepped down graciously, cupping his fists to the Magistrate and then to the crowd. Several nods of approval acknowledged his manners.
The Magistrate then called forth the next presenter. "Opula of Rodam!"
A woman ascended the stage with an air of noticeable arrogance. Her posture was straight, her chin held high as she addressed the crowd.
"My family has decided to grace this auction with an item of our own make!" Opula announced, her voice dripping with condescension. "I present to you cultivators of the Empire these [Spirit Chains]."
Suddenly an outraged voice erupted from the crowd. "How dare you bring such an item into the Empire! Bitch of House Nilan! I known what these chains are for!'''' he yells at the staring crowd, ''''They bind living beings into horrible servitude!"
Opula''s frown deepened as she turned towards the Priest. "Have I broken any rules by offering this item?"
The Priest''s eye twitched before he responded. "No, you have not." He then turned his gaze towards the man who had interrupted. "However, you have! Discouraging a seller''s item is not allowed!"
With a swift motion, he pulled out a paper charm that ignited in blue flame. The man who had spoken out felt his jaws clamp shut so strongly that he could feel his teeth breaking.
"You shall not be allowed to speak during the rest of this auction," declared the Priest.
The Magistrate sighed in exasperation, much to the discontentment of the crowd. Nonetheless, he continued the event saying, "The bidding for such a ''fine'' item will start at ten thousand Reshal."
"I will make that offer!" Silas''s voice cut through the murmurs of surprise that followed.
Zinnia kept her face neutral, but internally she wanted to cry out, ''''Shit¡''''
Nyx, now among the first rows but still hidden within shadows, thought to himself, ''''Certainly going to be useful.''''
Kell looked puzzled and turned to Emma. "Why would a noble person like that want such a demonic item?"
Emma sighed and shook her head slightly. "You¡¯re too naive¡"
Arim was screaming internally, ''''FUCK, FUCK, SHIT, SHIT, FUCK¡'''' His face however remained stoic despite his turmoil.
Even the Magistrate seemed confused as he looked at Senior Ji with curiosity. However, seeing no other bidders come forward, he called out once more.
"The second item''s sale is closed!" he announced. "Senior Ji, please come down and claim your prize¡"
Silas rose from his seat and walked down, the crowd watched him intently as he made his way towards the stage.
Senior Ji approached the Magistrate with a small smile. His eyes flicked briefly to Arim, who was already sweating bullets, figuratively speaking. Before Silas could say a word to the Magistrate, Arim interjected.
"Lord Magistrate!" Arim''s voice wavered slightly, "I would like to pay the price on behalf of Senior Ji!"
Silas''s expression shifted to one of feigned surprise. "Guildmaster, please! There''s no need for that."
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Arim gulped, his eyes darting nervously between Silas and the Magistrate. "Senior Ji¡ please grant me some face¡ I simply wish my esteemed friend to have a gift from me, with no ulterior motives!"
Silas''s smile widened and his eyes became gentler when looking at Arim. "Well, my friend when you put it like that¡ I must accept!"
Arim bowed to Silas, however his thoughts were going into a completely different direction¡ ''''I want to curl up onto my bed and hide¡ Why must I suffer as this monster''s pawn¡ well besides Master Nathaniel¡ and the¡ maybe that too¡ hmm? Wait am I that bad? NO! It''s his fault!''''
The Magistrate nodded approvingly as he carried out the transaction. He thought to himself that it was a good thing their Alchemist''s Guildmaster had such manners to cater for the goodwill of an esteemed hero¡
The funds, given by Arim from his small storage pouch, were stored in a chest held by a staff member behind the Magistrate and shown to Opula.
Opula looked over the amount and nodded to the staff member who closed the chest. She then allowed Silas to inspect his purchase before it also went into a holding area until the end of the auction.
She looked at Silas and cocked her head, her sharp features scrutinizing him. "My¡ how is it that someone of so refined¡ taste¡ is here in this backwoods place?"
The Magistrate''s eye twitched at the direct insult to his city, while Silas simply chuckled. "I am visiting a friend and having some fun in lovely Rhysling."
He observed the chains more closely, running his fingers along their intricate engravings. "Seems I have quite a bargain, may I know which Senior of your family crafted something so potent?"
Opula preened at the attention. "This is an item created by my grandfather! He wanted to see if the Empire could appreciate our masterworks¡ these [Spirit Chains] could enslave even a third-step expert into complete submission!" Her cheeks grew red as she licked her lips, about to launch into a rant perhaps about her families greatness¡ However¡
Silas cut her off before she could start, he spoke loudly enough for the entire hall to hear in a very casual tone. "Yes I recall these chains are quite popular in Rodam, very appreciated for their many uses¡ªfrom ensuring servants'' loyalty to taming beasts¡ªbut most of all as a toy for various sexual acts that require a measure of¡ danger."
The hall fell silent as jaws dropped. The Magistrate and Arim both had their mouths wide open in shock at Silas''s words. Opula''s face turned crimson as she stammered.
"Such a thing is not to be said!" she protested but didn''t deny, thereby confirming Silas''s words¡
He turned around and looked at the crowd, giving a little wink before heading back to his seat. The reactions were diverse; many attendees turned shades of red at the scandalous words, while others threw suggestive glances at Silas''s retreating back.
In her seat, Zinnia felt goosebumps prickling her skin. ''''He better not be planning to stick those chains on me,'''' she thought uneasily.
Kell was laughing heartily at Emma, whose face was hidden behind her hands in embarrassment.
The man who had been punished by the priest earlier smirked to himself. ''''Serves her right¡''''
Nyx, now nestled inside the shadow of the Priest of Probitas, laughed in his head. ''''HAHAHA!''''
The Priest''s mind however finally caught up with the situation as black bile formed in his stomach. He gritted his teeth in anger but stayed silent, knowing that this comment was not a violation of the rules¡
The auction continued with a series of less notable items¡ªmanuals, tools, artworks, and various materials¡ªeach sold to the highest bidder. Silas observed the proceedings carefully while feigning detachment, keeping track of the items of note and the amount of Reshal spent.
Finally, the moment arrived that Silas had been waiting for. The Magistrate''s voice boomed across the hall, calling forth Selen of the Artificer''s Guild.
Zinnia, disguised as Selen, made her way onto the stage with an air of confidence that belied her true feelings. She held up a small glass case containing the ''''Bloodmoon Thorn'''', its deep crimson spikes shining with a ruby red glow.
An excited cheer rippled through the crowd. The Magistrate even had to bellow for silence before Zinnia could begin her presentation.
"Ladies, gentlemen or whatever you like to be called!" she began, her voice clear and energetic, "I am sure many here are familiar with what I have in my hands here today¡ªone of the rarest herbs on our entire continent! The Bloodmoon Thorn! An Alchemical reagent said to have one of the most potent essences of separation in existence!"
She moved gracefully across the stage, her gestures dramatic and engaging. "Legends say it can create such powerful concoctions that they can even separate souls from bodies! Just imagine the possibilities! A body decayed by time could be replaced with a fresh one! Divergent Qi streams could be fixed¡"
The crowd hung on her every word as she continued to list out various uses for the Bloodmoon Thorn. Each claim seemed more fantastical than the last, and yet each was grounded in enough truth to keep even the most skeptical attendees intrigued.
Silas watched Zinnia''s performance with a mixture of amusement and admiration. She definitely had a way of captivating an audience that was almost magical in itself. He noted how she played off their reactions, adjusting her tone and gestures to keep them at the edge of their seats.
When she finally finished her spiel, she handed the floor back to the Magistrate. He smiled broadly at the crowd, perhaps infected by their enthusiasm. "My honored guest has given many claims today¡" he declared. "I am quite sure we all know the value of such an item¡ truly, we have been blessed to have it appear here! The bidding for such a rare item shall start at one hundred thousand Reshal!"
The room erupted into a frenzy of bids almost immediately. Voices from both the gallery and below clamored to be heard over one another.
"One hundred ten thousand!"
"One hundred twenty!"
"One hundred fifty thousand!"
Silas remained seated but kept his eyes on Zinnia as she stood at the edge of the stage, watching the bids climb higher and higher. Kell from the Rumbling Earth Sect leaned forward in his seat, clearly interested but not yet making a move.
"Two hundred thousand!" someone shouted from below.
The bidding war intensified as more voices joined in. The excitement in Starlight Bidders'' Hall was palpable; even those who had no intention of bidding seemed caught up in it.
Silas leaned back slightly in his chair.
"Two hundred fifty thousand!" another voice rang out.
"Three hundred thousand!" came another bid from somewhere in the gallery.
The Magistrate''s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he continued to oversee this high-stakes exchange. He felt an itch under his toupee but paid it no mind; his focus was entirely on managing this unprecedented auction event.
Silas watched as bids continued to climb higher and higher still¡
"One million Reshal!" an old man bellowed, drawing every eye inside the room. His robe bore the insignia of the Alchemist''s Guild, but it was the intricate embroidery on his back that marked him as a member of Lythoria''s main branch.
Taking advantage of the momentary silence, the old man continued, "I hope the honored personages in attendance here today would show this old man some face..." His breathing was steady, but those with keen eyes noticed small pulsating turquoise veins on the back of his head¡ªa clear sign of a second-step alchemist.
Kell nudged Emma excitedly. "Did you see that? A second-step Alchemist from the capital! This is incredible!"
Emma rolled her eyes at Kell''s enthusiasm but couldn''t help feeling a twinge of curiosity herself. The crowd murmured in awe and speculation until another voice rang out, sending a shockwave through the hall.
"Two million Reshal," Silas declared from his seat in the gallery.
The old man made a humph sound and countered immediately. "Three million."
He squinted towards Silas, trying to identify his challenger. "Who is the esteemed bidder from the gallery nearby?"
Silas leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. "This one''s name is Ji! Don''t worry though, I''m done. I simply did not want Ryker''s lapdog getting such a steal. I mean¡ robbing a young lady for that price is such a shameful act..."
The old man''s face turned crimson with rage. "Junior, you dare?!"
Before he could continue, the Priest boomed loudly from across the room. "Silence! Such shameful bickering shall not be allowed under the order of Probitas''s faithful!" He raised his mace as a white glow began to form around him¡ªa miracle, one of the Priest''s magics beginning to form.
The old man grunted at the sight and sat down reluctantly...
Silas, however followed. "Five million Reshal." he called out lazily.
The old man shot up again, nearly apoplectic with fury. "Did you not just say you were done?! Six million!"
Silas shook his head slowly, his voice dripping with condescension. "My friend, if you so easily believe one''s words you''re liable to get tricked. Has your mother not taught you better?"
The old man sputtered in rage. "My mother¡ª"
Silas cut him off mid sentence, and addressed the venue "I am afraid I cannot top our friend''s offer of six million Reshal and his Mother..."
Laughter erupted from every corner of Starlight Bidders'' Hall as the old man spat out blood in sheer fury. He lifted a trembling finger towards Silas and stammered, "You... you...!!!"
Silas sighed theatrically and shook his head sadly. "Ah, unfortunately my friend, you cannot sell me as you do your mother; I am not yours..."
The crowd roared with laughter once more while both the Priest and Magistrate Lachlan yelled for order.
Zinnia stood on stage, her mind racing as she watched Silas''s antics unfold. ''''What the fuck is he doing?! This price is even more then what her con had planned for!!!'''' she thought incredulously.
Arim thought to himself worried, ''''¡He said he has no Reshal except what I gave him¡AM I PAYING FOR THIS?!?!?''''
Nyx, meanwhile nestled comfortably within the priest''s shadow, he was amused thinking ''''Oh this old schtick... well if it isn''t broken...''''
Silas yelled out ''''Ten million! And whatever our friends mother is worth!''''
The old man yelled out ''''YOU ARE COURTING DEATH!!! TWELVE MILLION!!!''''
Silas adds in using a detached tone ''''So your mother is worth less then two million¡''''
The crowd laughed as an insane glare now donned the old Alchemist''s face¡
Chapter 17: The Sale
"Sold for fifteen million Reshal!" Magistrate Lachlan''s voice boomed through the hall, his authoritative tone barely masking the amusement in his eyes. "To the esteemed Alchemist Sage Lorian!"
The hall buzzed with barely contained laughter as Lorian, gnashing his teeth and clenching his fists so tightly that his entire body trembled with rage, made his way onto the stage. The tension in his frame was palpable, a contrast to the mirthful atmosphere around him.
Silas, seated comfortably in the gallery, couldn''t resist one final jab. "The final price was seven and a half of his mothers, give or take," he remarked, his voice carrying effortlessly over the crowd.
The audience erupted into roaring laughter once more. Even those who had tried to maintain decorum couldn''t help but chuckle at Silas''s audacity.
"Enough!" The Priest of Probitas''s voice cut through the laughter like a blade. "This shall not stand! Blatant insults like this that disregard etiquette in front of a servant of the most honorable Probitas are nigh blasphemous!"
The hall fell silent, a wave of discontent rippling through the crowd at being chastised by the Priest. Lorian muttered a thank you to him, though his gratitude was tinged with bitterness.
Silas thought to himself ''''Well, I see the tonic is definitely working''''. He stood up, his expression unreadable. "Honorable Priest," he began in an even monotone that sent a shiver down the Priest''s spine, "I have not broken the rules of this hall. I have spoken only while bidding and I have not said any insulting or untruthful words. I do, in fact, hold our Alchemist friend''s mother in the highest of esteem."
Several drinks were spat out at that line, and Emma pressed her hands over Kell''s mouth to stifle his oncoming laughter.
Lorian''s face turned an even deeper shade of red. "How dare you!" he yelled, his voice cracking with fury.
Nyx, deciding it was a good opportunity, made his way through the folds of the Priest''s robe. Silently climbing up to the small shadow inside his sleeve, Nyx decided, "A little nudge!"
With a gentle tug on the Priest''s arm from within the sleeve, Nyx set events into motion. In his bubbling rage, the Priest didn''t even notice it wasn''t by his own will that he started reaching for his mace.
The hall held its breath as tension crackled in the air...
Silas''s lips curled into a faint smile, enjoying the spectacle.
"Stop in the name of Her Majesty!" The Magistrate''s voice thundered through the hall, cutting through the rising clamor. His words hung in the air, demanding immediate obedience.
Lorian and the Priest turned to him, their faces twisted with anger. The Priest''s arm trembled as he held his mace aloft, eyes glazed over with righteous fury. To be ordered using a mortal Empress''s title was an affront he could scarcely tolerate.
The Magistrate huffed, letting his energy flow out in a wave that washed over the hall. Silas understood it immediately¡ªa potent force that marked the Magistrate as someone at the pinnacle of the second step of cultivation. His energy was beginning to show signs of purification, a rare and formidable feat.
Zinnia¡ªrather, Selen¡ªstood near the Magistrate, her face paling as cold sweat formed on her brow. Silas noted her discomfort with mild amusement; she had underestimated the Magistrate''s power, apparently her time in the Castle did not expose her to this side of the Magistrate. The youths in the gallery were similarly affected, their enjoyment wilting under the oppressive aura.
But what truly impressed Silas was the bloodlust contained within that energy. It was a tangible thing, a dark and heavy presence that spoke of countless lives taken without hesitation. The Lord Magistrate of Rhysling was not just an administrator; he was apparently also a butcher who had waded through rivers of blood.
The Priest seemed unfazed by this display. If anything, it spurred him on. His eyes burned with zeal as he drew upon power from deep within himself, his hands moving almost independently to hoist his mace above his head. He began to gather the power of faith, preparing to cast a miracle that would surely turn this confrontation deadly.
The Magistrate''s fury only grew at this defiance. "The Empire is not beholden to Probitas," he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. "Your presence here is to honor tradition, not dispense judgments beyond your rights."
His hand moved to grip his saber, and instantly, the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. The aura around him intensified, becoming almost suffocating in its intensity. However, what happened next no one could foresee, well except for Nyx and Silas¡ªthe Magistrate''s hair began to smolder and then burst into flames as if ignited by his sheer rage.
The hall fell silent as everyone watched in astonishment. The fire consumed his hair quickly, revealing a bald head that almost sparkled under the hall''s lights.
The sight stunned the Priest, halting his miracle mid-formation. Confusion clouded his eyes as he lowered his mace, the divine energy dissipating into the air. Lorian, standing nearby, coughed to catch the Magistrate''s attention.
"Your Lordship... your hair..." Lorian''s voice barely rose above a whisper, but it carried through the silent hall.
The Magistrate''s hand instinctively went to his head, finding only the smooth skin of his scalp. The absence of his toupee was a new revelation to him. The hall remained dead silent, every eye fixed on the Magistrate. Nyx, hidden nearby, struggled to contain his laughter ''''Oh, this is glorious! HAHAHA!'''', he thought, as he prepared to give the Priest another ''nudge''.
The Magistrate took a deep breath, his face a mask of controlled fury. "Of all the annoyances you could cause," he addressed the Priest with icy calmness, "you destroy my hair?"
The audience quivered with held-in laughter, each person trying desperately not to make a sound that could incite the Magistrate''s wrath further. The Priest''s face turned a shade paler as he responded calmly.
"I did nothing of the sort," he said. "I would never use the powers given to me by the gods for such silly pranks."
Silas chose this moment to let his voice flow over the silent hall. "The Priest speaks the truth," he said smoothly. "I can smell the faint whiff of a dissolving mixture."
The Magistrate''s eyes snapped to Lorian, who looked momentarily shocked before taking a cautious sniff of the air.
"...the scoundrel in the gallery is not wrong," Lorian admitted reluctantly.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
The Magistrate scanned the crowd with narrowed eyes before closing them and taking another deep breath. "Whomever has done this," he declared with forced calmness, "for the sake of today''s peace I shall overlook it. Let us put this disgraceful display to an end and complete this transaction."
Inside his mind, however, a scream echoed: "ARRRGGHHHHHHHH!!!!"
The crowd was taken aback by how gracefully the Magistrate handled his sudden baldness. Whispers of admiration for his magnanimity rippled through those present. The collective sentiment shifted; perhaps it was time for this spectacle to conclude¡
Lorian paid the price for his item under the watchful eye of the Magistrate. The tension in the room was palpable as the transaction took place, every eye in the hall fixed on the exchange. Some were perhaps hoping for more entertainment, alas the Magistrate''s bald presence ensured that everything proceeded smoothly.
Once the amount due was confirmed, Zinnia, disguised as Selen, stepped forward with the container holding the "Bloodmoon Thorn." She handed it to Lorian with a composed expression, though her mind raced with anxiety. This moment was crucial; their con hinged on Lorian''s inspection. She had to admit, while she could coax the Mimic into the correct form, whatever Ji did to it had made the herb seem much more substantial.
Lorian took the container with a seasoned hand, his aged features betraying no emotion as he began his inspection. He opened it carefully, revealing the crimson thorns that gleamed like polished rubies. The room held its collective breath as he examined it closely, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns on the herb.
Zinnia watched intently, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it¡ªthe make or break moment. If Lorian detected any flaw, their scheme would have to be corrected on the spot or else it will unravel before their eyes. She forced herself to remain calm.
After what felt like an eternity, Lorian nodded approvingly. "Everything is in order," he announced, passing the container back to the staff member.
Relief washed over Zinnia like a wave. She managed to keep her expression neutral, but inside she felt a surge of triumph. The first step was done; they had fooled probably one of the most respected Alchemists in the Empire.
As Lorian concluded his inspection, Arim coughed to get their attention. His inner thoughts were as such: ''''I know that calamity needs this item; he is getting it one way or another¡ may as well stay in his good graces and give him a chance to swipe it¡''''
With a professional smile upon his face, Arim spoke up. "First of all, congratulations, colleague Lorian. Secondly, forgive this one''s daring Lord Magistrate, but I must ask our noble visitor whether the Alchemists here can take a closer look at the Thorn before it is taken back to Lythoria¡ It would mean a lot to many of us if we could see one of the rarest herbs on the continent up close."
The Magistrate chuckled good-naturedly at the request. "A reasonable request, I see no harm in making it" he said.
Lorian breathed in deeply before responding. "For the sake of Guildmaster Arim and our fellow colleagues here, I can allow it after the auction."
Arim thanked him graciously while Zinnia thought to herself: ''''Time is running out; how is he going to¡ª''''
Her thoughts were abruptly cut off as she saw the Priest knock the container with the fake Bloodmoon Thorn from the staff member''s hands. The container tumbled through the air in slow motion before hitting the ground with a dull thud.
All eyes snapped towards the Priest, confusion palpable on everyone''s face¡ªincluding his own.
''''Ah,'''' Zinnia thought with a relief. ''''That''s how.''''
Lorian''s voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd, sharp and filled with indignation. "What is the meaning of this?!" he demanded, glaring at the Priest who had knocked the container from the staff member''s hands.
The Priest looked down at his hand, then took a deep breath. His expression shifted to one of serene confidence¡ªor perhaps delusional certainty. "Something must be wrong," he declared. "My hand was guided to not allow this trade."
A vein popped on Lorian''s forehead, his face turning a shade redder. "What kind of bullshit are you spewing!" he roared, his voice echoing through the hall.
Zinnia, maintaining her guise, chimed in with a tone that matched Lorian''s outrage. "What the hell, Priest?!"
Nyx, hidden within the folds of the Priest''s sleeve, chuckled to himself. ''''Oh hell do I love these holy schmucks¡''''
The Magistrate stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he addressed the Priest. "Can you prove your words?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge of skepticism.
The Priest pressed his lips together before responding. "I can cast a miracle of guilt detection," he admitted. "I cannot force a confession like a second-step divine servant¡ªa Bishop¡ªbut I can use this to prove that something is wrong here."
Zinnia made a show of raising her fists and clenching them in anger. "How dare you call me¡ª"
The Magistrate interrupted her with a calm smile. "Honored guest, I am sure the Priest is just making a mistake¡ but we must honor tradition and let him make a judgment on the intent behind this trade¡" He moved closer to Zinnia and whispered softly, "I am sure he was agitated due to Senior Ji''s¡ playful jabs and did this in a spur of rage. He is simply trying to restore some face¡ please humor him for my sake!"
Zinnia pouted and gave a defeated sigh. "Fineee~."
Lorian, however, was far from placated. "You Priests have done so much damage these last two decades yet you still insist on causing problems for people¡" he spat.
The Priest''s face contorted with outrage as he yelled across the hall, "We saved you all from that monster!!! Yet for all that we have sacrificed, we received nothing but scorn!"
The crowd reacted with mixed emotions¡ªsome shocked by the outburst, others indifferent to the Priest''s words.
Silas watched the scene taking place, pleased with the way it was going. The chaos was playing out perfectly. Nyx¡¯s antics had stirred the pot just enough to set the plan in motion.
The Magistrate¡¯s voice cut through once more, calm yet authoritative. ¡°Let us proceed then,¡± he said. ¡°I allow the Priest to perform his miracle.¡±
The crowd¡¯s murmurs grew louder as anticipation built up in the Starlight Bidders¡¯ Hall.
Kell leaned closer to Emma, his voice barely a whisper. "Do you know what the Sage is talking about when it comes to Priests causing problems?"
Emma rolled her eyes, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Kell, I''m not much older than you. But I do remember something from when I was a child." She placed her hands under her chin, her gaze fixed on the stage below. "My grandfather once rushed into our sect''s hall in a panic, telling everyone to stay close and channel their Qi to form the strongest barrier possible."
She rubbed her temple, making a gesture that Kell found endearing but couldn''t bring himself to comment on. "If I remember right, grandfather said all twelve Archbishops had agreed to cast a grand miracle to stop something. He said they had one-sidedly decided to decimate the continent''s fate or something like that."
A servant of Kell''s stepped forward from behind them, bowing slightly. "I beg for forgiveness for the interruption," he began, his tone respectful. "The young Mistress is remembering the events of the Betrayal."
Kell and Emma turned their attention to him, curiosity piqued.
"The Priests of the twelve draw their strength from their own faith as well as the faith of others to perform miracles," the servant explained. "Miracles born from faith allow their casters to alter fate itself. Someone fated to die during a calamity could ''miraculously'' survive with divine intervention. For millennia, the Priesthood has used their abilities to keep our world in accordance with Heaven''s mandate¡"
He paused, his expression growing somber. "However¡ there was an incident years back that it seems like you were too young to recall. The twelve Archbishops overtaxed the faith of us believers to eradicate an enemy of fate they could not stop with their own abilities. Those caught unaware by the grand Betrayal had their providence all but destroyed."
Emma and Kell exchanged uneasy glances, their faces shocked.
"It was a horrible time," the servant continued. "People died from mundane causes, cultivators were eternally shut off from advancing, fortunes were lost, stillbirths and diseases were rampant¡ and so much worse."
Kell interrupted, his voice tinged with desperation. "What was it all for? Was it worth it?"
The servant offered a sad smile. "I am not sure. The monster they intended to stop, they managed as far as anyone knows. However, by forcefully taking so much of the people''s faith, they effectively crippled the higher divine powers¡ and that was not the only danger we faced in our lives."
Emma''s brow furrowed as she looked at the servant. "What is ''that'' they were trying to stop?"
The servant seemed surprised by her question but began to answer nonetheless. "O-"
Before he could finish, a thunderous voice echoed through the hall.
"YOU DARE COMMIT SUCH DECEPTION BEFORE THIS SERVANT OF PROBITAS?!"
The sudden outburst drew everyone''s attention back to the stage where chaos seemed ready to erupt once more.
Chapter 18: Three Questions
All eyes within the Starlight Bidders'' Hall were fixed on the Priest who had just yelled out an accusation against Zinnia. The Magistrate, Lorian, and Zinnia stood on stage, their expressions a mix of bafflement and irritation.
"Probitas has revealed to me that this trade has dishonorable intent behind it!" the Priest declared, fervor in his voice.
The Magistrate snapped to attention, his bafflement fading. "What nonsense are you spewing?!" His tone was rough, carrying over the crowd watching them.
"Nonsense?!" The Priest''s eye twitched as he responded. "I would never dare blaspheme the most honorable one''s name with falsehoods." He took a breath, pointing his mace towards Zinnia and Lorian. "One of you¡ or perhaps both of you have not come here with a clear conscience! Speak now to plead your cases!"
The Magistrate sighed, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Do not step over your bounds, Priest. We are beholden to Rovinius. Your judgment only carries weight here as much as I allow it."
The Priest''s face grew red with indignation. "Divine Rovinius is the patron of knowledge and change, not of honor and oaths. Lord Magistrate, if you shall not give me any sort of face, why even bother honoring the tradition? We, the devout of the most honorable one, have always weeded out those that mean others ill. Or have you forgotten our purpose?!"
The Magistrate''s face hardened as he let out a sharp exhale. "I have not forgotten. The people have also not forgotten."
Zinnia coughed, her eye twitching in irritation. "This better not be a punchline about the esteemed Alchemist not bringing his mother here, Priest."
Lorian spat out some blood at her remark but quickly composed himself as Zinnia waved her hands frantically in apology. "A slip of the tongue! The situation just ground on my nerves and it spilled out!"
Lorian gnawed his teeth but managed to put on a strained smile. "Think nothing of it. I too am interested in what exactly the Priest has to say to stain our reputation so..."
The tension in the hall was palpable as everyone awaited the Priest''s next move.
His eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, his voice carrying a tone filled with authority. "I will prove my claim with the Trial of Three Questions," he announced, his tone brooking no argument.
The Magistrate nodded, accepting the trial. The crowd''s attention locked onto the stage, anticipation thick in the air. "Proceed," Lachlan said, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity.
The Priest turned to face Zinnia and Lorian, his gaze piercing. "Selen of Sichal and Lorian of Lythoria, you are accused of attempting to deceive your trading partner. You will answer the first question of the Trial: What is your intent in today''s transaction?"
Zinnia crossed her arms under her chest, her expression defiant. "I am doing this whole thing for money," she said flatly. "The thing''s almost useless for me and paints me as more of a target for unsavory sorts who want it. Why just money? Simple, to indulge in every sin you can think of!" She smirked at the irritated Priest, her words eliciting amused murmurs from the crowd.
The Priest raised his hand to his chest, palm facing outwards. A ball of blue light formed in his hand, casting an ethereal blue glow. "Any falsehoods spoken will be detected using a miracle of [Perishing Lies]," he declared. The light in his hand turned a bit paler at Zinnia''s words, confirming her truthfulness.
"The words spoken were the truth!" the Priest announced to the crowd.
He then turned to address the whole hall directly, "Understand this: only the first two questions allow one to repent. The third will not offer forgiveness."
The Magistrate nodded again, speaking on behalf of the crowd, and the two on trial. "We are familiar with it."
Lachlan couldn''t help but let some doubt creep into his mind as he thought to himself, ''''I wonder¡ just what exactly is going on here¡''''
The Priest''s attention shifted to Lorian. "Why are you purchasing the Bloodmoon Thorn?" he asked.
Lorian answered calmly, "Beyond the fact that I am an Alchemist and have a personal interest in one of the rarest herbs on record¡ Grandmaster Ryker has specifically requested I acquire it at any price. So as to my intent, personal curiosity and orders from the continent''s only living Paramount."
The blue light in the Priest''s hand remained a steady light blue, indicating truth once more¡
Kell scrunched his face at the events transpiring below. "Emma, do you think there''s something wrong with the trade?"
Emma, standing beside him, took a moment to consider before shrugging. "Maybe."
"That''s it?" Kell''s eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
"It could be the priest having an off day," she replied nonchalantly. "Could be a scheme to launder some of the new currency, could be nothing, or it could just be a fake herb."
Kell leaned closer, his curiosity piqued. "Do you think any of those options are the case?"
Emma tapped her chin thoughtfully. "If it''s the priest making a mess, then the Theocracy will probably flay him. I doubt it''s a laundering scheme; the Alchemist''s Guild makes more money than any other Guild. If it''s a fake herb, that would be interesting, but I doubt that''s the case. The Alchemist Lorian confirmed it as real, the seller is a known possessor, and Lorian has no reason to accept a fake."
She shrugged again. "It''s probably some theatrics from the Priest to save face."
Kell nodded, his mood lifting slightly. "Say¡ Do you know the story behind the Trial of Three Questions?"
Emma cocked her head. "There''s a story behind it? I always assumed it was just a practice for questioning."
Kell leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "Legends say it was a test sent to the first Archbishop of Probitas while he was still mortal. Except originally, the questions weren''t meant for trading goods but for trading power directly from the God to him, the original questions were: ''What is your intent for this power you desire?'', ''What is the intent of those around you for the power you desire?'', and ''What is power?''"
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Emma rolled her eyes playfully and teased, "Did you spend your time learning stories instead of actually useful matters an heir to the Rumbling Earth Sect should?"
Kell scratched his cheek and mimicked her earlier tone of voice and shoulder shrug. "Maybe."
She gave him a playful shove on the shoulder while their servants watched on with kind eyes.
Below them, however, the Priest''s voice carried once more. "Magistrate Lachlan, what is your intent by officiating this trade?!"
The Magistrate answered confidently, "To facilitate a fair auction. As those who have spent the days leading up to this event could see, Rhysling has had some delinquents causing issues within. I am here to assure our guests that everything is in control and that no troubles shall meet them as long as I draw breath."
The audience gave the Magistrate a small applause. Some were genuinely praising the administrator, others simply decided it was best to stroke the ruler''s ego. However, from within the sleeve of the Priest, Nyx had a nasty expression on his face as he pitched his voice into a tone the audience was unable to hear and squawked a simple lie, "I am a pigeon."
Being so close to the miracle for detecting lies, he naturally overrode what the Magistrate said. The orb of blue light quickly grew darker, indicating a lie was spoken. Instantly silence enveloped the hall as everyone grew stupefied.
Silas, within his private gallery, chuckled. He guessed what Nyx was up to but trusted him to correct the flow of conversation once he had his fun.
The Magistrate breathed in and stared down the Priest, asking in a mixed tone of fury and embarrassment, "Is this some sort of joke?"
The Priest steeled himself and said calmly, "You have lied, Lord Magistrate."
Eyes snapped towards the Magistrate waiting for his reaction.
Kell leaned over to Emma and whispered, "This is getting interesting."
Emma nodded slightly, her eyes not leaving the stage.
The Magistrate''s face flushed with indignation. "I assure you," he began slowly, "there has been no deceit on my part."
The orb flickered but this time the color didn''t change to a dark shade.
The Magistrate exhaled, "I speak only truth."
The crowd murmured amongst themselves, uncertainty rippling through them like a wave. The Priest''s competence already questionable, sunk even lower.
Lorian''s eyes narrowed as he observed the scene unfold. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides, feeling no small amount of suspicion at the antics happening.
Zinnia watched intently from her position. She knew better than anyone here that none of these events were natural.
The Priest, a vein popping on his forehead at the gaff he apparently made, cleared his throat and asked again to confirm. "Magistrate Lachlan, what is your intent by officiating this trade?!"
The Magistrate answered the same way he did the first time. However, Nyx once again whispered a squawk to the miracle ''''I am his Daddy.''''
The result was as expected. Silence descended upon the hall again. The Priest had a distant look in his eyes as he repeated. "You have lied, Lord Magistrate."
Silas leaned back in his gallery seat, observing the unfolding chaos with a bemused expression. The tension in the room was palpable, and he could almost taste the confusion and unease that rippled through the crowd. He decided it was time to intervene.
"The Lord Magistrate is not lying, neither is the Priest''s miracle," Silas declared loudly, drawing every eye in the hall toward him. His youthful facade held their attention.
Before anyone could react, Silas continued, "Lord Magistrate, Guildmaster Arim, may I come down to demonstrate what I mean?"
Arim''s response was immediate and fervent. "Of course, Senior Ji!" His voice echoed through the hall, causing heads to snap towards him in disbelief. The respect he showed this eccentric figure was baffling to many.
The Magistrate''s mood visibly improved as he echoed Arim''s sentiment. "Of course, Senior Ji!" Internally, he mused about Arim¡¯s deference. ''''Quite respectable to value his friends so highly... more attention should be paid to the Guildmaster...''''
Silas descended from his gallery with measured steps. As he reached the stage, he faced the crowd with a look that demanded attention.
Lorian''s eyes narrowed at Silas''s approach, irritation etched into his features. Silas sighed as if dealing with a petulant child. "Oh do calm down, would you? We are both old enough to know words can only harm if you allow them to."
Lorian''s irritation faltered under Silas''s calm demeanor. He broke eye contact and nodded subtly in acquiescence. Silas smirked slightly. "Good, your mother taught you well."
Lorian clenched his teeth so hard that an audible crack echoed through the hall but admitted to himself that Silas was right. ''''He is only getting to me because I am letting him...''''
Ignoring Lorian now, Silas turned towards the Priest and gestured for him to cast the miracle again. The Priest¡¯s eyes were still distant from the strange reactions but complied without a word.
The orb of light flickered to life, as [Perishing Lies] activated once more.
Silas spoke clearly, "I am a carpenter by trade; this whole event here today is not an auction for trading but a stage upon which I can show my crafts."
Nyx whispered in squawks from within the Priest¡¯s sleeve, "I am a predator; this event is a farce for me to trap my prey."
The orb turned pale blue, signifying truth.
The crowd gasped collectively at the spectacle before them. The Priest released the miracle and looked towards Silas with wide eyes.
Silas smiled warmly at him and spoke loudly enough for all to hear. "The miracle draws upon your worldly experience as well as your faith. You are younger than we thought, are you not?"
The Priest hesitated before answering, "24 years; I have acted as a Priest for five."
Shock rippled through the crowd once more. Most priests spent decades learning before receiving their abilities; this young man was seemingly a prodigy.
Silas nodded approvingly. "I expected as much. Your talent is commendable but be warned: there are reasons the Divine do not grant their boons so early usually. Some miracles draw upon more from their casters then simply faith."
Realization began to dawn on everyone present.
"If you are going to arbiter this questioning," Silas continued smoothly, "you will have to rely on yourself, that miracle can not ascertain the truth as long as your own experience with the human heart is lacking."
The Priest calmed visibly under Silas''s guidance and nodded in understanding.
Nyx thought to himself, ''''Still the master of bullshitting...''''
The Magistrate observed the scene with a keen eye. As the Priest gave his nod to Senior Ji, Lachlan noticed a subtle raise of the eyebrow from Ji before he began moving towards him. The approach caught Lachlan off guard, momentarily confused by the sudden shift in focus.
"Lord Magistrate," Senior Ji began, his tone surprisingly cordial. "I must apologize for my behavior earlier. It seems my time away from city life has dulled my sense of decorum. I merely wished to have some fun."
Lachlan''s initial confusion softened into understanding. He could see the sincerity¡ªor at least the well-crafted semblance of it¡ªin Ji''s eyes. "It was slightly in ill taste," Lachlan admitted, "but ultimately no one was hurt."
Ji turned to Lorian, extending his hand with a friendly smile. "My apologies to you as well, Lorian."
Lorian let out a humph but accepted the handshake begrudgingly.
Ji then extended his hand towards Lachlan. As their hands clasped, Lachlan felt something unusual on his palm. The handshake broke, and he discreetly glanced at his hand.
The line "The Priest is suspicious, no true follower of Probitas is willing to accept a scandalous line like mine at face value." appeared briefly before evaporating into nothingness. Only Lachlan saw it.
Gears shifted in his mind as he considered the implications of Ji''s message. He masked his thoughts with a polite smile and nodded to Ji. "Thank you for your insight, Senior Ji. Please return to your seat and enjoy the rest of the auction."
Ji inclined his head slightly and made his way back to his seat, leaving Lachlan with much to ponder.
The Priest, unaware of the intensified scrutiny now upon him from the Magistrate, addressed the crowd once more. "The final question must be asked." His voice carried a newfound confidence that seemed to resonate with those present. Perhaps the crowd was more understanding now of the Priests chaotic responses, after all the folly of youth is well known¡
He turned towards Arim, who stepped forward with a calm demeanor. "Guildmaster Arim, I will defer to your wisdom upon this final question."
The Priest retrieved the Thorn from the servant holding it and passed it to Arim for inspection.
Arim accepted it with steady hands, examining it closely as murmurs rippled through the crowd.
The Priest then asked Zinnia, Lorian and Lachlan the question, "what is the item being traded?"
Chapter 19: Setting The Scene
The tension in the room could be easily sensed, each breath was held as the Priest''s question hung in the air.
"What is the item being traded?"
Zinnia, of course still disguised as Selen, stepped forward with a calm demeanor. "It is a Bloodmoon Thorn," she declared confidently.
Lorian followed suit, his voice steady but tinged with irritation. "It is a Bloodmoon Thorn."
The Magistrate, ever composed, nodded. "It is the Bloodmoon Thorn."
The Priest''s eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on each speaker in turn. Silas could see the gears turning in the young man''s mind, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. The miracle had once more detected a lie, but he now knew better than to jump to conclusions hastily.
"Guildmaster Arim," the Priest called out, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of urgency. "As an independent expert, what are your thoughts on this item?"
Arim stepped forward, taking the container from the Priest''s hands. He opened it carefully and levitated the Thorn between his hands using his energy. The crowd watched in awe as Arim channeled his power, the faint glow of his Alchemist grooves beginning to shine through his sleeves. His eyes took on a slight glow as he inspected the herb.
Silas observed with mild interest as Arim''s aura washed over the Thorn. The attunement he made to the Mimic was showing its value, the simulated potent effects were undeniable; even from a distance, Silas could feel its pull on his own Qi. He glanced around and noted similar reactions among the crowd.
Kell and Emma, seated in their gallery, exchanged astonished glances. The aura released from the Thorn tugged at their Qi as if it sought to sunder it. The crowd murmured in wonder, understanding why Alchemists valued the Bloodmoon Thorn so highly. Its mere presence was enough to stir their energies; they could scarcely imagine what a Sage or Paramount could achieve with it.
Arim''s expression remained composed, but Silas knew better. He could see the flicker of uncertainty in Arim''s eyes as he inspected the herb. "Senior Ji... definitely messed with this... just what the hell did he do to it?" Arim thought to himself.
The crowd''s attention remained fixed on Arim as he continued his inspection. The faint glow of his grooves intensified momentarily before subsiding. He lowered his hands slowly, allowing the Thorn to settle back into its container.
"It is indeed a Bloodmoon Thorn, as far as I can tell." Arim announced finally, his voice carrying across the hall.
The Priest nodded slowly, digesting this information. He turned back to face Zinnia, Lorian, and Lachlan. "Thank you for your honesty," he said evenly.
"However!" the Priest''s voice rang out, slicing through the murmurs of the crowd. The collective annoyance that followed, mirrored the bafflement on the faces of those on stage.
The Priest continued, his tone resolute despite the growing tension. "Due to my abilities being limited, I wish to invoke a hold on this item, as well as the items that were traded today and will be traded in the coming offers."
Outrage erupted from the crowd. Opula''s voice rose above the collective, her sharp features contorted in indignation. "This is outrageous! A one-sided decision like this cannot stand!"
The Priest''s irritation was noticeable, as he briefly thought to himself, "This is an especially frustrating day." Silas could see the young man''s composure fraying at the edges.
But it was Lachlan, the Lord Magistrate, who spoke next. "Calm." His voice boomed, instantly silencing the disgruntled voices. "The Priest¡ unfortunately my dear guests, is within his rights. However, I will only allow a hold of three days for your items and the funds. They shall be kept under guard here in the auction house by my personal guards as well as the other sponsors of the venue. You can rest assured, Rhysling will not allow you to be uncompensated for this trouble."
Surprise flickered across the Priest''s face. Clearly, he had not expected such support from Lachlan. Meanwhile, the Magistrate''s mind seemed to be working through a complex web of considerations¡ª"Senior Ji''s warning¡ what is this Priest''s goal¡ the attacks on the castle¡ the strangeness of this Priest¡ Hmm, an investigation is needed, the hold could buy me time."
Arim stepped forward next, his demeanor shifting to one of reassuring confidence. "I will personally stand guard here," he announced with a smile.
"I hope that all of you may feel at ease. All things considered, perhaps it is not such a bad thing to have so many confirmations of authenticity."
The crowd''s mood lightened slightly at Arim''s words.
Kell leaned back in his seat, his eyes fixed on the stage where Arim had just concluded his speech. Emma, seated beside him, nudged him gently with her elbow.
"Quite fascinating to see a Sage work their craft, isn''t it?" she remarked, her voice carrying a note of genuine admiration. "Outside of their Guilds, you rarely see an Alchemist working."
Kell nodded in agreement. "True, but it''s not a profession with much room for growth," he said thoughtfully. "My grandpa always said it was a cultivation dead end."
From behind them, Old Renan, Kell''s loyal servant, interjected politely. "Young Master Kell, what the gods took away from the Alchemists in progression¡ they have returned several fold for those who did achieve the Paramount level."
Kell turned to face Old Renan, curiosity piqued. "Is the third step for Alchemists, really such a drastic upgrade?" he asked.
Emma leaned in closer, her interest clearly piqued as well. Old Renan cleared his throat before speaking.
"While physically they may lack the strength compared to other cultivators," he began, "when it comes to lethality... well, they are a terrible sight according to all known records. Getting close to them is a momentous task. Those who manage it often meet even more tragic ends than those who immediately run away."
Emma''s eyes widened slightly as she listened intently. "What do you mean by that?" she asked.
Old Renan continued with a grave expression. "Paramount Alchemists wield flames that can refine you to dust and have their bodies filled with such vicious toxins they could eradicate cities by themselves without anyone noticing they were poisoned."
Emma shuddered slightly at the thought. "It''s a good thing then that they are so rare," she said softly.
Sensing the mood growing too somber, Kell decided to shift the topic. "After the Bloodmoon Thorn," he said with renewed excitement, "the next item is going to be the one I want!"
Emma raised an eyebrow and placed a hand under her chin. "And what might that be?" she asked playfully.
Kell''s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "A hammer made by the renowned Deep Dwarven Smith Xrach!" he exclaimed.
Emma couldn''t help but let out a melodic chuckle at his excitement. To tease him a bit, she added, "You know you''ll have to wait at least three days for it even if you win."
Kell visibly deflated at her words, earning laughter from Emma and his servants. The light-hearted moment eased the tension that had built up from their earlier conversation about the morbid powers
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Senior Ji, with a calm demeanor, handed the [Spirit Chains] back to the staff member who came to collect it. The staff member, a young woman with a professional air, accepted the item with a slight bow.
"We apologize for the inconvenience, Senior Ji," she said, her voice steady. "You can reclaim it after three days. Rest assured, it will be undamaged."
Silas waved her off with a smile. "No trouble at all," he replied smoothly. The staff member seemed to appreciate his cooperative nature and quickly departed.
Once alone, Silas leaned back in his seat and allowed himself a moment of reflection. The events of the auction played out in his mind like a well-rehearsed performance. The fake Bloodmoon Thorn had been accepted as genuine, and a significant sum of Reshal now resided within the auction hall alongside many other valuables. Zinnia''s cover as Selen remained intact, and the Magistrate''s high regard for him due to a past connection he made with Rhysling added an extra layer of security.
The auction had been relatively peaceful so far, but Silas knew that this was merely the calm before the storm. He glanced at the Priest, knowing that Nyx was hiding within his shadow.
"Now it will be your turn to set the scene for me," Silas thought to himself.
Once the auction concluded, only then would his part would truly begin.
His thoughts drifted to Arim. The Guildmaster had played his role well. Silas considered what to do with him next.
"Hmm, what to do, what to do¡" he mused aloud. "Well, he has earned his keep. What kind of friend would I be if I can''t make exceptions for my own?"
A stoic expression settled on Silas''s face as he pondered Arim''s fate. Slowly, it turned into a smile that would send a cold shiver down the back of anyone who saw it.
With that final thought, Silas continued to observe the proceedings below.
The auction continued with a few more incidents, primarily involving the Priest''s overzealous behavior. He seemed to have a knack for annoying buyers, questioning their intentions and scrutinizing their purchases with an intensity that bordered on obsessive. Weapons, tomes, artifacts, pills, and many other items were traded and put on hold.
Silas noted how the crowd''s initial excitement had waned into a mixture of irritation and fatigue. The Magistrate, Lachlan, maintained order with a firm hand but even he seemed to be growing weary of the Priest''s antics.
As the auction drew to a close and attendees began to file out through the front doors, Silas felt a presence approaching him. It was Lachlan, his rotund figure cutting through the dispersing crowd.
"Senior Ji," Lachlan said, his voice low and urgent. "May I have a word in private?"
Silas nodded and followed him to a quieter corner of the hall. Lachlan wasted no time.
"Is there danger you''ve sensed?" he asked bluntly.
Silas adopted a serious expression. "Several factors have raised my suspicion," he began. "The Priest was acting disproportionately tense even before the auction started. It seemed to me that he was behaving like an exaggerated character within a playwright''s script."
Lachlan frowned but listened intently.
"Originally," Silas continued, "I assumed he was being overly observant of the attendees to sniff out deception¡ªperhaps out of passion for his role. However¡ when it came to the Bloodmoon Thorn, he once again grew exaggerated in his actions, even without my jests."
Lachlan nodded slowly. "That is slightly abnormal behavior," he agreed.
Silas leaned in closer. "I''ve never heard of a Priest of Probitas who would accept words that imply their faith was not enough."
Lachlan''s face grew tense at this revelation. "I see," he said finally.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Lachlan added after taking a deep breath. "I will investigate him and keep an eye on him."
Silas inclined his head slightly. "I appreciate your vigilance."
Before they could part ways, Zinnia¡ªor rather Selen¡ªappeared between them with her usual flair.
"What is this~ a secret boys club?" she teased.
Lachlan looked surprised at her sudden appearance but Silas responded smoothly. "Indeed it is."
Lachlan chuckled at this while Zinnia slipped her arm under Silas''s and pressed a small note into his palm.
"I owe you a dinner date for the lovely afternoon yesterday," she said playfully.
Silas chuckled as he untangled himself from her grasp. "Perhaps another time."
Lachlan raised an eyebrow but kept a happy expression on his face; it was not his business what Selen and Senior Ji did in their spare time.
"I''m quite tired," Silas admitted, feigning weariness. "While I look young, my actual condition is quite worn and does need rest."
"Fine~ you owe me dinner then!" Zinnia pouted playfully.
Lachlan chuckled again and asked Silas if he was calling it an early night.
"It is indeed the case," Silas replied with a laugh. "If you should have need of me, you can find me at the Merry Minstrel Lodge."
They exchanged goodbyes amicably before parting ways: Lachlan to set up an investigation into the Priest and Zinnia to follow him back to her new room in Castle Rhysling, while Silas made his way back to the inn.
Kell trudged along the lively evening streets of Rhysling, his head hung low in defeat. The lively chatter and vibrant energy of the city seemed to mock his rotten luck. Emma, walking beside him, couldn¡¯t suppress her laughter.
"Are you really going to mope all night?" she teased, her voice light and playful.
Kell glanced at her with eyes so sorrowful they could melt the coldest iceberg. Emma felt a lump form in her throat and coughed to hide her embarrassment.
"Don''t look at me like that," she muttered, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.
Behind them, their servants exchanged wry smiles, but those smiles quickly turned to expressions of shock when Emma leaned in and planted a quick kiss on Kell''s forehead. She whispered something that made his face turn as red as a ripe apple.
"I''ve never seen a man get so depressed when he gets bought a gift," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin.
Kell''s eyes widened, and his expression earned a hearty laugh from Emma, who was usually as unapproachable as molten metal. She waved a hand in front of his face, her smile teasing.
"Are you still there?" she asked.
Kell nodded mechanically, unable to form words.
"Would you like to have a drink with me tonight?" she continued, her tone still playful.
Again, Kell nodded mechanically. Emma chuckled and shook her head.
"I need to deliver a letter from my mother to Guildmaster Arim and have a short chat with him," she said. "In the meantime, why don''t you find us a nice place for our date?"
Kell nodded once more, still in a daze. Emma gave him one last amused glance before heading back towards the auction hall. As she disappeared into the crowd, Old Renan approached Kell with a knowing smile.
"Congratulations, Young Master," Old Renan said, his voice filled with genuine warmth.
Kell nodded mechanically yet again. Old Renan''s eyes twinkled with amusement as he leaned in closer.
"Can I get a raise?" he asked cheekily.
Kell nodded once more, much to the delight of the other servants who couldn''t help but laugh at their Young Master''s dazed state.
The Priest of Probitas stared into the bowl of water, his reflection distorted by the ripples he caused when he splashed it onto his face. He had behaved most inappropriately today, and it gnawed at him. His actions at the auction had been erratic, uncharacteristic. What had come over him? He rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the fog clouding his thoughts.
Turning away from the bowl, he took in the simplicity of his room. The church of Rovinius had provided modest accommodations for his stay in Elrean. The Empire was a land where the faith of Rovinius reigned supreme. Other deities were not forbidden, but the people¡¯s hearts belonged almost solely to Rovinius. It was a curious thing, this singular devotion.
He removed the necklace bearing Probitas''s image and placed it gently on the table beside his bed. The metal felt cool against his fingers, a contrast to the warmth of his skin. Perhaps a prayer would help clear his mind and ward off the strangeness of the day.
As he was getting ready, his shadow elongated outside of his view. From behind the Priest, a mass of shadows began to coalesce.
Kneeling on the floor, the Priest clasped his hands together and began to recite a prayer for guidance to the Most Honorable. Whenever he felt confused, whenever he felt lost, this was the way he brought back peace upon himself. His voice was soft at first, but as he continued, it grew louder, more fervent. He felt something stirring within him¡ªa revelation perhaps! An answer to why he had acted so strangely today. He was humbled, thinking that perhaps Probitas himself was going to enlighten him.
As he prayed with increasing intensity, an image began to form in his mind. He saw an obscured face, and a hand covered in what seemed like dried blood. It was handing him a tonic. Realization dawned on him¡ªthe man from yesterday¡ the man from the auction! He had been drugged! Just as he was about to rise from his knees, a strange sensation overcame him. As if he became lighter, yet something was off. He felt the world around him spinning, his line of sight quickly falling.
His vision began to blur, confusion was the only thing on his mind. He could not make sense of what just happened. However, his answer was about to come, within his gaze he saw an impossible sight¡ a familiar frame, his own in fact¡ only to his horror he could not see anything above the shoulders. The wound that was there was grotesque, a stream of crimson liquid rising so high it almost reached the ceiling. His mind was still processing the sight, however faster than he could comprehend the liquid landed atop his face and into his mouth. The taste of iron only brought one word to mind ''''¡Blood?''''. Standing atop his headless frame was a crow, an ominous creature at the best of times, its black wing was covered in a sheen of deep red.
Terror etched itself onto the Priest''s face as the light quickly faded from his gaze. He could not comprehend anything¡ was he¡ watching his own murder? The world quickly faded to black, and cruel fate would not even allow him to scream once for his miserable end.
Nyx tilted his head, regarding the scene with mild interest. "What a gusher!" he thought to himself. "Going to have to clean up this stuff for Silas¡ haaah~ the things we do for our Masters¡"
With grace, Nyx pulled out a vial from his sash containing a yellow liquid known as [Corpse Eraser]. A few drops would dissolve an entire body and all its fluids within seconds. But just as he was about to administer it, his stomach rumbled loudly.
Nyx paused, considering his options. He did need to give everyone enough time to get away from the hall¡ and he was famished.
Chapter 20: Night Of Horror
Silas sat alone in his room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge, the slip of paper Zinnia had given him within his hands.
He scanned the hastily scribbled note, absorbing every detail about the staff members'' locations within the Starlight Bidders'' Hall, the routes they walked, and the defenses and surveillance systems she had noticed. It was limited information, but it was good enough to give him an edge.
Beside him on the table, a beaker bubbled with a cyan-colored potion. Silas glanced at it briefly before returning his focus to Zinnia''s notes.
Half an hour passed in silence, broken only by the occasional pop and hiss from the beaker. Silas''s concentration was interrupted by a soft tap on the window sill. He looked up to see Nyx perched there, his feathers ruffled from his recent flight. The crow hopped inside and landed on the table with a soft thud.
From one of the enchanted pockets on his sash, Nyx pulled out a clump of hair, along with the clothes and mace that belonged to the late Priest of Probitas. Silas took the items from Nyx and examined them.
"Have you set the scene adequately?" Silas asked, his voice low, but not threatening.
Nyx nodded calmly and squawked an affirmative.
"Good work," Silas said, giving Nyx a compliment.
Nyx puffed up slightly in pride before hopping onto the bed and sprawling out in a carefree pose. Within moments, he was asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.
Silas turned his attention back to the potion. He took the clump of hair from the Priest and threw it into the beaker. Instantly, the cyan liquid began to fizzle and change colors¡ªfrom cyan to magenta to grey. An oddly pleasant scent reminiscent of lilac filled the room.
Satisfied with the brew, Silas set aside his own robe and donned the Priest''s clothes. The fabric felt different against his skin¡ªcoarser, less familiar¡ªbut it had a purpose to serve. He tied the mace onto his hip and rolled the necklace bearing Probitas''s symbol across his fingers before snorting in amusement and putting it around his neck. He grabbed a few more implements from his satchel, a few needles and several aged talismans.
He took a deep breath and lifted the beaker from the table and to his lips, taking a sip of [Envy''s Seduction]. The potion slid down his throat smoothly, leaving a faint aftertaste. Within seconds, he felt his body begin to shift grotesquely. His stature shrank down to match that of the deceased Priest''s, his face contorted until it mirrored that of Probitas''s servant. The Alchemical Grooves on his skin became hidden under new flesh. After the transformation stopped, he observed himself in the mirror for a final check, and was satisfied with the effect.
Silas moved towards the window, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished from where he stood, seamlessly merging into Rhysling''s nightscape without a sound, just as he had when he first entered the city.
The only noise left within the room was Nyx sleep-squawking softly as he dreamed on.
Emma stood in the hall, her posture graceful and poised. She engaged in conversation with Arim, who chuckled warmly.
"It''s good to hear your mother is in good health," Arim said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "And how is your father?"
With a courteous smile she responded. "He is well, thank you for asking."
Arim''s gaze shifted to the letter she had delivered earlier. He unfolded it, scanning the familiar handwriting that included both greetings and playful jabs at some of his¡ youthful mistakes. However, the request inside stood out among the rest of the words.
"Your grandfather wishes to attempt the third step?" Arim asked, his tone a blend of curiosity and concern.
Emma''s silence spoke volumes, confirming his suspicion without a word.
Arim thought for a moment before nodding. "I can create the Elixirs, but the Alchemist''s Guild cannot provide all of the reagents required. Several are rare and a few are outright illegal."
She was undeterred as she replied without missing a beat. "The troublesome ingredients are being hunted down as we speak."
Arim chuckled, finding her poise admirable. "Then it will be fine," he said, signaling a servant to bring them some tea. He gestured towards one of the now empty gallery seats. "Please, sit with me. It''s been so long since I''ve seen you¡ªsince you were a child too shy to speak and hiding behind your mother''s skirt!"
Emma''s cheeks flushed slightly at the reminder. "I''ve grown up a lot since then," she said with a hint of embarrassment.
Arim laughed heartily as they settled into their seats. They began discussing various topics, from how his old friends in the Heavenly Flame Sect were doing to her progress in cultivation.
"And what about the Young Master of the Rumbling Earth Sect?" Arim asked with a gossip''s glint in his eye.
Emma chuckled softly, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "He is going to be mine."
Arim smiled wryly, shaking his head. "Your mother was the same when she met your father."
Their conversation flowed easily until Arim''s expression turned annoyed. He glanced around impatiently.
"Where is that tea? It''s been quite some time since I asked for it," he grumbled.
Emma nodded in agreement. "It is odd that it''s taking this long."
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Arim stood up and took a deep breath to calm himself. As he inhaled, something caught his attention.
He lifted a finger to stop Emma from speaking and focused his energy on his already keen sense of smell. Inhaling deeply, his face scrunched up as his expression hardened.
"The scent of blood is in the air," he said gravely, causing Emma to look at him with growing concern.
The hall was eerily silent, no footsteps echoed through its vast space.
At the gates of the Starlight Bidders'' Hall, two guards stood and chatted with their Mana Rifles at their side. The weapons gleamed with intricate decorative designs along the barrel, and a brand on the stock marking them as one of the Artificer''s Guild''s creations.
The door behind them suddenly swung open with a bang, startling the guards. They spun around, rifles raised, aiming into the empty doorway. Their eyes darted around, searching for any sign of an intruder.
"Did you see anything?" one guard whispered, his grip tightening on his rifle.
"Nothing," the other replied, stepping cautiously into the hall. They moved in tandem, weapons poised and ready.
As soon as they were inside, the door slammed shut with a resounding thud. Panic flashed across their faces as they turned and fired instinctively. The enchantments on the door absorbed most of the impact, but scorch marks and cracks marred its surface.
The guards'' breaths came in ragged gasps as they realized their mistake. No one was there. They exchanged confused glances, their minds racing to make sense of the situation.
Before they could react further, two dull thuds echoed through the hall. Blood splattered across the floor as their heads burst like overripe fruits. Their bodies crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap.
Silas stepped over the fallen guards without a second glance. He pulled out a paper note from his pocket and scanned its contents briefly before tucking it away again.
Silas, cloaked in the guise of the Priest, moved briskly through the hall, noticing some servants ahead.
The servants, engrossed in their cleaning duties, barely noticed his approach. He stopped in front of one who was scrubbing the floor, the rhythmic sound of bristles against stone filling the air.
He looked up from his scrubbing, eyes widening in confusion. In an instant, Silas brought down the mace with brutal efficiency. The sickening crunch echoed through the hall, drawing the attention of the others. Tools clattered to the ground as they turned to witness the horrible sight.
Two stood paralyzed by fear, their bodies trembling. One turned to flee, while another opened his mouth to scream. Silas acted swiftly, hurling the mace at the runner. The weapon struck true, and the servant collapsed mid-stride with his guts hanging out.
In a fluid motion, Silas lunged at the would-be screamer, delivering a crushing blow to his face that silenced him instantly. The remaining two servants stood rooted to their spots, eyes wide with terror.
Silas pointed upwards. As if compelled by some primal instinct, they looked up. A moment later and throats were ripped out. Their consciousness slipped away as they crumpled to the floor.
With a calm demeanor, Silas retrieved his mace from where it had fallen. He continued down the hallway, a whistle escaping his lips¡ªa disturbingly jolly melody that echoed through the now-silent corridor¡
Kell stood at the entrance of Spirit''s Gazebo, his eyes scanning the serene garden adorned with glowing lanterns and mystical flora. The air was infused with the scent of gourmet spices, creating an ambiance that was both elegant and tranquil. He approached the wait staff, his posture exuding nervousness and confidence at the same time.
"I''d like to make a reservation for two for later this evening," Kell said, his voice steady. "Fine food and fine drinks."
The waiter, a middle-aged man with a warm smile, nodded and made a note on his parchment. "Of course, Sir. Any special requests?"
Kell shook his head. "No, nothing specific."
The waiter raised an eyebrow, his smile widening slightly. "Are you sure? Your partner for the evening may appreciate a bit of added effort."
Before Kell could respond, Old Renan''s voice came from behind him. "Ask for a red motif in a private section with a good view."
Kell scratched the back of his head, mildly embarrassed. "Can that be arranged?" he asked the waiter.
The waiter''s smile grew even warmer. "Certainly, Sir. A red motif in a private section with a good view it is."
Kell then turned to address another concern. "I''d also like seating for my servants," he said, gesturing to the small group behind him. "Whatever they want will be covered by me."
A few cheers erupted from his posse, their faces lighting up with gratitude.
The waiter nodded again, making another note. "We''ll find a way to accommodate everyone despite the short notice," he assured Kell. "Everything will be ready within the hour."
Kell paid a small deposit and turned to leave, breathing out as he muttered to himself, "This is complicated."
Old Renan chuckled softly beside him. "Most matters of the heart are," he said casually.
Kell sighed and looked at his reliable followers. "We''ve still got an hour. What should we do in the meantime?"
One of his servants piped up enthusiastically. "How about buying a gift for the Young Mistress at that Magicrafter shop?"
Kell considered this for a moment before nodding. "That''s a good idea," he said. "But what should I get?"
A female servant chimed in thoughtfully. "Jewelry would be a safe option¡ if we know Lady Emma''s tastes, that is."
Renan stroked his beard thoughtfully before offering his suggestion. "Perfume might be better," he said. "As long as the scent is not too overwhelming, it should serve as a good option."
Kell mulled over the ideas as they walked along the streets. The lively atmosphere was filled with laughter and chatter from people enjoying their evening.
"Perfume sounds like a solid choice," Kell finally said, nodding to himself.
They continued their stroll through the district, passing various shops and stalls.
"We''ll wait a bit longer before seeking Emma out," Kell decided aloud.
His servants nodded in agreement as they made their way towards one of the more renowned Magicrafter shops in Rhysling¡
The sound of a tea kettle whistling cut through the eerie silence of the Starlight Bidders¡¯ Hall. Inside the kitchen, bodies lay strewn about like discarded marionettes, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
The scene was a macabre painting of a terrible night for all those who had the misfortune to work here.
In the hallways leading up to the main stage, where the auction had been held earlier in the day, the sights were even more horrifying. Walls were splattered with dark, congealed liquids, and still limbs clutched onto weapons that had never had a chance to be used. Security golems and hidden Mana Turrets lay decimated, their once formidable presence reduced to twisted metal and shattered crystal.
Deeper within the hall, just before the entrance to the stage, Silas shook off the residue from his mace.
The last few guards he butchered bore the insignia of the Imperial family¡ªpersonal guards placed here by the Magistrate himself. Unfortunately for them, their fate was no better than that of the lowliest servants in this place. Silas thought to himself that this had been a decent stress relief, almost therapeutic.
By his estimation, there should only be a handful of staff left. A few who had spotted the carnage would be on their way to get help by now.
He needed to pick up his pace and retrieve the held items. But before that, he should appropriately deal with Arim. After all, he couldn''t let his friend lose face now with such a brutal attack under his nose, could he?
Silas pushed open the door to the main stage. Inside, Arim stood upon it with his eyes closed, as if meditating.
"I didn''t expect our honorable guest to have such a demonic side," Arim said.
Silas snorted in amusement but spoke no words.
Arim''s eyes then barely began to open, narrowed into dangerous slits as he continued, "Alas, this is the end of the road for you!"
Paying him no heed, Silas began approaching Arim¡
Chapter 21: Clash
In the cold, silent auction hall, Arim''s eyes snapped open, bloodshot and intense. His posture shifted in an instant. One arm was outstretched with the palm facing outward, the other held back in a loose fist, hiding something.
The fabric of his sleeves crumbled away, as the air filled with the acrid scent of smoke, a rather obvious sign of the activation of his stored brews. He took a steadying breath as the Alchemical Energy of a Sage began to flow through him. There was no fear, a single Priest would never rattle his confidence.
Arim decided to see if he could disturb the calm of his opponent. If a Priest began to doubt himself, it could prove fatal to his abilities. Without unshakable Faith, a Priest might as well be mortal.
"You are a disgrace to your God with your actions tonight! Have you no shame?! Repent!" The hall reverberated with his booming voice.
It was truly unfortunate for him that he couldn''t recognize the enemy in front of him as Silas. If he had, he certainly wouldn''t have done what he did. While the determined Guildmaster wasted his breath, Silas took a moment to discern Arim''s repertoire for the night.
He caught a whiff of the standard Alchemist''s arsenal. Categorizing the information with his enhanced sense of smell, he noted the characteristic scents of [Liberated Flight], [Strength of The Storm], [Blood Recall], [Scaled Restoration], [Devilish Reactions], and [Alchemist''s Spite]. But he also caught a whiff of something unexpected: there was another person in the room, hiding in the gallery behind him.
"Quite a spicy perfume... Is my little friend here planning to team up against a lowly Priest... or is someone being naughty and not listening to him?" Silas thought, a small smile playing on his lips. Either way, it wouldn''t change the outcome.
Arim saw that his words had no effect, and what''s more, the Priest even smiled at him. The gall!
Deciding to disregard conversation and do things the old-fashioned way, he punched forward with his loose fist, spreading a dark green powder that liquefied and vaporized on contact with the air. It quickly expanded, covering the entire stage around him as it moved towards Silas.
When it came in contact with Silas'' new skin, the flesh became numb and turned green. Normally, Silas would have used one of the detoxifying agents that were embedded in his flesh or inside a vial within his satchel to neutralize the effect, but he had a show to put on, and it would be terribly depressing to have it end it prematurely.
Even if Arim used a Paramount level poison, chances were that Silas could withstand it for a while with his natural resistance alone, let alone a Sage''s poison...
While Arim made his move in releasing the fog, Silas prepared one of the paper talismans he had brought with him, an old trophy of his that would be very appropriate for tonight''s aftermath.
The atmosphere between them thickened with tension, the green, foul-smelling mist surrounding them. The light in the hall should have been bright, but the mist seemed to envelop it, leaving their impromptu arena a cold and dark place.
Silas heard the sound of a deep intake of breath. In an instant, Arim appeared before him, gliding close to the ground as he attempted to thrust a long silver needle through the base of Silas'' jaw. A quick dodge later and Silas was out of harm''s way. However, Arim followed up by opening his mouth wide and regurgitating out a sizzling clear liquid. Silas swung his mace to deflect it to the side and quickly shook the excess off the weapon. The nearby seat covered in the liquid quickly began to dissolve, and signs of melting appeared on the part of the mace that had deflected it.
Emma''s breath was caught in her throat as she watched the battle unfold below her.
Moments earlier, Guildmaster Arim had grabbed her by the shoulders and told her to leave the hall as quickly as she could.
When she asked for an explanation about the ''scent of blood in the air'', Arim had said that someone had been murdered inside of the hall tonight.
Then he followed by saying she must inform the Magistrate as quickly as possible. His grip had become quite severe, digging into her skin. She felt it was inappropriate, yet the worried look in his eyes made her not breach that topic.
"Will you be alright?" Emma had asked.
"I don¡¯t know," Arim had answered instantly, "but you must ignore me. It is my duty to stand guard."
However, as soon as he mentioned that he himself might be in danger, youthful hot-bloodedness got to her. She decided that if there was danger so great, she couldn¡¯t just abandon her mother¡¯s friend. It was the way of the Heavenly Flame Sect¡ªto stand by those close to them come what may.
Headstrong, courageous, witty, beautiful¡ªthese were all words that could barely describe this Young Mistress. Although¡ one word could fully capture her: impulsive.
Instead of escaping and getting help as Arim had instructed, she took to the shadows on the far side of the gallery. This gave her a good view of the coming action while keeping her perfectly out of sight. She watched Arim take center stage. He was calm, his hands joined together in front of him. She didn¡¯t quite understand what he was doing but heard clearly when he spoke.
"Oh Rovinius..."
Emma was surprised to learn Arim was a pious man, he didn¡¯t seem the type. Within a few moments, the doors opened and into the room strolled a figure she would never have guessed.
"The Priest of Probitas?!" she muttered under her breath, eyes wide.
She then observed the events playing out: Arim trying to shake the Priest with words and then releasing the green fog. The breakneck speed of their exchange of blows left her amazed at Arim''s versatility in attacks. Yet to her horror, the Priest held his ground with simple physical brutality.
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The Priest moved with precision despite Arim''s fog, each step calculated to avoid closing the gap prematurely.
Arim lunged forward with a vial in hand, smashing it against the Priest''s chest. The liquid hissed and sizzled on contact but failed to penetrate.
His eyes narrowed as he pulled back momentarily, reassessing his strategy. However, the Priest would not allow him such a boon, as he took the opportunity to press forward, closing the distance between them with alarming speed. His fist connected with Arim¡¯s jaw in a brutal uppercut that sent him staggering backward.
Emma watched in horror as Arim struggled to regain his footing. She decided that is she was going to act, she had to do it soon but needed the perfect moment.
An ornate golden bow, engraved with flame motifs and strung with a Spirit Beast''s sinew was conjured within her hands. She calmed her nerves as explosions echoed from below her position.
"Now or never," she thought to herself.
She nocked an arrow made of flame, infused with Fire Qi that she had practiced her entire life to control and aimed carefully at the Priest. Her fingers trembled slightly but steadied as she exhaled slowly.
The sounds of battle raged on below¡ªeach clash reverberating through the hall¡ªas Emma waited for just the right moment to unleash her Art.
Arim''s intensity was almost feral as he lunged at Silas, every single twitch of his muscles was deliberately done to end this fight as soon as possible. He recovered from the uppercut he took, shaking it off and renewing his wariness of the Priest. This kind of physical might you¡¯d only expect to find among Warriors¡
He thought for a brief moment over the fight''s sequence and concluded that he was not dealing with a Priest¡ however, the miracle he cast earlier in the day was real¡ Arim decided he would find out what was happening after he inspected the attacker''s corpse afterwards.
He stomped the ground hard, cracking it and launching the front row of seats into the air. He unleashed a volatile compound from his palms that exploded and launched the seats towards the attacker. In the process he singed his palms, which now had a texture closer to leather. He could feel the pain radiating from the burn but could not focus on it for now.
The seats Arim had launched flew at Silas and impacted with a crash, but Silas''s mace swung out in a powerful arc, splintering the seat into fragments. Not to lose momentum, Arim produced a number of poisoned needles as he jabbed forward, aiming for the stomach to create a gap in his opponents defense.
Silas assumed Arim was smart enough to realize by now that he was not a Priest, so to add to his misconceptions he decided to use a cramping agent stored within his own flesh, causing his abdomen to harden like metal similar to a Warrior''s ability called [Endure], rendering the needles'' puncturing ability useless.
Undeterred by the failure to pierce his skin, Arim quickly adapted. Out of his robe''s collar one of the grooves peeking out glowed bright blue. He felt the slithering sensation of [Boyle''s Boil] making its way down his hand and into the needle that was still in contact with the attacker. This brew didn¡¯t need to be injected to take effect, it worked by surface application.
Almost immediately, Silas''s skin erupted in painful, fluid-filled boils, the potion working its insidious magic. His face contorted in discomfort, but his eyes remained focused and sharp. Just as he began to swing his mace in retaliation, Arim sensed the danger and sprang back, narrowly avoiding the potentially deadly blow.
However, the mace did clip the tips of Arim''s fingers, sending a sharp pain shooting through his hand and releasing a retaliatory poison called [Alchemist¡¯s Spite] out of the open wound.
But as quickly as the injury occurred, it began to heal, the effects of [Blood Recall] and [Scaled Restoration] working in tandem to close it almost instantly.
Arim hovered a short distance away, his eyes scanning Silas for any new signs of weakness. The poison from [Alchemist''s Spite] still hung in the air. Alas, Silas appeared unaffected.
Realizing this tactic was futile, Arim pulled out a vial of bitter-tasting purging solution to detoxify himself of that particular substance and allow for more room to activate other, hopefully more helpful potions. He activated [Ironflesh], his body hardening in preparation for the next round of combat.
Silas flipped his mace nonchalantly, his eyes not leaving Arim. The fog Arim seemed to not obscure Silas¡¯s senses in the slightest. He was impressed by Arim''s tricks, yet time was running out and with Silas limiting himself to only using the Priest¡¯s mace and his physical might, this fight would be far from over if it continued like this. Within his mind, he estimated he had about 20 minutes before the Magistrate arrived.
With a burst of speed, Arim darted forward again, his fists now encased in a metallic sheen from [Ironflesh].
He aimed a powerful punch at Silas''s chest, but Silas countered with a downward swing of his mace. The two forces collided with a resounding crash, sparks flying from the impact. Arim''s enhanced strength allowed him to withstand the blow, but the force still sent him skidding backward across the destroyed floor.
As Arim regained his footing instead of using his Sage abilities, perhaps to not harm his palms once again, he produced a vial of [Flame''s Fury], a volatile mixture designed to ignite upon contact with air.
With a flick of his wrist, Arim hurled the vial at Silas. The glass shattered midair and released a burst of fire. Silas raised his mace and swung it wide, dispelling the brunt of the flames, yet still catching flame onto his robe.
He quickly patted out the flames, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. Swinging with a wide arc he lunged forward aiming at Arim''s head.
Ducking just in time, Arim could hear the mace whistling past his ear narrowly escaping a gruesome injury. What followed as a counter was a quick jab to the ribs. The Iron-fisted punch landing with a solid thud. This, however, didn''t slow down Silas, who was coming around with another strike.
Just as he was swinging down an arrow made of flame shot towards his back.
Emma''s fingers trembled as she released the arrow, her thoughts a desperate plea: "Please hit!" The arrow sliced through the air with deadly precision, but to her dismay, the Priest twisted his body as he backflipped over it, evading the projectile with an almost inhuman grace. Silas''s eyes locked onto hers for a fleeting moment, twisted amusement reflected within them. The arrow''s target altered due to the dodge, now hurtling toward Arim.
Arim''s instincts kicked in. He raised his forearms just in time to absorb the impact. The force of the blow staggered him, but his potions worked swiftly, sealing the gaping wound that appeared, only this time there was no poison that leaked out. His face contorted with rage as he bellowed, "You fool! Why are you still here?!"
Emma''s cover was blown. She leaped down from her perch, firing arrows in rapid succession at Silas. Each shot missed its mark as Silas dodged effortlessly.
"I couldn¡¯t just leave you alone to face this!" Emma shouted, her voice a mix of defiance and desperation.
Arim''s heart pounded wildly in his chest as he locked eyes with Silas. The wide, hollow smile on Silas''s face set off every bad premonition Arim could have. He now faced the daunting task of protecting Emma while battling a highly skilled killer. Gritting his teeth, he made a decision.
With a powerful stomp, Arim prepared to leap between Emma and Silas. But Silas had anticipated this move from the start. As soon as Arim leaped, Silas threw the talisman he had been holding ready.
Arim braced himself for an impact but was taken aback by how light it felt when it struck him. Then it happened. Barbed chains erupted from the talisman on his back, wrapping around him and digging deep into his flesh before turning illusory. The scream that tore from Arim''s throat was not one appropriate for a man of his age¡ªbut then again, chains cutting into one''s soul seemed a good excuse for such a reaction.
Instantly, all of Arim''s alchemical grooves dimmed as shifting scripts covered his face. He crashed and tumbled toward the midpoint between Emma and Silas, coming to a horrible realization.
He recognized what had struck him: an ability of a second-step Priest¡ªa Bishop.
Spitting out blood and words alike, Arim slumped on the floor and gasped out, "Why do you have¡ a [Punishment Order]?!"
Chapter 22: The Trick
The [Punishment Order] was a tool feared by many who tread the path of cultivation. Created by Bishops, a realm above Priests, it sealed a miracle of [Punishment] onto a specialized piece of paper that had absorbed a at the least fifty years worth of manifested Faith.
When activated, the talisman unleashed chains that burrowed into a cultivator''s soul, cutting off their access to the inner reserves of energy they had spent their lives nurturing. It effectively cripples all cultivation below the third step, reducing them to mortals with stronger bodies.
Arim struggled to lift himself back up, his face ashen as he reached into his robe and pulled out a few ampules of various potions. His mind raced, processing the reality of his situation. The chains from the [Punishment Order] had severed his connection to his Sage abilities, his grooves were useless. Emma ceased her arrow barrage, her tone questioning as she echoed Arim''s words.
"A [Punishment Order]?"
Silas set his mace back into his sash and clapped, a simple half-smile playing on his lips. To their eyes, the Priest no longer saw this as a fight worth his time now that Arim was disabled.
His dismissal both irked Emma and pleased her simultaneously given that he is underestimating her. She was worried about Arim''s condition after being struck by that talisman.
Arim''s mind however whirred itself into overdrive. For most cultivators, the [Punishment Order] would be an instant death sentence.
But he was an Alchemist, the talisman simply forced him to return to his roots. He could no longer fight as a Sage but could still function as a Master.
He shattered one ampule between his fingers, turning his hand blurry and flicked another behind him toward Emma''s legs. The liquid splashed onto her skin in between the slit of her clothing, causing her muscles to tighten and then relax as they swelled slightly, granting her increased strength.
Silas then began walking over towards them, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Scram!" Arim yelled at Emma once again.
A vein throbbed on Emma''s forehead at his command. She understood the boost he''d given her¡ªhe''d enhanced her ability to run away like a coward. She instead drew her bow once again, flames manifesting upon her arms travelled across the length of the bow as she ignited another arrow.
Lachlan sat behind his desk, his fingers massaging his bald head as he let out a weary sigh. The events of the day had been nothing short of bizarre, and the loss of his hair was the final straw. A servant entered quietly, carrying a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a delicate porcelain cup. She approached him with a gentle smile, attempting to console him.
"Lord Magistrate," she began softly, "I''m sure your hair will grow back soon. And even if it doesn''t, you are as handsome as ever."
Lachlan''s hands fell to his sides as he looked at her with a deadpan expression. The servant''s face flushed, thinking she had offended him.
"I apologize, my Lord!" she stammered, bowing her head.
He raised a hand to silence her, a small smile forming on his lips. "Thank you for your kind intentions," he said, chuckling softly. "It has been an unusual day, and such a ridiculous incident will take some time to get over."
The servant bowed again and turned to leave, her cheeks still tinged with pink. Lachlan watched her go, his mind churning with thoughts of revenge. Inside, he seethed. ''''Raghh! I will rip several new orifices into the one who burnt my toupee!''''
As he stewed in his thoughts, he awaited the watchman''s report. He had ordered a tail on the Priest from the auction, but it was past the designated time. Lachlan assumed the watchman had found something that occupied his investigation.
Just as this thought crossed his mind, one of his guards burst into the room, panic etched across his face.
"Lord Magistrate!" the guard yelled.
Lachlan stood abruptly and rushed towards him, placing a steadying hand on the guard''s shoulder. "Calm yourself and explain what has happened."
The guard took a deep breath and quickly reported, "Civilians have reported something horrendous at the Church of Rovinius. A father carrying his daughter to seek help for her nightmares found a barbaric scene within. The entire Priesthood has been butchered¡ªnone were left alive! Some bodies were mangled beyond recognition, others were strewn about as if put on display."
Lachlan''s mind raced. He instantly assumed that the watchman had been discovered and that the Priest had taken action. Senior Ji''s warning echoed in his thoughts¡ªit had been right on the money.
Grabbing his saber from its stand, Lachlan''s voice boomed through the castle halls as he issued orders.
"The city is to be locked down! None are to enter or leave until further notice!" His voice echoed off the stone walls.
Without another moment''s hesitation, Lachlan rushed out of his office and headed towards the Church of Rovinius, determination and fury propelling him forward.
Arim pulled out another silver needle from his robe. Emma, standing behind him, gasped in shock as Arim jabbed the needle between his ribs. Almost instantly, veins colored purple and black sprouted forth from his chest, spreading like a dark web across his skin. Arim''s body seemed to swell, nearly doubling in size as the hall began to resound with an ever-accelerating beat.
The specific thumping sound was unmistakable¡ªArim''s heart was beating so loudly it could be heard across the room. Sweat formed upon his brow, and Silas couldn''t help but raise an eyebrow at the sight.
It was quite unusual for Arim to exhibit such guts; he had always pegged him as a highly reasonable individual¡ªin other words, a coward. However, without his ability to manipulate his energy freely, Arim could serve little more than an annoyance or a punching bag now.
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"Leave! Now!" Arim reiterated to Emma, his voice cutting through the sound of his heart.
But before either he or Emma could react, Silas vanished right before their eyes. The Guildmaster blinked in confusion, only to feel a dull ache spreading from his abdomen.
His movements slowed as he looked down and saw a second needle stabbed there. His blood ran cold, and his spine shivered as white noise filled his thoughts. The toxin injected into him was potent, paralyzing him almost instantly. However, what was more horrifying to him was the recognition he had upon seeing that needle¡ the very same one that carved his grooves and elevated him to the status of Sage.
Only one thought, managed to penetrate Arim''s stupor as a terrible realization settled upon him: "Senior Ji." The name echoed in his mind like the toll of a clock striking the hour for the execution of a criminal.
Emma, startled by the sudden vanishing of the Priest, scanned the room frantically. To her dismay, out of the corner of her eye she saw an incoming hunk of steel swinging towards her side. She barely had time to react as she twisted her body in an attempt to dodge the attack. Alas, it struck true. Her beautiful form folded over like a crescent moon, but before the shock could settle into her or her body hit the ground, a large hand grabbed the side of her head. Silas unceremoniously slammed her down into the ground after striking her with the mace. His hand was still clenched around what was left of her face, until the moment he felt her skull crack on the destroyed floor below.
As her life was slipping from her, Silas stabbed another needle just above her ear and into the brain, letting a liquid slowly flow down into it.
The Magistrate of Rhysling stood at the entrance of the Church of Rovinius, gripping his saber so tightly the skin on his knuckles began to crack and bleed. His eyes scanned the desecrated sanctuary, taking in the horrifying scene with a blend of rage and sorrow.
The once-sacred space had been defiled beyond recognition. Priest aspirants lay strewn about like discarded dolls, their lifeless forms twisted in grotesque positions. The Father Ilidian, head of their Church, was beheaded, his body below the statue and his head within the palm of Rovinius, a macabre parody of divine protection.
Some of his guards had to step away, overcome by nausea at the sight. The stench of death and decay filled the air, mingling with the scent of incense that still lingered from earlier prayers. Whoever had done this possessed a twisted sense of humor¡ªor more probably no respect for life at all.
With a heavy heart, the Magistrate moved across the room, carefully picking up each fallen soul. He laid them in a line before the statue, tearing cloth from the surrounding decorations to cover their bodies. It was a small gesture, but it restored a semblance of dignity to the deceased.
He had already ordered a lockdown upon entering the Church, searching for any sign of the vile fiend responsible for this atrocity. Yet, the room where the Priest of Probitas should have been was spotless¡ªeerily so. It was as if a maid had meticulously cleaned it, leaving no trace of its occupant.
Exiting the church, he met with Amos, the man who had discovered and reported the scene. The Lord Magistrate placed a hand on Amos''s shoulder.
"Thank you for your rapid report," he said, his voice steady despite his inner turmoil. "Are you alright? That sight could disturb almost anyone."
Amos sighed deeply. "I''ll manage. But my daughter... she won''t be fine."
The Magistrate''s eyes softened with pity as he considered his plight. "Is there anything I can do for her?"
Amos looked defeated as he spoke. "Could you erase her memory of these past few days? Too many things have happened to her in such a short time. I don''t know how else to comfort her."
The Magistrate nodded solemnly. "It can be arranged," he promised.
Amos''s eyes widened in shock and relief. "Thank you," he whispered.
At that moment, another guard ran up to them, breathless and frantic.
"Runaway servants from Starlight Bidders'' Hall are saying someone is on a rampage inside!" he spoke.
The Magistrate released Amos''s shoulder as determination filled his eyes once more.
He told his guards to head to the Merry Minstrel Lodge and inform a guest called Ji of the events transpiring.
"I will keep my word," he assured Amos before turning to rush towards Starlight Bidders'' Hall.
Arim''s breath came in ragged gasps as he stood stiff like a statue in the Starlight Bidders'' Hall. The paralytic coursing through his veins left him unable to turn and see Emma''s crumpled form behind him, but the sickening sound of her impact and the subsequent squelch were enough to churn his stomach. He forced himself to focus on the figure that reappeared in front of him¡ªthe Priest of Probitas, or rather, Silas cloaked in the priest''s guise.
Silas''s low, raspy voice cut through the silence. "Impressive display, Arim. You''ve grown by leaps and bounds since your days under Nathaniel."
With a swift motion, Silas removed the needles embedded in Arim''s body. Arim felt his enhanced form shrink back to normal proportions, collapsing onto his hands and knees as he gasped for air. Silas grabbed him by the ear and lifted him up to eye level.
"That won''t do," Silas chided. "Stand up like a grown-up when you''re talking."
He patted the dust off Arim''s shoulders with a friendly smile. "A horrible night for the hall, huh? Who would have expected the Priest was such an insidious snake, and with skills to add to the whole mess."
Arim gulped, catching on quickly. "Yes, I have done my b-best. Yet, I was struck by the [Punishment Order] and couldn''t fight at my full strength¡ The Priest managed to complete the goal he set out to do and disappeared."
Silas nodded approvingly before glancing over Arim''s shoulder with a puzzled expression. "Your daughter? There is a vague resemblance."
Arim''s shaking hand reached into his robe, pulling out the letter Emma had brought from her mother. Silas glanced at it curiously, noting the casual conversation and request for aid from Arim.
"There''s a cipher," Arim explained as Silas looked it over. "Known only to me and her mother. You need to reorder certain words."
Silas, after listening on how to decipher the hidden message, read through it again and spoke aloud "Your daughter is beautiful isn''t she? You old dog, I wonder if you have forgotten me¡ I do miss you, my father is going to attempt a breakthrough and he could use an Alchemist''s help. It would give us some time to get reacquainted¡"
Silas let out a laugh and smacked Arim on the shoulder with a teasing smile. "She is right! You are an old dog. The poor Heavenly Flame Sectmaster¡ªI could almost feel bad for him!"
Arim gave a bitter nod, trying to maintain a cordial smile despite his turmoil.
Silas then grabbed him by the shoulder and twisted him around to face Emma''s mutilated form. Arim began to shake as his eyes grew moist.
"Don''t worry," Silas said calmly. "You used the last bit of your strength after the Priest left you for dead to place that needle coated in [Deadly Gambit]."
Arim quickly understood that Emma''s life was spared for his sake, but no one should have had to endure the horror of staring at their own child snapped in half with their head shattered.
Silas turned Arim back around to face him, his expression now devoid of emotion.
"The Sect will be grateful to you." Silas continued. "They will want their heir restored to full health more so than gambling on her grandfather. You will use that leverage to mobilize them to hunt down three bunches worth of Verdant Heartseed. To dissolve the Bishop¡¯s talisman and allow you to heal her, request them to take you to the capital and have the Archbishop of Rovinius annul it. Make sure you are there within three weeks¡ªno sooner or later. Understood?"
Arim nodded frantically like a chicken pecking at feed.
He hesitated before asking, "Senior Ji¡ where on earth did you get the [Punishment Order]?"
Silas grabbed him by the nose and shook him side-to-side before speaking sternly. "Don''t ask questions you know the answer to."
He then dragged Arim by the nose until they were standing over Emma¡¯s body.
Silas offered him the mace he had been using.
Arim¡¯s mind buzzed with confusion¡ªwas Silas going to make him do that?!
A quick smack from Silas¡¯s hand over his head dispelled any such thoughts.
"I would never torture my friend like that," Silas said with a hint of amusement. He offered Arim the mace again. "Do you want to finish tenderizing yourself, or do you want me to do it?"
Arim stared at Silas in disbelief but took hold of the mace with trembling hands.
Chapter 23: Why?
The Merry Minstrel Lodge was filled with the usual hum of activity. Guests lounged in the lobby, their conversations a blend of laughter and hushed tones. The inn''s staff moved among them, attending to the needs of their patrons. The serene atmosphere was abruptly shattered by the arrival of a messenger, his demeanor urgent and breath labored from haste.
"I must speak with a guest named Ji immediately," the messenger declared at the reception desk, his voice carrying an edge of desperation. "By order of Magistrate Lachlan."
The receptionist, a composed woman with a professional smile, blinked at the sudden intrusion. Her eyes flickered to the guests who had turned their heads towards the commotion. Maintaining her calm demeanor, she addressed the messenger.
"May I see your Castle badge to verify your identity?" she asked, her tone polite but firm.
The messenger fumbled for a moment before producing the badge, its insignia unmistakable. He held it out for her inspection, reiterating the urgency in his voice. "There is no time to lose."
Upon seeing the badge, the receptionist nodded and called over an usher. "Please take this gentleman to Mr. Ji''s room," she instructed.
The usher led the way through the winding corridors of the inn, the messenger close on his heels.
Inside Silas''s room, Nyx lay sprawled on the bed in his spread-crow pose, an occasional snore-squawk escaping his beak as he awaited Silas''s return or any potential intruders.
The sound of hurried footsteps jolted Nyx awake. His head snapped to attention, eyes sharp and ears honed in on the approaching noise. Urgent knocks echoed through the door as the messenger''s voice rang out.
"Senior Ji! His Lordship the Magistrate urgently requests your presence at the Starlight Bidders'' Hall! There is no time to lose!"
Nyx rolled to the side of the bed, placing himself before the window. With a mighty swing of his wing, he blew open the window before rolling off and slipping underneath the bed. The sound of shattering glass prompted immediate action from outside.
The usher used his master key to unlock and open the door swiftly. He and the messenger rushed into the room, their eyes darting around until they spotted the broken window.
"It looks like your message was delivered," said the usher with a jesting tone as he surveyed the scene.
The messenger nodded, scratching his head at the bizarre situation. "Indeed."
Satisfied that their task was complete, they both exited, shutting the door behind them.
As soon as they were gone, Nyx rolled back out from under the bed and hopped onto the table. He peered out through what remained of the windowpane and thought to himself, "Fun parts done."
Lachlan''s heart pounded as he sprinted through the corridors of the auction hall, his mind racing with dread. The scene that greeted him upon entering was another nightmare. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, their lifeless forms twisted in grotesque angles. Blood pooled around them, reflecting the dim light like dark mirrors. The air was thick with the stench of death and burnt flesh, a monument to the brutality that had unfolded.
Ignoring the carnage for now, Lachlan pressed forward, his focus solely on catching the perpetrator. His saber within his hand, ready to strike. He pushed through the chaos, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant crackle of dying flames.
He reached the stage door and hesitated for a moment, unease gripping him as he noticed the eerie stillness beyond. Taking a deep breath, he tightened his grip on the saber and burst through the door.
The sight that met him was even worse than he had imagined. The stage was a scene of utter devastation. Signs of fire and explosions marred every surface, leaving charred remains and smoldering debris in their wake. In the midst of this destruction lay Arim, barely clinging to life. His body was battered and bruised, his breaths shallow and labored.
Beside him lay a young disfigured woman, her pulse surprisingly strong despite her severe injuries. A silver needle near her temple caught Lachlan''s eye, offering a clue to what had transpired. He could almost picture the fight: Arim battling valiantly against an intruder, protecting the woman at great personal cost.
Determined to save them both, Lachlan channeled his Qi to strengthen himself. The energy surged through his veins, filling him with renewed vigor as he moved towards Arim and the woman.
"Hold on," he whispered urgently to Arim as he knelt beside him.
Arim''s eyes fluttered open briefly, filled with pain and desperation. He tried to speak but could only manage a weak gasp before slipping back into unconsciousness.
Lachlan''s gaze shifted to the storage area behind the stage. If the attacker was still here, they needed to be found before more harm could be done. He rose swiftly and made his way towards it, each step echoing ominously in the silence.
The storage area was empty¡ªno sign of anyone or anything. Frustration boiled within Lachlan as he realized he had missed his chance to catch the killer and that he had broken his vow to his guests. With a roar of anger, he struck out with his Qi-infused fist, shaking the very foundations of the hall. The tremors extended across the entire district.
Returning to Arim''s side, Lachlan focused on aiding their recovery. He placed his hands over Arim''s chest and channeled his Qi into him, willing strength back into his failing body. But as he did so, he noticed something that made his blood run cold: a mark on Arim''s back.
"A [Punishment Order]?!" Lachlan yelled in shock.
The words echoed through the devastated hall just as Senior Ji arrived at the scene. His presence, now that he was serious, seemed overwhelming to Lachlan even amidst such chaos.
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"What happened here?" Silas demanded, his voice cutting through Lachlan''s turmoil like a blade.
The Magistrate turned to face him, eyes wide with horror and confusion. "An attack¡ and Arim," he gnashed his teeth "He''s been hit with a [Punishment Order]."
Ji''s gaze hardened as he took in the scene before him¡ªthe destruction, Arim''s broken form on the floor, and Emma lying nearby with that silver needle still glinting ominously within her temple.
"Explain," he commanded tersely.
A few minutes prior to Silas arriving back at the hall¡
Nyx had his head buried deep within Silas''s satchel, his legs dangling behind him. The crow''s beak rummaged through the contents with ease, searching for something specific. He popped his head up suddenly, sneezing as a fine powdery substance coated his beak. Some of the powder fell to the floor, igniting in a light green flame.
Silas stepped over the flame with casual indifference and snuffed it out with a swift motion of his boot. His face was in the midst of shifting back to his "Senior Ji" disguise, the transformation both unsettling and mesmerizing.
"Are you done?" Silas asked, his voice carrying a hint of impatience.
Nyx squawked happily and nodded, then pointed a wing towards Silas''s neck, specifically at the Priest¡¯s necklace that still hung there. Silas took it off, shrugged, and tossed it to Nyx. The crow caught it deftly and swallowed it whole in one gulp.
"I am not sure how appreciated that will be," Silas remarked dryly.
Nyx turned his head to the side and shrugged his wings nonchalantly. His eyes shone with mischief as he watched Silas leave the Priest¡¯s mace beside him. With an almost human-like gesture, Nyx waved Silas off towards the window as if shooing him away.
Silas raised an eyebrow at Nyx but complied nonetheless. Fully returned to his original disguise, he leapt through the window with a speed that few could catch with the naked eye.
Nyx waited a few moments before picking up the mace with his talons. With a powerful flap of his wings, he flew off in the opposite direction, leaving behind only a faint rustle in the air.
Silas moved swiftly through Rhysling''s streets, his mind focused on their recent spoils: several million Reshal, a handful of useful artifacts and tools¡ªmany of which he could use for future bargaining and trade. The increased presence of guards did not escape his notice; clearly, the Magistrate was taking this incident quite seriously.
"What an admirable administrator," Silas thought to himself with a touch of amusement.
He arrived in front of the Starlight Bidders¡¯ Hall just as another regiment of the Imperial Guard marched up. Landing gracefully before them, he immediately grabbed their attention.
"I am Ji," he announced authoritatively. "The Magistrate told me to come here immediately. Is he inside?"
The senior guard answered swiftly, "Yes! The Lord Magistrate rushed ahe¡ª"
Before he could finish, Silas dashed into the building, making his way back towards the stage area.
Arim in his unconscious state lapsed into another dream. He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of his own shaking hands. His fingers trembled as they clutched several pieces of the notorious Blackfall, dark and jagged like shards of a broken nightmare.
The scene around him was one he recognized all too well¡ªRhysling from a few decades ago littered with the remnants of a brutal slaughter. Bodies lay strewn about, twisted in grotesque forms, their faces frozen in expressions of agony and despair.
His throat felt parched, as if he had swallowed sand. He tried to call out, but no sound emerged. His gaze shifted upward, and he saw the figure in white standing before him. Senior Ji, dressed in his combat robes that seemed to glow with an ethereal purity, his usually messy black hair tied back. Ji''s face tilted from side to side as he scrutinized Arim, his expression unreadable.
The longer Arim stared at him, the more imposing Ji seemed to become. It was as if the very air around him thickened with an oppressive weight. Arim felt like an ant before a mountain, insignificant and powerless.
There was not a speck of filth on Ji''s robes¡ªno extravagance, no defining marks¡ªjust a crude piece of cloth that somehow exuded an aura of despair.
Arim wanted to speak, to plead for mercy or perhaps for penance, but his body refused to obey. He was paralyzed by fear and awe. Ji''s foot moved slightly, and something rolled towards Arim''s feet. He glanced down and saw half the face of the former Lord Magistrate of Rhysling staring up at him with lifeless eyes.
A gasp caught in Arim''s throat as he tore his gaze away from the gruesome sight and looked up again, only to find that Ji was no longer standing in front of him. Panic surged through him as he felt a cold hand grip the back of his neck. A low raspy voice whispered into his ear, "Wake up."
The scene shifted abruptly, dragging Arim back to reality within the Starlight Bidders'' Hall. His eyes fluttered open, and the first sight that greeted him was Senior Ji''s face¡ªno longer distorted by the dream but still terrifying enough to send a shiver down his spine.
Silas smiled and proclaimed to the people around them, "The Guildmaster will be just fine, he has regained consciousness."
Arim''s mind was still foggy from the abrupt awakening. Instinct almost commanded him to scream in fright at the sight of Silas so close to him. However, when he tried to yell out, he realized he couldn''t. His eyes darted downward and realization set in¡ªhe was still on the ground, covered in needles that restricted his movement and injected him with various healing tonics.
Magistrate Lachlan arrived then within Arim''s eyesight. Uncharacteristically for such a composed figure, Lachlan dropped to one knee near him and placed a hand atop his shoulder.
Lachlan then stated, "We''ve been had."
Kell sat beside Emma, his heart pounding in his chest. The sight of her, covered in healing ointments, gauze, and various life-preserving artifacts, was almost too much to bear.
He had rushed to the Starlight Bidders'' Hall the moment he heard about the attack, driven by a single thought: Emma. But he had arrived too late. The damage was done.
Rhysling guards carried out the deceased, and cleaning staff worked tirelessly to wash away the terrible aftermath. Kell had run through the halls to the main stage, where he had found the Lord Magistrate, Senior Ji, and a multitude of servants tending to the two bodies on the ground. His gaze locked onto a patch of red fabric¡ªEmma''s dress. His legs gave way beneath him as he got close, dropping him to his knees.
The servants rushing around ignored him as they worked to maintain Emma''s life. Time seemed to slow, and Kell had no idea how long he had been on the ground when a hand landed atop his head, grabbing him in a claw-like grip and lifting him up. Senior Ji''s face came into view, a tired but comforting smile on his lips.
"She is alive," Ji said softly. "If you have not yet developed the guts for these sights, for your own sake¡ I would recommend not looking."
Kell''s mind struggled to process Ji''s words. "Why would someone hurt her?" he asked in a dazed tone.
Ji released him and straightened up his collar. "We will have to ask Arim to know that," he replied in an exasperated tone. "Based on what I could infer, she was nothing more than a victim of circumstance."
"A victim of circumstance!?!" Kell''s rage boiled over as he yelled out, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, even Arim who could barely move his eyes.
Silas quickly slapped the young man, sending him back into another daze. "Don''t be an idiot," Silas said sternly. "It is unbecoming of a Sect heir. Instead of showing your rage to me, focus it onto the one who caused this."
The slap knocked the wind out of Kell''s sails, allowing him to calm down but leaving him speechless.
"She is alive," Silas repeated in a consoling voice. "Arim is alive and we can find the criminal who did this with their help. Harden your resolve if you wish to help her, stoking your anger will not get her up sooner."
Kell clenched his fists hard at the remark and whispered, "Yes Sir."
Silas turned his attention back to Arim, who lay immobilized by healing needles but conscious enough to witness everything around him.
"Arim," Silas called out sharply, drawing Arim''s gaze towards him. "I will remove the restrictions on your speech, endure the pain as best as you can. Time is of the essence, you need to tell us everything you know about what happened here."
Chapter 24: Aftermath
Arim grunted in pain as Silas pulled a healing needle from his neck. The sharp sting was immediate, but Arim knew he had to speak quickly. His voice, though strained, carried an urgency.
"Lord Magistrate," Arim began, locking eyes with Lachlan. "The Heavenly Flame Sect¡¯s Heiress came to me requesting my alchemical skills. We were discussing the details when I smelled the scent of blood."
Lachlan''s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently.
"The Priest from earlier arrived, covered in blood and panic-stricken," Arim continued, his voice trembling slightly. "I foolishly approached him as he yelled about an assailant. When I got close enough, he collapsed, coughing."
Arim paused to catch his breath, clearly distressed by the memory. Silas watched him closely, ensuring the story unfolded as planned.
"I got closer," Arim said, his voice growing weaker. "And when I was within reach, the Priest leaped past me and threw a [Punishment Order] at my back."
Lachlan''s fists clenched at the reminder. The severity of such an attack was not lost on him.
"It connected," Arim said through gritted teeth. "It greatly weakened me for the fight that followed."
He took a deep breath before continuing, his gaze flickering to Emma''s still form nearby.
"The Heiress tried to help me," Arim said, his voice filled with a mix of gratitude and regret. "But she was outmatched. I had to defend both myself and her, almost sacrificing myself to keep her alive."
Arim''s body trembled with the effort of speaking, but he pressed on.
"The Priest... he was more than likely a Heretic, I have failed you. My loss of consciousness is beyond shameful. There is nothing more I can offer accept an apology." Arim concluded, his voice a whisper now.
Lachlan''s expression grew darker at this revelation. The implications of a Heretic within their midst were dire.
Silas returned the needle to its place, allowing Arim some respite as the healing elixirs began to relieve his pain. He watched as Arim''s body relaxed slightly, though the tension in the room remained palpable.
Silas mentally noted to himself, "Perhaps he took too much of a beating to the head? Now he has to mess with the kid''s memory to fit his story... hmm."
Lachlan and Silas stood alone in the storage room of the auction hall, surrounded by the aftermath of chaos. Shelves were overturned, and shattered glass littered the floor. It was clear that the Priest had known exactly what he was after, taking only the most valuable items.
"Do you have a way of tracking down the Priest?" Lachlan''s voice was grim, his eyes scanning the wreckage.
Silas shook his head. "I do not. This matter was unexpected to me. I came for a bit of entertainment and to feed my nostalgia. I had no reason to prepare trackers onto a random Priest."
Lachlan sighed, muttering under his breath, "Thought as much."
Silas tilted his head slightly, considering Lachlan''s demeanor. "Have you made enemies among the groups that venerate False Gods?"
Lachlan''s brow furrowed in thought. "I may have, during one of the campaigns I served under. Yet, I can''t remember anything particularly horrible that I did."
"Perhaps there is something bigger afoot," Silas suggested, his tone even.
Lachlan looked at him sharply. "Please, enlighten me."
Silas placed a finger to his chin, contemplating his words carefully. "This may not be an isolated incident. Maybe a group of Heretics is making moves."
"The Church of Probitas should be informed of this incident," Silas continued. "More than likely, their actual Priest has been dead for a while."
Lachlan nodded in agreement. "If it is heretics, their patron deity needs to be found out¡ To grant the ability to cast miracles, it has to be a potent one."
"Indeed," Silas said with a nod. "I would send out word for unusual activity in the surrounding settlements and then¡"
They discussed various aspects of the incident for several minutes more, each detail adding another layer to their understanding of what had transpired.
"Senior Ji," Lachlan began cautiously, "would you be willing to help us investigate this?"
Silas''s expression remained neutral as he considered the request. "Unfortunately, I wish to continue on my travels. Unless there is activity in Sichal¡ªmy next destination¡ªthe only help I can give is my thoughts on the events and aid in Arim''s recovery while I am here."
Lachlan''s shoulders slumped slightly but he nodded in understanding. "Your insights have been invaluable already."
Silas offered a small smile, though it didn''t reach his eyes. "I will always offer what aid I can when it comes to matters of such gravity."
Their conversation shifted back to practicalities¡ªhow best to secure the remaining items and ensure no further breaches occurred. Silas provided suggestions on reinforcing security measures while Lachlan took mental notes.
As they wrapped up their discussion, Lachlan extended a hand toward Silas. "Thank you for your assistance tonight."
Silas clasped Lachlan''s hand firmly but briefly before turning toward the door.
The streets of Rhysling, usually filled with the vibrant energy of merchants, artisans, and townsfolk, carried a heavy atmosphere that morning. The events of the previous night had cast a pall over the city. People spoke in hushed whispers, their eyes darting nervously as they recounted the rumors about the slaughter at the Church and the auction hall. The lockdown imposed by Magistrate Lachlan only added to their anxiety.
At the Starlight Bidders'' Hall, a somber scene unfolded. Guests who had made purchases were being sorted out by overworked clerks. Those fortunate enough to have their items intact left quickly, eager to escape the oppressive mood. Others, whose treasures had been stolen in the chaos, were directed towards Castle Rhysling for reparations from the Magistrate''s coffers. Their disgruntled mutterings added to the tension in the air.
Outside both locations, kind souls left offerings for the deceased. Flowers, candles, and small tokens were placed reverently on makeshift altars. Prayers to Necrimia, the Goddess of Blessed Death, were whispered for the souls lost in the night''s violence.
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Inside his room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge, Silas held Nyx upside down by his talons. The crow squawked in what could only be described as laughter, waving him off with an air of nonchalance.
"Where is the mace?" Silas''s voice was low but firm.
Nyx flapped his wings dismissively and slipped through Silas''s fingers, perching himself on his master''s shoulder. He squawked a few more times, as if telling Silas not to worry.
Silas sighed deeply. "All went decently enough," he admitted. "But don''t make me improvise too much now. We can''t afford to run out of time."
Nyx responded by placing a comforting wing around the back of Silas''s head. With his other wing, he somehow managed to shift his feathers into a shape resembling a thumbs-up.
Silas''s eye twitched slightly at the display but he nodded nonetheless. "Go to Zinnia and inform her of her role today," he instructed. "I need to visit Arim for some final confirmations. We should be able to leave Rhysling as soon as the real Selen starts claiming her stolen identity."
Nyx nodded and threw himself off Silas''s shoulder into the shadows, disappearing from sight.
Silas took a moment to gather himself before opening the door and stepping out into Rhysling''s tense streets. His destination was Castle Rhysling where Arim and Emma were recovering from their ordeal.
As he walked through the city, Silas noted how different it felt from just a day ago. The usual sounds of commerce and chatter were replaced by an eerie quiet punctuated by murmurs of fear and uncertainty. Guards patrolled more visibly than before, their presence a blunt reminder of last night''s events.
Reaching Castle Rhysling, Silas was met with increased security at the gates. After identifying himself and stating his business, he was allowed entry.
Inside, he moved through opulent halls that seemed almost out of place given the current state of affairs outside. Servants moved about, but there was an underlying tension in their movements.
Silas found Arim''s recovery room easily enough. It was guarded by two stern-faced men who stepped aside upon recognizing him.
Entering quietly, Silas saw Arim lying on a bed looking pale but conscious.
"Senior Ji," Arim greeted weakly but with respect.
"Arim," Silas acknowledged with a nod before closing the door.
Zinnia screamed into her pillow, the muffled sound barely containing her frustration. She lifted her head, eyes blazing, and hurled the pillow across the room. "HOW THE FUCK IS THAT AN INCIDENT, YOU HOMICIDAL JACKASS!" Her voice echoed off the private stone walls of her quarters in Castle Rhysling.
Grabbing another pillow, she screamed into it again before tossing it aside with the first. "If I''m associated with this, I AM F-U-C-K-E-D," she thought, panic creeping into her mind. "This is the kind of shit that can get sent up to the Empress! Screw robbing the capital if we will be screwed over here!"
She snatched a third pillow, screamed into it and flung it away. Her hands moved to her temples, pressing hard as if she could force a solution out of her brain. "Think, think, think... mmmmhhhh~," she muttered.
"But... he''s gotta be full of loot now... If I get a decent piece... maybe..." Her thoughts trailed off into another scream of frustration. She reached for yet another pillow, but this time it seemed to leap up and smack her in the face. The impact sent her tumbling off the bed onto the pile of discarded pillows.
"Ouch!" she yelped, glaring up at Nyx who perched on the edge of the bed, looking down at her with what could only be described as amusement.
"What¡¯s your problem?" she snapped at him.
Nyx shrugged his wings nonchalantly before using his beak to pluck out one of his feathers. Before Zinnia could react, he lunged at her and pricked her upper arm with the feather''s sharp tip, drawing a small bead of blood.
"Asshole," she muttered under her breath as she rubbed her arm.
Ignoring her insult, Nyx dropped the feather and caught it deftly with his talon. He hopped over to her desk where some paper lay scattered and began to scribble furiously.
Zinnia stood up and approached him cautiously. "Is that a message from Ji?" she asked.
Nyx finished his scribbling and flipped the paper around with a flourish. Zinnia''s eyes widened in disbelief as she saw a caricature of herself screaming into a pillow with a mocking title suggesting she needed to get laid if she was that frustrated.
"What the hell is this?!" she yelled.
Nyx squawked in laughter before flipping over the paper to reveal actual instructions written behind his doodle. A vein throbbed visibly on Zinnia''s forehead as she glared at him.
"I get by just fine," she grumbled defensively.
She read through the instructions quickly and then looked back at Nyx with narrowed eyes. "Does Ji think I''m an idiot? This is exactly what we discussed at the Inn! Just some slight alterations I could have easily inferred."
Nyx pricked her again with the feather, causing Zinnia to curse under her breath. He scribbled out another message: "A fool assumes."
Zinnia clenched her fists but took a deep breath to calm herself. She knew better than to let his antics get under her skin too much¡ªespecially when there was work to be done.
Lachlan sat in his audience hall, the torment of the previous night''s events pressing heavily on his shoulders. The attack had left a trail of destruction that would cost Rhysling dearly. Paying for the damages was necessary to maintain both his reputation and the city''s stability. He had followed Senior Ji''s advice and quickly sent word throughout the Empire about possible Heretics¡ªthose who didn''t venerate one of the twelve gods but still managed to channel faith into distorted miracles. They deserved nothing but loathing.
"Even if the Priests are no better¡" he thought, but quickly shook his head to clear the stray thought.
The absence of his toupee felt oddly liberating, though it did little to ease his current burden. The strange disturbances in the Castle from before, they now seemed linked to the assumed fake Priest.
When he entered his room last night, he found the mace used in the attack placed above his door frame, ready to fall onto his head¡ªa final insult from a more competent criminal than he had originally thought. Still, it wasn''t enough to get them on the Blacklist.
A knock came at his door, and a guard informed him that Senior Ji wished to speak with him. Lachlan quickly ushered him in and offered him a seat.
Silas complied, sitting down. "I have just checked on Arim, he will recover quickly from his injuries," Silas began, "but the damage done to his cultivation with the [Punishment Order] is something I cannot undo."
Lachlan''s eyes grew wide. "Is it really a [Punishment Order] from a Bishop of Probitas and not a Heretic?"
Silas nodded grimly. "Based on the symbols I could compare to my own knowledge, that style of inscription is indeed of Probitas. However," he added, "any Archbishop could negate it as well, even if they serve another God."
Lachlan''s face grew stoic as he considered the implications. "If the Church of Probitas is behind this¡ there will be horrible consequences."
"It would be prudent to double-check this information with one of the church historians," Silas advised. "It''s unlikely but possible that it was a stolen talisman."
At that moment, a guard announced once again that Master Selen wished to speak with the Lord Magistrate and Senior Ji.
"Approved," Lachlan said.
Zinnia walked in with a confident stride, giving Silas a flirty wink before placing her hands on her hips. "Any news on my Thorn? Can I help?"
Lachlan shook his head. "We haven''t managed to find a trace of the thief, but you will be paid out the amount you are owed."
Silas interjected, "It''s possible that the Thorn was one of the main targets as it was the most valuable item sold."
"No shit," Zinnia retorted as she sat herself down. "I still do want to help no matter what. The horrible events were just too much to ignore, some payback is in order!"
Lachlan laughed at this. "It will be good to have your assistance once Senior Ji leaves."
Zinnia looked surprised. "Leaving so soon?"
Silas nodded slightly. "I plan to leave after a couple more days when I''m sure Arim will be fine¡ªthat is if the Lord Magistrate will allow me to leave during lockdown."
"Of course," Lachlan answered without hesitation.
Zinnia pouted mockingly. "Abandoning me already?"
Silas gave a wry smile at her antics but turned serious as he addressed Lachlan again. "The events of last night were orchestrated with precision and malice. You need to consider your next steps carefully."
Lachlan nodded in agreement, leaning back in his chair as he pondered their options.
"Question anyone who might have seen something suspicious in the days prior?" Zinnia added.
"Agreed," Lachlan said thoughtfully. "I''ll also need to send word to Lythoria for additional support in the investigation."
Silas leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing with intent focus. "And we mustn''t forget about Arim''s condition. If we can get confirmation on it''s origin, we might find a way to reverse its effects sooner rather than later."
Lachlan sighed deeply but nodded once more. "I''ll make sure those steps are taken immediately."
The conversation continued as they discussed further details about securing Rhysling and investigating any leads on potential Heretics or other threats lurking within their midst.
Chapter 25: Questioning
Two days had passed since the chaotic events in Rhysling. Sichal, a lively city on the road to the capital, flourished with the promise of excitement and revelry. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, advertising the taverns, theaters, and gambling dens that lined the streets. Musicians played lively tunes, while street performers captivated audiences with daring feats and comedic antics. Despite its reputation for merriment, Sichal had a darker side, and rumors of underground activities with many shady dealings lurked beneath its jovial facade.
In a small housing complex on a remote side of the city, a man knocked on a simple gray-painted door. He was tall with a scar down the middle of his face, but spoke in a rather high-pitched voice.
"Time is up. The Wards will be released," he announced.
The door opened quickly to reveal Selen. Tall and imposing, her silver hair cascaded down her back like a shimmering waterfall. There seemed to be an otherworldly charm to her piercing blue eyes. However, she was covered in filthy clothes, drenched in sweat, and her hair was greasy from weeks of inactivity in a locked room in a meditative trance.
The man, an employee of Silent Vaults-a place that specializes in providing safe and private accommodations for cultivators seeking deeper meditative states-kept a professional face despite the stench.
"A bath has been drawn for you, as well as a set of freshly laundered robes in a private washroom," he informed her.
Selen took a whiff of her hair and scowled. "Thank you."
The man gave her a last nod before leaving.
"I need to clean up and see if the thief got away with it... mhmm~ my back hurts," Selen thought as she rubbed the small of her back and made her way to the washroom.
After a quick bath and fresh clothes, Selen''s natural charm was restored. She settled her accounts with the receptionist as she walked out into the streets. As she reflected on how much had changed in just a few weeks, she began to think that long periods of meditation were a waste of time. People cultivated to live longer and become more powerful, but even those old monsters who''ve survived for thousands of years probably spent barely a tenth of that time actually living.
Arriving at the door of the Sichal branch of the Artificer''s Guild, Selen took in the sight. The building was much older than the rebuilt one in Rhysling¡ªless ornate, but much more homey in comparison. The seemingly simple Maplewood door with its metal knocker, handle, and hinges hid a plethora of classic Artificer tricks designed to make life difficult for malicious guests.
Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself.
Selen entered the Artificer''s Guild of Sichal, her eyes immediately drawn to the new violet curtains adorning the windows. The rich fabric added a touch of elegance to the otherwise utilitarian space, and she was pleasantly surprised to see that not much else had changed. The interior of the guild was a familiar sight, filled with the hum of activity. Artificers moved about with various contraptions in hand, some deep in conversation while others tinkered away, oblivious to her entrance.
She made her way towards the receptionist''s desk, where a young man had fallen asleep, a blanket drawn tightly over himself. None of the Artificers seemed to be paying him any mind. Selen coughed to get his attention, but he remained in his slumber. She knocked on the table between them, but still, he did not wake up. Frustration began to build within her.
Suddenly, a small wand with a pointed tip flew past her and landed on the sleeping receptionist''s blanket. The wand activated, drawing in air from its tip and expelling it from the handle. The blanket shrunk inward, creating a vacuum-sealing effect that caused the receptionist to wake up with a start.
"SHINY FISH TITS!!!" he yelled, clearly alarmed by whatever dream he had been having.
The one who had thrown the wand appeared next to Selen and got on her tiptoes as if to whisper in her ear.
"BOOM!" she yelled out loud enough to startle Selen.
Selen turned to see Mureli''s familiar face grinning up at her. Mureli was plain-faced with pointed ears at both the tips and lobes, hinting at some Merfolk ancestry¡ªa topic no one ever really delved into, as it''s quite a common sight.
Mureli laughed and offered a fist towards Selen. Despite herself, Selen pouted but bumped fists with the short-statured woman.
"How''d you get here so fast? I thought you were still in Rhysling," Mureli asked as she flicked her wrist. A wire jumped across and grabbed the wand she had thrown earlier, releasing the receptionist from his constricting blanket.
The receptionist grumbled at Mureli for being a pain but asked what she needed. His revealed nameplate marked him as "Theo."
"This is perfect! I couldn''t have asked for a better setup!" Selen thought happily but kept a faux-surprised expression on her face.
Grabbing Mureli''s shoulder, she asked, "What do you mean you thought I was in Rhysling?"
Theo took notice of Selen and jogged his memory about this guild member. However, he also recalled the orders he was given a couple of days ago. He put on a smile and asked, "Are you Master Selen?"
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"I am," Selen replied but remained curious about why Mureli thought she was in Rhysling.
Theo put a palm over his mouth in an exaggerated gasp of surprise as Mureli answered.
"We got word from the guild branch over there that you were working for the Magistrate on solving the auction incident," Mureli said.
Selen raised her eyebrows high and said with her best attempt at a confused tone, "I''ve been meditating within Sichal for weeks and haven''t been to Rhysling or heard anything about any kind of auction..."
Mureli tilted her head as Theo put on a serious face. "I must ask you some questions," he said.
Selen did a mental fist-pump in her head.
Selen lay sprawled on the bed in her simple, unadorned room at the Laughing Jester Inn. Her eyes misted over, and a severe pout marred her otherwise composed face. Her mind raced with thoughts, each compounding her worries.
"Nothing is going to plan," she thought, her frustration palpable even in her internal monologue.
"Fifteen million Reshal?! For one Thorn! How''d she pull it off?" The disbelief in her mind was almost tangible.
Zinnia had managed to sell the Bloodmoon Thorn for an astronomical sum, a feat Selen found both impressive and infuriating.
Her thoughts then shifted to the chaos in Rhysling. "A possible Heretic attacked and caused a slaughter within Rhysling''s Church and the auction hall? How am I supposed to stick to the plan now¡" The enormity of the situation weighed heavily on her. The ''''meticulously'''' crafted scheme was unraveling before her eyes, and she felt powerless to stop it.
Her stomach grumbled loudly, breaking her train of thought. She placed her hands over it and muttered aloud, "I''m so hungryyy~." But hunger was a secondary concern, the current matters took precedence.
She replayed the events at the Guild in her mind. Theo had asked a series of questions to prove her identity, showcase some of her abilities, and provide proof of her stay at the Silent Vaults. She believed she had answered everything sufficiently to establish herself as the real Selen. Yet, there was a nagging problem that refused to leave her thoughts.
"WHY IS THAT THIEF WORKING FOR THE MAGISTRATE OF RHYSLING?!?" The question echoed in her mind like a relentless drumbeat. If she couldn''t find a way to get in contact with Zinnia, Selen knew she would face far more problems than she had bargained for.
She rolled around on the bed, making noises of frustration as the various artifacts she carried rattled against each other. By the time she was done, her clothing and hair were a mess, leaving her almost unpresentable. Standing up, she began pacing the room, considering possibilities and hatching little plans on how to get out of this mess without losing her head.
Just then, a soft knock came at her door. A warm, almost musical deep voice asked if Master Selen was inside. She gulped and went towards the door, hoping it was just a Guild staffer coming to give her the all-clear.
When she opened the door, she snapped her legs together stronger than a tiger would bite down on a piece of food, fearing that her bladder would mount a revolution against her. Standing in the doorway was a man with warm orange eyes that matched his voice''s warmth. However, that was where any semblance of comfort ended.
The man wore armor that was crude, almost impossibly heavy and horribly menacing. Over it was a single thin black outer garment with a bright white symbol of Rovinius in its center. His head was shaved so closely that one might think he had been scalped. Veins were visible across his smiling face as he held an ornate book wrapped in an exquisite chain in his right hand.
Every man, woman, and child of The Empire knew that book¡ªit was called the [Rovinius Codex], carried by one of the two combat arms of the Church¡ªthe most brutal and feared one to be exact. The man standing before Selen was none other than an Inquisitor of Rovinius.
In his melodic voice, he asked, "Would you kindly answer a few more questions for this servant? Please!" His smile was a full genuine grin.
The fear on Selen''s face indicated she was probably about to faint.
Selen''s eyes trembled at the events transpiring before her.
The Inquisitor had brought a wheeled table laden with various foods and drinks into her room. After she had agreed to his questioning, he had invited himself inside, moving the table and a chair so that she could sit on the bed while he sat across from her. His lips pressed together so hard they almost disappeared as he glanced around with a new smile.
Without uttering a word, he dusted off the bed, tightened the sheets, and wiped down the table and his chair. He meticulously arranged the food so that Selen could access everything within arm''s reach once she sat down.
Kissing his Codex, he placed it on his side of the table and took a deep breath.
"Please, have a seat." he said softly, ushering her toward her seat.
Much like a startled Gemrabbit, Selen shook in fear but complied and sat down. He poured her a cup of tea and then sat across from her. She took a sip, waiting for him to begin his questions.
The almost scalped man asked his first question with an unsettling warmth in his voice. "Is what is before you enough to satisfy you?"
She noted the strange phrasing but answered, "Yes, it is. You even brought one of my favorite foods¡ªWillow Deer steak."
The Inquisitor raised his fists in front of him, and she noticed his skin was shredded around his fingers. Nodding disturbingly fast, he said, "Yes! Yes! As it should! As it should!"
Lowering his fists, he asked another question. "Are you a woman of Faith? Please, be honest! I serve the Most Knowledgeable, but I can also understand those who follow the others!" His voice remained warm, but she almost heard a gagging sound at his final word.
Selen answered cautiously, "I am devoted to the Most Knowledgeable in my heart, but I have sinned in that I have not practiced my Faith in a long time."
The Inquisitor took a strong sniff as he tilted his head back. When he returned to facing forward, Selen noticed his veins were bulging grotesquely on his face. His stiff smile remained as tears trickled down his cheeks without sound.
"Yes¡ Yes¡ I can see that your Faith is lacking. Yet I sense truth¡ Yes¡ Yes¡" His lips trembled as if mouthing something unintelligible before snapping back to attention.
"Would you ever like to repent for the sake of your Faith?" he asked.
Selen gulped and thought that agreeing might help her case. "I would definitely devote more of myself to my Faith in the future."
The Inquisitor''s face remained unchanged as he asked her to stretch out her right hand across the table. Confused and afraid, she did as he asked.
Faster than she could comprehend, the Inquisitor grabbed the Codex off the table.
His face became completely distorted by the pulsating veins and bloodshot eyes, the muscles on his neck rippled as he smashed down with the book onto her fingers. The pain was immediate and excruciating, she couldn''t react or even simply comprehend.
Within a blink, the Inquisitor was back in his original position with the Codex in front of him and that same stiff smile on his face.
"Yes! Yes! A good start for penance! Now, answer me this question please!" His voice remained disturbingly warm.
Selen sat there in shock, barely registering the spreading red stain from the fleshy mound left in the middle of the table where her fingers were.
Chapter 26: An Imposter
Kell sat by Emma''s bedside, his eyes tracing the bandages that wrapped her head and body. Her once vibrant hair was now gone, shaved off during the healing process. The scar tissue that had formed gave her an unflattering appearance, a painful contrast to the lively girl he knew.
His heart felt heavy, burdened by a rage he never knew he could feel. Why would someone do this to her? Emma had harmed no one.
The door then creaked open behind him, and Kell turned to see Arim enter the room. The Guildmaster had undergone a tremendous recovery in just two days. Although, he was still banged up, his hair now showed streaks of grey, and his face bore more wrinkles than before.
Without his cultivation to sustain his usual appearance, time had begun to take its toll on him. Yet, as an Alchemist, Arim had access to potions and salves that kept him from regressing into a complete mortal.
He walked over to Emma''s bedside without saying a word. He stood next to Kell, looking down at the unconscious girl.
"Do you have a crush on the young miss?" Arim asked suddenly.
Kell was taken aback, a blush creeping up his neck. But his respect for Arim didn''t allow him to lie or stutter. He raised a hand and made a gesture for ''a little.''
Arim chuckled softly. "Once she wakes up, she will not be who she was. Steel your heart, young man, for the true pain will come then."
Kell''s eyes widened in shock.
"I have sent word to her Sect," Arim continued. "They will most likely rush here to see the state of their heir and look for retribution."
"Why are you telling me this?" Kell asked, puzzled.
"The emotions of the members of the Heavenly Flame run deep," Arim said grimly. "Once they grow fond of someone, they almost never lose their attachment. Much less their Young Mistress."
Arim sighed, his gaze growing distant as if reminiscing about something from his past. "You should leave Rhysling while you can," he added. "She will be safe, and you should not bear witness to the unreasonable fury of a Sect."
Kell frowned. "Their fury would be justified, would it not?"
"It is justified," Arim agreed, "but their reaction and blame may not be." His face grew dark as he stared into Emma''s bandaged face.
"Chaos is inevitable for the foreseeable future," Arim said softly. "If you wish not to add to it, return to your sect and wait until the storm passes if you desire to help."
Kell''s irritation flared up slightly. "I don''t wish to just sit by the side."
Arim''s expression remained stoic. "If you desire a future between yourself and the Young Mistress here," he said firmly, "you should avoid being here regardless of what you think."
Kell clenched his fists but remained silent. He looked back at Emma''s unconscious form, feeling torn between staying by her side and heeding Arim''s advice.
Arim placed a hand on Kell''s shoulder. "Think carefully about your next steps," he said quietly before turning and leaving the room.
Kell watched him go, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts and emotions.
The Lord Magistrate sat before a crystal sphere within his private chambers.
The sphere, a Magicraft tool called [Limited Echo], was popular among sects, guilds, and government officials for its ability to facilitate instant long-distance communication in exceptional circumstances.
It was not cheap to operate, requiring a constant stream of energy from both sides, either from the cultivators themselves or Earth Crystals as a substitute.
Sweat dripped off Lachlan''s brow as he bowed politely towards the sphere. "Thank you, Minister Cha. You have given me great hope."
The image of a young man with blonde hair appeared within the sphere. His tone was troubled but sincere. "Think nothing of it, Magistrate Lachlan. The Ministry of Finance will do its utmost to help. This is a necessary use of our resources and will hopefully show the people that we are not just out to make their lives more complicated." His joke lightened the tone of their conversation.
Both men concluded their conversation by saying, "Glory to The Empire."
He leaned back in his chair and slumped his shoulders. He rubbed his bald head wearily. "This job never gets easier."
Just then, another incoming call appeared on his [Limited Echo]. He placed his hands onto the sphere and let his energy flow into it before retracting them and interlocking his fingers in front of himself.
Inside the sphere appeared an old woman with white hair pulled back into a tight bun, with half of her face covered by a leathery mask. A large portion of her features above the lips had been mutilated in combat during a hunt for an Imbaskier, a type of deep cavern serpent useful for farming Life Crystals if one could fell them.
This woman was the Town Lord of Sichal, Poliana¡ªtechnically lower on the bureaucratic scale than Lachlan but his senior in age.
Poliana spoke in a lively tone, skipping formal greetings. "Lachlan, I have interesting news for you."
Lachlan nodded and humbly spoke ''''Please enlighten this one.''''
"Our Artificer''s Guild has sent word that someone claiming to be Artificer Selen has appeared at their reception with quite a convincing story."
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Lachlan''s expression turned disturbed as he asked sternly for more details. His mind alarmed that perhaps he had been deceived far earlier than he thought.
Poliana cackled at his worried expression but spoke without holding back information. "The person who appeared said they were in closed-door meditation and that they were never in Rhysling. They answered questions about her personal history perfectly and showed the correct skill level that was on record for member Selen."
The Town Lord then added, "She even showed them quite the convincing Bloodmoon Thorn, but we don''t have a Sage here to confirm."
Lachlan''s expression hardened even more as he continued his talk with Poliana. He needed to consult with Senior Ji¡ªand he needed to do it fast.
Silas strolled through the garden of Castle Rhysling, his thoughts drifting back to the conversation with Zinnia within his room at the inn.
Today should be the trigger. He had instructed her to stay in her room, awaiting a summons from the Magistrate to hopefully discuss the Selen who should appear in Sichal.
He moved among the plants, noting their various uses. Blood Petals grew on one side, their crimson stalks useful for treating active bleeding and restoring lost blood. Across from them, a shrubbery of Spirit Pacifier flourished, known for calming both physical and mental anguish, dulling all sensation. Silas suspected these plants were cultivated more for their aesthetic appeal than their practical applications.
Nyx perched atop a nearby rooftop, watching Silas with evident boredom. The crow considered starting another fire somewhere, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Silas locked eyes with him. Nyx shivered internally, it never ceased to annoy him how Silas could always sense his mischievous intentions.
Silas felt a nagging sensation in his gut¡ªsomething he wouldn''t like was about to happen. He gave Nyx a stern reminder with his eyes not to indulge in his usual pranks. The feeling dissipated instantly, confirming Silas''s suspicions that Nyx had been on the verge of causing trouble.
As he turned his attention back to the plants, the voice of Magistrate Lachlan echoed from one of the garden entrances.
"Senior Ji, I must urgently consult with you on a matter most dire."
Silas thought to himself, ''''Almost like clockwork''''. He masked his thoughts behind a serious expression and nodded at Lachlan.
"Lead the way," he said.
They walked to one of the side rooms of the Castle where they could speak privately. Once inside, Lachlan wasted no time.
"Senior Ji," he began, "did you notice anything off about the Bloodmoon Thorn at the auction before it was stolen?"
Silas shook his head thoughtfully. "No abnormalities aside from some wear and tear due to it being picked by an amateur hand."
"And what is your point?" Silas asked.
Lachlan quickly informed him of his talks with Poliana.
Silas put on a grave expression. "Having two Thorns appear one after another is a coincidence that is almost impossible."
He paused before continuing, "Would you trust me to investigate whether the Selen inside this Castle is the real one? I have the means on me to unveil most disguises."
Lachlan nodded quickly but then hesitated. "The Priest who committed those heinous acts also acted rather strangely when the Thorn auction came up."
Silas sighed, feeling defeated. "Please don''t remind me of my failing. I even covered for that Priest''s mistakes unwittingly."
Lachlan coughed awkwardly. "I meant no ill will. We were all fooled, you couldn''t have known what would happen."
The Magistrate grimly added, "Even if you hadn''t spoken up for him, those acts would have likely happened regardless."
Silas nodded solemnly. "I will go see whether our Selen is hiding something."
Lachlan nodded back and wished him good luck as they parted ways.
Zinnia sat in front of a mirror, her eyes locked onto her reflection. Between her fingers, she held a single silver hair, twirling it slowly. As she focused, the hair shifted from silver to her natural red, then to a dull blond, and back to silver. The act seemed almost meditative, a way for her to cultivate her Illusionist skills in a limited capacity.
Her door then opened unceremoniously, snapping her out of her trance. She turned sharply to see Silas closing the door behind him.
"Everything alright?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
Silas nodded and tossed a potion vial at her. She caught it instinctively as he pulled out a chair for himself.
"Drink it," he ordered.
She examined the vial suspiciously. "What''s in it?"
"It doesn''t matter," he replied curtly. "The Magistrate needs to see you get outraged once we speak to him."
Zinnia made an exaggerated gesture of clapping her hands to the sides of her face, raising her voice mockingly high-pitched. "Golly! That sounds like fun!"
Silas''s expression remained stony, unamused. She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Understood."
With reluctance, she uncorked the vial and downed its contents. Almost immediately, lesions appeared on her arms, and her skin turned a shade of red reminiscent of lobsters thrown into boiling water.
"What the fuck is this?" she spat, glaring at him.
Silas leaned back casually. "Just some old poisonous herbs mixed together for a nice visual effect. If it did too much damage, I would have healed you."
A vein popped on Zinnia''s forehead as anger surged through her. Silas ignored her fury and continued.
"We should wait for about a third of an hour before heading to Lachlan."
She nodded tersely and crossed her arms, staring daggers at him.
Silas smiled and changed the topic. "What seat do you prefer on an Airship?"
Lachlan''s mind was a whirlwind of frustration. He didn''t think Senior Ji would be this brutally efficient. Zinnia had been yelling at him for an hour, her voice a constant barrage of complaints and accusations.
Well, at least he could be sure she was a friend now.
He sighed deeply, bowing his head towards the huffing and puffing Zinnia. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but the situation was rather unique. I had to take all precautions."
Zinnia stood up abruptly, pointing an accusatory finger at Silas. "This guy was just plain bullying me! Look at this!" She rolled up her sleeves to reveal the lesions on her arms, then went as far as to pull down her shirt, showing off a not small amount of cleavage covered in damaged skin.
Silas remained stoic. "Your innocence can now no longer be questioned. As I have said, I will fix the minor damage caused once I get a chance to brew."
Lachlan nodded in agreement. "I will also provide appropriate compensation along with what you were owed for the stolen Thorn."
Zinnia''s anger seemed to subside slightly as she looked at the [Limited Echo] in front of them. Poliana''s image flickered into view, privy to their conversation.
The Town Lord laughed lightly. "Selen my dear, you are luckier than most. So many fortunes in misfortunes..."
Zinnia huffed. "I''d much prefer just fortunes. Do you think that person over there has my Thorn?"
Poliana shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe, but now we have the problem of finding out who exactly is over here and whether the Thorn they have is genuine."
Silas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I was planning on going to Sichal anyway. I could come and confirm its authenticity and see if I can figure out what''s going on."
Poliana''s eyes narrowed slightly as she asked, "And who are you?"
Lachlan quickly placed his hand atop the sphere and sent her a message. As soon as she read it, her demeanor changed instantly.
"Sichal would be honored to have a hero visit it," she said respectfully.
Zinnia chimed in eagerly and crassly, "I also want to come and see just who is the fucker trying to screw me over."
Silas glanced at her with mild amusement. "It would be a change of pace for me to have a traveling companion, but I''m fine with it."
He turned back to Poliana. "Do you have someone over there who could keep the imposter busy while we make the trip?"
Poliana took a moment to think before a sly smile spread across her face. She had just the person in mind¡ªsomeone who had been giving her headaches for quite some time.
"I believe I can arrange that," she said with an evil shine in her one eye. "Once I inform my associate of the details of this case, I''m quite sure they will be very willing to keep the imposter occupied."
Zinnia and Lachlan exchanged uneasy glances at Poliana''s expression.
"Excellent," Silas replied simply.
The journey to Sichal would soon begin.
Chapter 27: The Airship
Arim sat behind his desk, glad to be finally back in his office at the Guild.
The weight of the past few days pressed heavily on his shoulders. Many of the Magistrate''s Healers had assured him that his life was no longer in danger, but his sanity was another matter entirely.
He could still feel the phantom pain of the [Punishment Order], a constant reminder of his fall from Sage to barely even a Master. As soon as he entered the building, the thinly veiled ambitions of the senior Alchemists buzzed around him like flies, each one eager to take advantage of his weakened state.
And then there was Senior Ji, sitting across from him with that empty smile. Arim''s heart pounded in his chest as he forced himself to maintain a facade of calm.
"I have not done you wrong, have I? Everything went quite satisfactorily," Silas said, his voice smooth and unyielding.
Arim''s mind screamed in silent protest. "YOU¡¯VE DONE ME EVERY WRONG POSSIBLE!" But outwardly, he managed a strained smile. "Of course not, Senior! It is my great joy to see everything go according to your wishes!"
Silas''s smile fell, and his eyes bore into Arim''s soul. "You are lucky that your competence is outmatching your flattery."
Arim''s hands began to shake ever so subtly, and he felt the sting of tears welling up in his eyes. The sight of a him, showing his advanced age cowering in fear would have been a pitiful sight to anyone except the man in front of him.
Silas chuckled softly. "I merely jest my friend. In fact, I¡¯ve come here to reward you, not to give you more chores."
Arim gulped, forcing himself to remain composed. "Thank you!" But a nagging thought gnawed at him: "This better not be a punchline of giving me death as a gift!"
Without missing a beat Silas''s expression turned serious. "I give you death. Rest well, Arim."
Arim''s mouth opened in shock, and all thinking stopped. He raised his shaking hands in a pleading gesture, managing only to utter the word "Please."
Silas simply raised an eyebrow. "I could guess your thoughts and was quite sure that was the punchline you expected."
He laughed at Arim''s expression before continuing. "Alright, alright I have had my fun. What do you desire from the auction for yourself aside from the Thorn and Chains?"
Arim''s demeanor shifted instantly at the mention of benefits. His mind raced as he considered what to ask for without overstepping boundaries.
"Making me an even bigger accomplice by giving me some of the stolen loot," he thought bitterly. "Shrewd as ever, and generous as ever when handing out poison."
After a few moments of contemplation, he named a few items within reason.
Silas nodded approvingly. "Wise choices." He passed along Arim¡¯s spoils and then asked a question that caught Arim off guard: "Would you have died for your daughter? Make no mistake, she is your kin. I have checked."
Arim stammered instinctively, unsure how to respond. "I do not know. I¡ am not sure what possessed me to advocate for her."
Silas nodded as if understanding and seemingly empathizing with the answer. "Possessed you? An apt description. Fascinating the lengths one can go to for their own, wouldn''t you say? A spineless rat like you managed to speak up¡ªtruly remarkable."
A bad feeling settled in Arim¡¯s gut at Silas¡¯s remarks.
Abruptly, Silas¡¯s tone turned cold and commanding. "Make sure you are in Lythoria at the appointed time. I don''t care what you have to do to make it happen. Persuade, intimidate, seduce¡ªwhatever means¡ use them."
Arim could only nod in response, feeling the shackles of Silas¡¯s expectations clasp around his neck like a snake about to devour it''s prey.
The room fell silent except for the faint rustle of parchment and the distant murmur of Alchemists going about their business outside the office door.
Silas stood up slowly, adjusting his robe before turning towards the door without another word.
As Silas left the office, Arim slumped back into his chair, feeling utterly drained yet acutely aware that whatever was happening is still far from over.
The Airship loomed over the dock, its sleek, metallic body glinting with a sense of majesty.
This particular Cruiser-class vessel was a marvel of Artificer Engineering, its complex runic engravings shimmering faintly along its hull. The dock itself was eerily quiet, usually it would have been almost bursting with activity.
The city-wide lockdown had emptied the area, leaving only the essential crew members scurrying about to ensure everything was in perfect order.
Inside of the cockpit, the captain speedily moved about, checking gauges and adjusting levers.
Outside, crew members hustled to clean, fuel, and stock the ship. They knew they were going to be hosting some very important guests of the Magistrate and that any mistake could be disastrous.
Some distance away from the Airship, Silas stood gazing towards it with Nyx hidden inside of his shadow.
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Zinnia, still masquerading as Selen, stood beside him. Across from the two of them were Lachlan and Arim.
Lachlan stepped forward and presented Silas with a badge intricately carved with an image of the city and its sigil.
"By my authority as Magistrate," Lachlan declared, "I wish to grant you the title and privileges of Special Inspector."
Silas accepted the badge with a gracious nod. "As soon as my investigation is concluded, I will return this title and badge," he said.
Lachlan''s lips curled into a wry smile. "You are too humble."
Zinnia glanced at the badge with a hint of envy. "Can I get one as well?"
Lachlan shook his head. "I can only issue one at a time. Until it''s either revoked or returned, I cannot grant another."
Silas chuckled softly. "Lord Magistrate, you definitely must think too highly of me."
Zinnia rolled her eyes but said nothing more.
Turning towards Arim, Silas offered a reassuring smile. "Do not worry. I will seek out justice for you."
Arim''s mind screamed in frustration ''''OH FUCK OFF!'''', but he managed a humble smile and nodded gratefully.
Almost as if remembering something minor, Silas added casually, "I left you a gift in your office. Hopefully, it will cheer you up."
Arim''s eyes widened in surprise as Lachlan patted him on the shoulder. Chuckling towards the Guildmaster he spoke, "You are fortunate that your Master''s friendship was passed down to you." Lachlan pulled back his hand followed up "It is enviable to have someone like Senior Ji willing to go to such lengths for you."
Arim forced yet another smile and thanked Silas again.
Lachlan seized that moment to invite Arim back to the Castle for drinks before he went to look at his gift.
Arim agreed but couldn''t shake his confusion over why Lachlan suddenly wanted to deepen their ties.
Zinnia shifted the topic, as she looked towards the Airship and whistled appreciatively. "These things must be expensive, never got the chance to work on them myself."
Lachlan nodded. "The ship itself isn''t the most costly part; it''s the fuel that really hurts."
She crossed her arms and smirked. "Must''ve hurt your pockets something fierce to get us a private one."
Lachlan thought to himself, ''''You insisted on the absolute best'''', but only said aloud, "It is only right after questioning your identity as we did."
Zinnia shot Silas a glare, but he remained impassive.
Nyx observed from Silas''s shadow, concluding that Zinnia was indeed a talented actress. ''''She''ll go far if that grandma doesn''t sink her fingers into her¡ªliterally.''''
A flight crew member approached them and informed the group that the ship was ready for boarding and that they should reach Sichal within six hours at their planned altitude and speed.
Lachlan nodded solemnly and addressed Silas and Zinnia with his most serious expression yet. "Good luck to both of you¡ªSelen, in clearing your name. And Senior Ji in uncovering who was responsible for the auction slaughter."
Zinnia punched her open palm confidently. "I intend to."
Silas nodded gracefully. "I shall do my best."
After exchanging final words of farewell, Silas and Zinnia headed inside the Airship.
Arim watched them go with trepidation gnawing at him¡ª''''What horror awaits me in my office?'''' Meanwhile, Lachlan sighed wearily beside him.
"Out of my hands now..."
Zinnia flopped down lazily onto one of the reclining seats, her limbs sprawled out as if she owned the place.
Empty plates surrounded her, remnants of a feast that had left the crew members both impressed and bewildered. A fruity, colorful drink with a straw was in her hand, and she took a long sip, savoring the sweetness.
Across the deck, Silas sat engrossed in his scroll, eyes never leaving the intricate symbols and diagrams that covered its surface. He hadn''t uttered a single word since they had boarded two hours ago. The crew had learned quickly to leave him be after one curious attendant had peeked over his shoulder at the scroll and ended up with a splitting headache that sent her to the sick bay.
"Anyone here do foot massages~?" Zinnia asked in a dreamy voice, stretching her arms above her head.
One of the waiters snapped to attention with an almost militaristic discipline. "I would be glad to serve you, esteemed guest."
Zinnia didn''t give it much thought as she leaned back, indulging in her moment of excess. The other staff exchanged puzzled glances, and some of the women on the crew looked at the waiter with open scorn. He ignored them and knelt in front of Zinnia, beginning a thorough massage with deft hands.
"Ohhh," Zinnia moaned softly, causing several crew members to blush and look away.
Minutes passed as she enjoyed the massage, but something felt off. She opened her eyes and looked down at the waiter. His hands were steady, but his body twitched slightly. His face was serious, but his neck was flushed red, and she could swear he was expelling steam through his nose.
Realization dawned on her like a cold splash of water. "You pervert!" she shouted, pushing herself off the chair and standing on the table. With a swift kick, she sent him sprawling to the floor.
"Thank you!" he gasped as he lost consciousness, a content smile on his face as he twitched on the floor.
Zinnia shivered with disgust and goosebumps prickled her skin. She jumped off the table and glared at the rest of the staff who rushed over to apologize profusely for their colleague''s behavior.
"Get him out of my sight," she demanded. "And draw me one of those baths with a view."
The staff scattered to fulfill her request while Zinnia moved to sit across from Silas. He remained absorbed in his scroll, seemingly oblivious to everything around him.
She waved her arms in front of his face but got no response. Frustrated, she even made a rude gesture but still nothing.
"Booorrrriingg~," she whispered under her breath.
"If you''re bored," Silas said without looking up from his scroll, "you should have let the foot enthusiast continue to entertain you."
Zinnia stared at him deadpanned as he finally put down the scroll and smiled at her.
"So?" Zinnia''s voice carried a hint of impatience.
"So what? I am not interested in feet," Silas responded, his head tilted slightly.
"Not that!" she snapped, taking a deep breath. "Do you want to tell me what the plan is when we land?"
Silas tilted his head to the other side, a bemused expression on his face. "I get what I want, you get what you need, and then we move on."
Zinnia''s enthusiasm was palpable as she nodded along with a bright smile, "Yes! Of course!... NOT! Details! Give me details!"
Silas responded, "What details do you want? We won''t know what we are dealing with until we land. I am not a prophet, we must gather information and then decide on what actions to take and which means to employ."
Zinnia raised a finger, ready to argue, but deflated mid-question. "...right. That... makes sense. I feel dumb."
Silas clapped his hands, much to her annoyance. She shot him a glare.
"Enjoy yourself on this flight while you can. It is the most productive use of your time."
She slumped down, her frustration evident. "What are you reading there?"
"It''s gospel," Silas chuckled.
Irritated, she stood up abruptly. "Fine. You better give me something to work off of when we land."
"I will," he assured her before returning to his scroll.
Zinnia huffed and walked off towards her bath, leaving Silas alone with his thoughts.
''''Hmm, good instincts but green, he mused. Perhaps she can serve as another Arim eventually. Decisions, decisions...''''
Above them on the roof, out of sight from anyone below in the Airship, Nyx sat with his wings spread wide, enjoying the wind hitting him. He squawked blissfully, thinking to himself that it was much more fun when he didn''t have to do the flying.
Chapter 28: Sichal
Poliana sat behind her desk, her fingers ruffling through a stack of paperwork with a grimace etched across her face. The room felt stifling, the air thick with the scent of old wood and ink. She glanced up at the pale-faced clerk seated in one of the two chairs across from her.
"These damn noise complaints for the Inquisitor''s interrogation must have set some kind of record!" she remarked, her voice tinged with irritation.
The clerk''s expression tightened, his eyes darting nervously. "I''ve heard the sounds coming from that room personally, Town Lord. Having only this many complaints should be considered fortunate."
Poliana whistled, raising her eyebrows high. "Fuck."
She tossed the stack of complaints to the side with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "Send word to the Inn staff to tell the complainers that someone will handle the situation by tonight. And if anyone gets particularly annoying, tell them they have my permission to talk to Inquisitor Umbres themselves and request him to quiet down."
A nasty smirk curled on her lips as she watched the clerk gulp. "That should quiet down the complaints for a while," he said, in a low tone.
Poliana leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing as she once more looked over the information Lachlan had sent about their incoming guests. She already knew enough about Selen, after all, Selen had lived in Sichal for years. But this Senior Ji¡ªher eyes widened as she skimmed through the details.
A shiver ran down her spine as she took in a long breath. Poliana chuckled, a strange semi-cackle escaping her lips, and she threw the papers at the clerk. "Read it."
The clerk picked up the papers with steady hands and began to read. His face froze in a rather comical fashion, one side of his mouth twitching downward.
"Are we getting a justice for all nutjob dumped onto us?" he asked, his voice quivering.
Poliana raised her hands into the air dramatically. "It''s either a self-righteous nutjob or a nutjob with balls bigger than most of the continent."
Sweat began to bead on the clerk''s forehead as he whispered urgently, "If it''s a goody two shoes with power coming over, will we be in trouble for... uhh¡you know what?"
Poliana snapped into a perfect pose, her tone suddenly regal and commanding. "I have no idea what you''re talking about. If you have a guilty conscience, speak now."
The clerk''s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he saw another smile creep onto Poliana''s face. He thought to himself, "Old witch is going to throw all of our asses out the window if that guy investigates us!"
As the realization set in on the clerk''s face, Poliana''s smirk grew wider.
The captain''s voice reverberated through the Airship''s announcement system, the intricate Artifice technology making his words clear and easy to understand. "We will be arriving at Sichal within two hours!"
Zinnia, who had just finished her bath and returned to the main cabin, groaned in frustration. She had been on the verge of falling asleep, lulled by the tired staff''s attempts at a lullaby she had requested. With a dismissive wave, she sent them away and jumped across the cabin to the seat opposite Silas.
For the entire duration of their trip, he kept up his eyes focused on the scroll, which he had claimed was "gospel."
"Where''s the crow?" Zinnia asked, her tone curious. "I haven''t seen him since he broke into my room back at the castle."
Silas paused his reading and looked at her. "Look left."
Without thinking too much, she turned her head. Nyx had appeared on her shoulder without making a sound. He raised his wings high and leaned back his portly body, making a grand display as if he were shocked to see her there.
"Ah, there you are," Zinnia said simply.
Nyx tilted his head and scratched his chin with his wing before shrugging. He then jumped under the table and disappeared once again.
Silas nodded approvingly. "Good that you are not prone to panic, it will serve you well."
"I''ve seen weirder," Zinnia replied.
A painful peck on her shin from Nyx made her yelp in surprise. She quickly kicked under the table but hit Silas''s shin instead.
"Ouch!" she grunted, bringing her kicking foot up across her other knee to rub it. "What the hell are you made out of?"
"Most Alchemists worth a damn can easily consume a defensive potion to harden their flesh," Silas explained.
Zinnia stuck her tongue out at him. "Isn''t it wasteful to use it on this?"
"I didn''t use it," Silas replied calmly. "My body is a lot more durable than most Alchemists''."
She rolled her eyes. Still bored, she asks instead, "What are the ways a regular Alchemist would consume their potions then? I barely ever see them drink or eat anything they make."
Silas''s eyes twinkled with amusement. "You''re asking for insight into the deep secrets of Alchemy. What will you give in return?"
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With a deadpan expression, Zinnia said, "I''ll tell you how Illusionists change the pigmentation of their hair, skin, and eyes."
"I already know how," Silas said with a soft smile. "What else can you offer?"
Surprised, Zinnia asked, "Who the fuck spilled so much about the trade?"
"It doesn''t matter," Silas replied.
She pouted before asking, "Do you know the name of the legendary fourth step for Illusionists?"
"I do not." Silas stated simply.
Zinnia puffed out her chest, still enhanced from taking Selen''s form. "Will that do?"
"It will," Silas agreed.
She crosses her arms and says, "However, you go first because I don''t trust you!"
Silas chuckled before continuing, "Second step Alchemists store potions in their skin. First step Alchemists are a lot more creative. They rarely have time to uncork a potion or unseal a pill to consume traditionally. Instead, many create false teeth that they bite into to release certain substances if they sense they will need it. Some have needles coated in elixirs that they attach to the inside of their clothes and jab directly into their muscles in an emergency. And some keep a pill inside their rectum that they crush by flexing the muscles to release its properties."
Zinnia burst out laughing. A strange accent leaking out "Ya tellin'' me Alchemists walk around all day with pills up their bum?"
Silas shrugged nonchalantly. "Some do."
He made a gesture indicating it was now her turn.
Stopping her fit of laughter, she quickly regained her calm. With a wide smile and narrowed eyes, Zinnia leaned over and mouthed the word: "Enigma."
She then proceeded to go back to her laughing frenzy at the revelation of the deep secret.
Selen lay on the bed, her breaths shallow and labored. Her eyes, swollen and blackened, barely opened to the muted light of the room. The ear that had once adorned her head was now a jagged wound, hastily and crudely bandaged.
Her scalp, shaved clean, mirrored the Inquisitor''s own. He poured another cup of tea across from where she was with the same warm, soft smile he had worn since entering.
"You surprise me," he said, his voice gentle yet filled with condescension. "To maintain your deceit so adamantly... I could have been full of praise had you been a servant of the divine."
He glanced at her newly lopsided chest, noting its slow rise and fall. Despite her grievous injuries, she was still sufficiently alive.
The Inquisitor clasped his hands in prayer, his eyes closing as he murmured full of passion. "Ohhhh Most Knowledgeable! Grant me the strength to ascertain the truth from this unenlightened creature."
As he fell into his fervor of prayers, Selen found a brief respite. Her consciousness flickered between cruel reality and blissful dream. She could no longer feel her legs, they were unfortunately bent in directions they never should have. The stubs of her hands were numb, a mercy in their own right.
She wanted to pray for salvation, but her thoughts were muddled and disjointed. As she teetered on the edge of unconsciousness once more, a single thought crystallized in her mind: "What kind of a God... has these servants?"
The Inquisitor finished his prayers and took a deep breath. His eyes opened with a comforting gaze as he extended a hand toward her again.
Selen''s bruised cheek glistened with yet another tear running down it.
The crew of the Airship lined up at the exit door, their uniforms crisp and faces set in a polite smiling demeanor. The captain''s voice was heard over the intercom, announcing their successful docking at Sichal and thanking the passengers for flying with them.
As the door opened, the crew bowed towards Silas and Zinnia. Zinnia, with a wide smile, waved at them. "I''m going to miss my minions," she said cheerfully.
The crewmembers'' eyes collectively twitched as they forced out a polite thank you in unison. Once the door closed behind Silas and Zinnia, the crew''s restraint snapped. Objects flew at the door¡ªcups, bottles, even a shoe¡ªas they vented their frustration.
However, one crewmember mourned, with trails of tears in his eyes "Such perfect feet... gone!"
The others quickly turned their ire onto the pervert. As they began bashing onto him he sighed dreamily "Such bliss~".
Outside the Airship, Silas turned to Zinnia. "You are an effective torturer."
Zinnia looked affronted. "Effective? I am the best torturer!"
Nyx, hidden inside Silas''s shadow, thought, ''''Amateur.''''
They reached the end of the ramp and came face to face with Poliana. She cupped her fists respectfully.
"Senior Ji, welcome to Sichal" she greeted Silas politely before turning towards Zinnia with a more casual tone of voice. "Welcome home~."
Zinnia snorted internally. ''''This old bat is trying to pull some shit. this isn''t how she behaves.''''
Silas, in his Senior Ji persona, returned the greeting with a smile. "The Town Lord looks much more beautiful in person."
Poliana snorted. "Liar."
''''No shit,'''' Silas, Zinnia, and Nyx all thought collectively.
Poliana raised her arms wide. "Sichal is wide open to you for whatever you may need."
"Thank you," Silas said before turning to Zinnia. "You mentioned wanting to catch up with your friends and Guild? This would be the best time for it, as I need to get my bearings."
Zinnia''s face lit up cheerfully. "Hell yeah! I''ll need an hour just to get the nostalgia out of me." She glanced at Poliana. "I can catch up with you after."
Poliana nodded. "No issue at all. We can meet up at the entrance of the Laughing Jester Inn." All the while thinking ''''Gives me enough time to butter up the big guy.''''
Zinnia waved as she trotted off towards town. "I''ll see you soon!"
Silas turned back to Poliana with a pleasant tone. "Please, lead the way your Lordship."
Poliana nodded and they set off together.
Zinnia stepped off the dock and into the lively streets of Sichal. The air buzzed with energy, colorful banners fluttered overhead, and the sounds of musicians and street performers filled her ears. She couldn''t help but smile, this was her home turf.
As she walked, she made a show of counting on her fingers, a playful grin on her face. She sensed someone tailing her almost immediately after leaving the dock.
She decided to let them think she was lost in thoughts, perhaps about all the people and things she had missed.
In reality, her mind was focused on more pressing matters: What did the people outside of Rhysling know about the attack? Who did they think was responsible? Was there any suspicion on her and Silas? What had happened in Sichal while she was away? And were there any significant events happening elsewhere?
She stopped at a small candy shop, its window display filled with colorful sweets. She purchased a few pieces of candy, popping one into her mouth as she continued walking. She naturally slipped into the crowd, making it easier to "accidentally" lose her pursuer. She took a few more turns through the streets before ducking into a shadowy back alley.
Once she believed the coast was clear, Zinnia allowed herself to return to her true appearance. She tossed the bag of candy into a nearby trash bin with a smirk. "Well," she thought to herself, "half an hour should be plenty to dig up what we need before heading to the Artificer''s Guild."
She made her way to a nearby cane shop, its sign barely visible in the dim light of the alley. Inside, an aged seller wearing an unusually large top hat and large glasses on his nose greeted her. He looked like the very picture of a kindly old man working hard to make ends meet.
"Hello~ missed me?" Zinnia said with a chuckle.
The old seller approached her with a smile, half-hunched over due to what seemed like a bad back. He took off his top hat and held it to his chest as he replied, "Of course."
Zinnia''s eyes flicked to the top of his hat, where she saw a symbol of one eye open and one eye closed.
Chapter 29: Escalation
Silas and Poliana made their way through the winding streets of Sichal, the evening air filled with the sounds of laughter and music. As they approached the main square, Silas turned to Poliana, his voice low but firm.
"To what extent do you know about the incident that brought me here?"
Poliana''s face twisted into a grimace. "A rogue cultivator, suspected of being a Heretic, infiltrated Rhysling. Committed two acts of mass murder within the Church and Starlight Bidders'', one act of grand theft, and numerous acts of sacrilege." Her expression conveyed her distaste for the events and condemnation of the perpetrator.
Silas raised an eyebrow as Poliana coughed and straightened her face back into a polite smile. "See through it? Well, I supposed you might. It is a horrible tragedy, but I''m too much of an old hag to be shaken up by it. First thought in my head was being thankful that didn''t happen here." She raised her arms in mock surrender.
"I meant no offense," Silas chuckled. "I simply wish for us to be as honest as possible. I myself would not be offering help if my friend was not at the center of the storm as it were."
Poliana nodded thoughtfully. "Not a nutjob so far..."
They reached the lively center square, dominated by a magnificent fountain in the shape of a weeping man hunched over a puddle of his tears. Silas paused, taking in the sight before turning to Poliana.
"Is there any story related to this rather strangely tragic fountain?"
Poliana chuckled. "It''s from a somewhat recent play called ''The Rotten.'' Believe it or not, it is a comedy! One of Sichal''s wealthier entrepreneurs took to it so much that they wanted to erect a monument to it." Her gaze lingered on the fountain with fondness. "I just couldn''t help but give my permission after hearing their passion. We needed something to spruce up the center, and who was I to say no to a free fountain?"
Silas laughed lightly. "A good decision indeed. Do you know where I might see this play once my business is concluded?"
Poliana thought for a moment. "A troupe called the Traveling Orchid has been in town for a while. They sometimes perform it, but I haven''t had a chance to see them due to my schedule."
"I may have to check if my luck is good enough to see that show," Silas said with seemingly genuine interest.
Poliana nodded with a smile as they walked past the fountain, thinking to herself, "I need to get someone to set up the play for him... perhaps his ''good luck'' will keep him reasonable..."
Silas brought her back to reality with his next questions. "What about the person that was captured? How are they behaving? Who is detaining them? What is their story?"
Poliana momentarily rooted herself to her spot, forcing Silas to turn around and meet her gaze once more. She coughed defensively. "Sichal is not as affluent as Rhysling with manpower. I had to inquire for some assistance outside of our hardworking civil servants."
A chill washed over her as she noticed the dangerous expression on Senior Ji''s face. "Who is detaining the imitator?"
Poliana adopted a formal tone. "Sichal was visited by an esteemed member of the Church''s Inquisition. I asked them for aid in this matter since the Church is also involved in this incident and would be very interested in finding out the cause and culprit." She looked at Silas pleadingly. "I hope you understand. I had no choice but to turn to them."
Silas''s eyes narrowed slightly before he spoke again. "We should hurry up in that case."
Poliana nodded quickly and took the lead, guiding him towards the inn while thinking to herself, "Best not push my luck right now. Worst case I drop all of the blame on the Church."
Nyx hovered over Sichal, his keen eyes scanning the various districts below. As soon as they had left the dock, he had slipped out of Silas''s shadow to conduct his own reconnaissance. The crow''s flight took him from the wealthiest parts of the city to the slums, and he noticed a strange lack of tension or discontent in both areas.
The usual undercurrent of unease, the quiet discontent that simmered beneath the surface in most places, was conspicuously absent here, leaving Nyx both puzzled and intrigued.
"Curious..." he thought, his mind racing to understand this incongruity. It was only natural that there should be at least some degree of underlying restlessness or dissatisfaction.
Nyx glided down, pondering what might be causing this strange harmony.
"Hmm, what could it be..." he squawked to himself quietly, his descent accelerating as he turned around in thought.
"Can''t be that the Hag is just that good at ruling..." Nyx stabilized himself just before he would have crashed and landed on a windowsill of one of the communal houses in the slum. Peering inside, he found the room to be surprisingly well furnished - an anomaly for such an area. He checked other windows and saw families chatting happily over a meal, dressed in rags but surrounded by comfort and plenty. Children laughed and played, while adults engaged in lively conversation, their faces devoid of the usual worry lines and stress marks typical of slum dwellers.
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"Extremely odd," Nyx thought.
Zinnia had not mentioned anything about this peculiarity. Perhaps something new had happened in her weeks of absence, or perhaps she had dared to lie to them.
Nyx squawked a sigh and remembered for a moment how much simpler life had been with more infamy.
Back in their heyday, everything was just so simple and honest...
As he made his way to the more prosperous dwellings, Nyx saw the opposite situation: barren interiors and people running around with scrolls and papers, the exhaustion etched into their faces. These homes, which should have been symbols of opulence, looked almost abandoned, their inhabitants desperate and overworked. The stark contrast was jarring. The rich, usually portrayed as languid and carefree, appeared haggard and stressed, their luxurious surroundings marred by neglect.
Landing on a nearby tree, Nyx scratched his chin with his claw and muttered to himself, "This is not how I thought the night would go.'''' He closed his eyes briefly, realizing it was almost time for Silas to meet back up with Zinnia.
He should go to report these findings, but the mystery gnawed at him. What could cause such a strange situation? Could there be an unseen hand manipulating the city''s population?
With a powerful flap of his wings, Nyx took flight once again, heading towards where he could sense Silas. As he soared over the rooftops, his mind raced with possibilities. The stark division between the apparent contentment of the poor and the harried existence of the rich was not something he expected to see.
Zinnia exited the cane shop, twirling a new acquisition in her hand. The cane''s handle, carved into the shape of a boar''s head, felt solid and reassuring.
She thought to herself, "Shit~, Selen''s got it rough. Then again, it could have been me soooo~"
With a flick of her wrist, the cane retracted into a compact form that fit neatly into her palm. She stashed it away in her clothes and shifted her appearance back to Selen''s, blending seamlessly into the crowd.
Despite moving back into the streets at the same place she ''disappeared'' from, she couldn''t get back the feeling of being watched.
Her pursuers were probably waiting at the Guild for her reappearance.
As she walked, Zinnia mulled over the limited information she had purchased. Nothing major seemed to be happening within the Empire, most people hadn''t even heard about the chaos in Rhysling. The assailant remained unknown to the public and there were no fingers pointed to anyone just yet.
However, when she asked about Sichal, beyond some horrible screaming coming from an inn, there was little information. When she pressed for juicier news about her home, the price quoted by the old man in the shop made her do a double take.
"Something fishy is afoot," she mused. "Have to see if my friends don''t know something interesting."
Quickening her pace towards the Artificer''s Guild, Zinnia once again felt those ''watchful'' eyes on her. Everything seemed to be going well as she entered the Guild.
Silas and Poliana arrived at the Laughing Jester Inn earlier than planned, driven by Silas''s insistence on meeting the Inquisitor and confirming the prisoner''s condition. The inn''s exterior, usually inviting with its sturdy oak beams and modest sign, now seemed to sag under the weight of an oppressive atmosphere. The scent of blood, sharp and metallic, lingered in the air as they approached the entrance.
Silas made no comment on the smell but thought to himself how convenient it was to have an Inquisitor present. He could already predict the events that would unfold once he laid eyes on him.
Inside, the common room was eerily empty. The usual warmth from the central hearth was absent, replaced by a cold silence that seemed to seep into every corner. Most of the staff were missing, likely having taken time off to escape working under the current ''special'' conditions. The prolonged screaming from one of the rooms had driven away even the most resilient employees.
The receptionist, looking haggard and worn, stood behind the counter. His eyes widened slightly as he saw Silas enter but quickly shifted to Poliana. His demeanor changed instantly, becoming much more respectful as he greeted his Lord.
"Town Lord Poliana," he said with a deep bow. "Welcome."
Poliana nodded curtly. "This is Senior Ji," she said, gesturing to Silas. "We would like to have a talk with Inquisitor Umbres and the guest inside one of your rooms."
The receptionist gulped, his face paling further. He bowed his head low, trembling slightly. "Forgive my rudeness and unprofessionalism," he stammered. "I can direct you to the location, but I am simply too frightened to guide you personally."
Poliana opened her mouth to respond, but Silas stepped forward and placed a hand on the receptionist''s shoulder. His touch was firm yet gentle, and he offered a soft smile that seemed to put the man at ease.
"All is well," Silas said in a soothing tone. "I am sure everything will be fine. Surely a servant of the Most Knowledgeable would be open to talking first."
The receptionist looked into Silas''s seemingly kind eyes, his own filled with uncertainty. "I am not so sure," he replied with a tremor in his voice.
Poliana coughed lightly, drawing their attention back to her. "We should head over to the room and see the situation for ourselves," she suggested.
Silas nodded in agreement and reassured the receptionist once more. "All will be fine," he repeated before turning towards Poliana.
As they made their way through the corridors of the inn, Silas could feel Poliana''s curiosity about him growing stronger.
Perhaps she wondered if this Senior Ji had ever dealt with an Inquisitor before, they were anything but civil.
They reached a door at the end of a narrow hallway, that the receptionist pointed them towards. Muffled sounds could be heard from within.
Poliana paused for a moment before knocking firmly on the door. There was no immediate response, but after a few seconds, they heard shuffling footsteps approaching from inside.
The door creaked open slightly, revealing a sliver of light from within. A pair of disgustingly warm eyes peered out at her through the gap.
"Inquisitor Umbres?" Poliana called out authoritatively.
He spoke with mirth, "My! The Town Lord graces this servant with her presence! How wonderful!"
Poliana could see some of the aftermath of the Inquisitor''s actions behind him. She felt quite unnerved, even with her tolerance for disturbing sights.
Umbres then opened the door fully, the putrid stench now fully wafting outwards. He noticed there was another person next to the Town Lord.
Shifting his line of sight upwards, he met a pair of eyes as warm as his own, with a soft smile that one might even call saintly. Silas gave a friendly greeting, "A pleasure to mee¡ª"
However, he was abruptly cut off as the Inquisitor ripped off the chain that was on his copy of the [Rovinius Codex].
The Inquisitor of Rovinius had a facial expression one could only describe as beyond demonic. Faster than Poliana could react to the shifting situation, he swung the chain towards Silas, yelling out a bestial roar, "DIE!"
Chapter 30: Truth Is Strange
The chain whistled through the air, narrowly missing Silas as he leaned and dodged to the side, leaving noting more than a cool draft to brush against his cheek. It struck the wall behind him with a thunderous crash, ripping through the construction and launching debris through the window within the room. The entire inn shook from the impact, as the pulverized mixture of stone and wood created a stifling scent.
Poliana recovered from her shock quickly, her voice rising in anger. "What is the meaning of this¡ª"
Her words were cut off as Umbres rushed past her, knocking her aside with a sweeping fist. She stumbled backwards, catching herself against the wall, or rather her fingers burrowing into it as the Inquisitor lunged past her towards Silas, madness gleaming in his eyes.
"Lovely" Silas thought to himself, raising his arm and exposing some of his Sage grooves that were carved into his forearm. He activated one of the potions etched into his flesh, feeling its power course through him. Strangely, a pleasant odor was created from the light up arm, reminiscent of herbal tea almost.
The chain retracted and wrapped around Umbres''s large fist as he swung it down at Silas. The impact between chain and arm made a dull clanking sound as Silas''s feet cracked the floor beneath him with a thunderous boom. He jumped to the side just in time to avoid falling into the hole that opened up.
Umbres, a physical cultivator despite his ironic service to the divine, didn''t let up. He rushed in to close the gap between them.
As soon as he took a step forward however, his foot slipped on an unseen slick spot, likely by Silas''s design. His massive frame did an uncomfortable leg split accompanied with a tearing sound mixed with a most unpleasant squelch.
Silas took another step back, giving himself ample room to throw an ampule of Necroclasm at Umbres. He had swiped it from Arim''s office when he had left his final token of appreciation.
The Inquisitor wasn''t slowed for long. From his split position, he leaned into one side and moved his legs into a position to propel himself at Silas. The flying ampule was swatted away by the chain on his fist that seemed to have a mind of its own. However, a few drops lacking any distinct odor from the shattered ampule managed to land on Umbres''s face.
The effects were immediate and terrible. The Inquisitor''s face contorted in pain as a combined color of violet and black necrosis began to spread.
But then his eyes glowed a fiery bright gold, and his face quickly purged the potion''s effects, leaving some noticeable leathery scarring, but restoring him back to full strength.
Silas used this momentary distraction to widen the gap between them once more. He moved calmly, as if he were a dancer doing a meticulously practiced choreography.
Umbres roared fiercely in frustration, his eyes blazing with fury as he charged again. Silas could see the raw power in every movement of the Inquisitor''s body.
He quickly reached into his satchel and pulled out another ampule, this one filled with a clear unassuming liquid.
The Inquisitor swung his chain again, but this time Silas anticipated the move. He added a spin to the ampule before he threw it that made it''s arc curve mid-air, causing it to go around Umbres''s chain and shatter against his chest.
A thick cloud of pungent anesthetic gas erupted from the broken glass, enveloping Umbres in a choking haze. The Inquisitor coughed violently but continued to advance without stopping through sheer willpower.
Silas leaned backwards to avoid another wild swing from Umbres''s chain and prepared for his next move. He could see Poliana regaining her composure out of the corner of his eye, likely considering her next move in this unforeseen circumstance.
Umbres emerged from the gas cloud with red bloodshot eyes and labored breaths. His movements were slower now but no less determined.
The Inquisitor snarled in rage and savagely swung his chain down again. This time, Silas caught it mid-swing with the one hand he had bolstered with the herbal scented potion at the start.
Umbres reacted quickly as he pulled back on his chain with all of his strength, trying to yank Silas off balance and towards him.
But Silas was ready for it. He released the heavy chain just as Umbres started to pull back, causing him to stumble a step backwards once more.
Silas seized this opportunity and lunged forward, relinquishing the distance he had created so far with an acrid poisoned needle in hand¡ªthis one coated with a highly potent corrosive agent of his original design.
He jabbed it into Umbres''s chest, right at the spot the anesthetic ampule struck before. Umbres could not react fully¡ªdrops of deadly grey liquid seeped into his body as soon as the silver needle pierced his skin¡ª his muscles paralyzing instantly upon absorption into the bloodstream.
The anesthetic was an old trick of less savory Alchemists like Silas, by not allowing the Inquisitor to sense where the foreign impurity was, they could not use the ability he used earlier on the Necroclasm called [Purge The Filth]. Painful paralysis set in rapidly throughout the Inquisitor''s entire body rendering almost all motion impossible. The exception being some slight twitching here and there due to residual nerve activity, despite the overwhelming alchemical suppression coursing through both veins and arteries alike...
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Silas stepped back and calmly observed as his handiwork unfolded before him. He speaks his first sentence in as outraged of a tone as he could yelling out ''''So it''s you!''''. Poliana finally snapped out of acting as a bystander as she walked up to the two.
"Oh Most Knowledgeable! What¡ creature is this?" Umbres''s mind reeled as he recalled the moment he first laid eyes upon Silas. The Inquisitor saw no smile, not even a man. Instead, he beheld a horrifying visage¡ªa face melting away to reveal a skull colored the darkest shade of black. His head rang with a cacophony of noises, from children screaming to aged elders weeping. Flakes of black descended around him, almost resembling the vile Blackfall.
It was as if looking at Silas through Umbres''s eyes, blessed by Rovinius during his training, was akin to being sent down into the depths of Hiran''s Purgatory. As treacherous as it was to think about another deity''s domain, Umbres couldn''t help but feel that not even the Most Cruel would have such a beast stalking its punishment grounds for the damned.
Despite his fear, Umbres resolved to fight. The Inquisition was the left hand of the divine, hammers of faith who gave everything for their God ahead of every other faithful. When faced with a monster of this caliber, he had to charge ahead. Even if futile, even if his death was assured, he had to fight. If his sacrifice could buy even a few more seconds for the faithful, it would be worth it.
Yet reality rarely aligns with one''s wishes. His resolution amounted to nothing. Perhaps if he were calmer, he could have been a better fighter; if less disturbed, he might have done more. But the sight of that skull imagery rendered him incapable of thinking straight. He only wished to strike it down quickly before terror paralyzed him completely.
Umbres had never questioned why Poliana brought this thing to him. Only the Inquisition had the sight to see sins so clearly and viscerally. Poliana might never know the monster on her doorstep if he did not yell out to warn her now. Yet, Umbres could no longer speak, paralyzed on the floor, kneeling before the beast.
He expected the worst he''d see in this town to be the criminal behind him¡ªthe ''Selen'' impersonator who also had a mountain of sins upon her shoulders. Despite extensive questioning, she refused to answer for them. The whole town was covered in sin. Even Poliana had an outrageous amount covering her. Yet, the one he has spent the last few days with was leagues beyond.
But, this beast that appeared now¡ this¡ simply should not be able to exist.
Silas spoke some words at him, but Umbres could no longer hear them. His eyes began to close as he felt something go down his throat. Vaguely, he felt only the tiniest bit of itching as his bones seemingly started to shift...
Poliana looked at the sight in front of her, confusion etched across her face. The Inquisitor had transformed into a young man and had become unconscious right before her eyes. Senior Ji stood over him, his expression unreadable.
"What the hell just happened?" Poliana asked cautiously. "Why did the Inquisitor attack you? And why did he turn into a young man?"
Silas grabbed hold of the incapacitated Inquisitor, who now bore the form of the Priest from the auction. He had stealthily administered the leftover Envy''s Seduction he''d brewed on the night of the attack. Placing him to the side, Silas turned to Poliana, his face contorted with rage.
"You have the guts to try and set me up?" Silas demanded, his voice dripping with venom.
Poliana''s mind raced to understand what was happening at the reversal of who was being questioned and who was answering. She saw a glint coming off Senior Ji''s sleeve¡ªa needle had appeared in his hand. Alchemical grooves on his ear, hidden behind his hair, began to glow ominously.
It was clear that Senior Ji meant business.
She had to get away fast or end up like the Inquisitor. Trying to calm down this Senior was her only option. Poliana opened her mouth wide and spat out a cloud of freezing air that quickly began to cover everything in front of her in ice, heading straight for Senior Ji.
Silas backed off quickly as the freezing air approached. Poliana blew harder, propelling herself backward and upward until she reached a corner of the ceiling. Her hands quickly covered themselves in ice that extended onto the walls, allowing her to stick herself there.
"I had nothing to do with this, Senior!" she yelled out desperately. "I can make a Contract Vow to prove it!"
"Then do it." Silas shouted back, throwing a powder at the ice that quickly melted it away all around him.
Poliana thought to herself, "Fuck you!", but nonetheless began the chant of the Vow.
"By Probitas, this vow we seal,
Bound in honor, blood and steel.
Break the oath, and¡ª"
Once she finished, a symbol of Probitas appeared in her eyes¡ªa sign of a successful Vow. The terms she set were that she would speak no lie or falsehood in her next statement.
"I have had nothing to do with this event that happened between you and the Inquisitor," Poliana declared firmly. "And I know nothing about the reason behind it."
Silas stared her down but eventually put away his needle. The glowing grooves on his ear turned dull once more.
Poliana breathed a sigh of relief as she descended from her icy perch on the ceiling. The tension in the room remained thick, but at least for now, she had managed to avoid being incriminated.
"This young man," Silas began, his voice steady but firm, "is the same Priest who attacked Starlight Bidders'' Hall."
Poliana''s eyes narrowed, disbelief etched into her features. "That can''t be. The Inquisitor has been here for a while, specifically during the time of the auction. Even if he were that Priest, he had no way of reaching Sichal faster than you on the Airship. Short of teleporting¡ªand I sincerely doubt he had the resources to pay a wizard cabal for that."
"Of course it''s improbable," Silas thought to himself. "But that doesn''t mean you couldn''t think of ways to make it possible."
He put on a deadpan expression and pointed a finger at the unconscious Inquisitor. "Oh, I fully agree with you. However, this reality is unfortunately presented to me."
Poliana grimaced, her mind trying to figure out a retort. Silas continued, "Get your actual soldiers to guard him this time. No finding ways to get rid of your problems. Let''s not sour our relationship so early, no?"
"Of course he saw through that" Poliana thought, frustration bubbling beneath her calm exterior. "But that''s still accounted for¡ How the hell did this happen though?"
She nodded and said, "It shall be as the Special Inspector says. But I simply cannot believe that this is the same person."
Silas''s expression softened slightly as he replied serenely, "The truth is often stranger than what we may think. The Priest won''t wake up until I administer an antidote to him. It will be safe to guard him until I can interrogate him."
"Understood, Senior Ji," Poliana responded.
Silas turned towards the room where the ''impersonator'' had been held and began walking towards it.
Poliana''s thoughts churned with anxiety. "I may be screwed if sending Umbres¡ªor whoever he is¡ªto detain that ''Selen'' turns out to be a prearrangement that I stumbled into like an idiot."
She watched Silas''s retreating form, her mind grappling with the implications of his words and actions.
Chapter 31: Dreams
Selen ran through the dreamy snow covered woodland, her breath visible in the crisp air.
The evergreens towered around her, their branches heavy with snow. The night sky above was a tapestry of stars, with a blood-red moon casting an eerie glow over the landscape. She felt exhilarated, at home amidst the wilderness. Her feet crunched in the snow as she moved forward with great joy.
She jumped, grabbing a branch from a tall tree and snapping it off. With a playful grin, she wielded it like a sword, twirling and slashing at imaginary foes. Snow flew up in a powdery mist around her, and she laughed, enjoying the sensation of running through it.
Eventually, she reached a lake. Its surface was so still that it looked like a gorgeous glass pane. A large Willow Deer stood at the water''s edge, drinking peacefully. Selen waved her branch at the deer, but it startled and bolted into the forest. She pouted and kicked at the snow in frustration, glancing down at her stubby legs.
She approached the lakeside to check for ice, wanting to shatter and crack some of it on the edge but found none. Instead, she saw her reflection in the water¡ªher cheeks red from the cold but still neat despite her playfulness. She spoke in a distorted voice, "It''s so much more fun being a kid than a grumpy adult."
The lake''s surface remained perfectly still until she splashed it with her bare hand, sending ripples across the water. She chuckled at her reflection in the disturbed water and leaned in closer.
Suddenly, rotten arms burst from beneath the surface and grabbed her, dragging her under. Selen screamed in fright, closing her eyes tightly as she felt herself being pulled down.
When she opened them again, she was no longer underwater but standing amidst strange ruins covered in vines and flowers like those found in a jungle. Confused and disoriented, she heard a gong ring out behind her.
Turning around, she saw an old monk with very large ears striking the gong repeatedly while crying his heart out. "They are all gone," he sobbed.
Curiosity overcame her fear as she approached him. "What''s wrong?" she asked.
The monk continued to sob as she circled him to see his face. She recoiled in horror when she saw his empty eye sockets spilling out warm orange liquid. The monk smiled at her with an unsettling grin, revealing that he had only one incisor left.
"They are all gone!" he repeated gleefully.
Frightened once again and afraid that she was going to be hurt, Selen shut her eyes tightly as if it was going to save her, until curiosity overrode her fright when she finally opened her eyes once again¡ªand found herself staring into pitch blackness. She sat up and heard wet sounds with each movement. Blinking rapidly to adjust her eyes, she quickly regretted it as she realized she was in a cave full of sharp protrusions with knee-deep water.
Unsure of what was happening but knowing she needed to escape, Selen stood up and began walking forward through the dark cave. From a pleasant dream, to a dark nightmare it only takes a moment¡
Silas placed a blanket over the bared form of Selen, his hands moving quickly without any flourish. He glanced at Poliana, who stood nearby with an expression that was a mix of guilt and curiosity. Likely, another simulation of concern.
"I did not expect to have to heal my target first before speaking to her," Silas remarked, his voice carrying a hint of irritation.
Poliana offered a wry smile. "Apologies for the inconvenience," she said, coughing into her hand to shift the topic. "Your abilities are quite surprising. It''s not often one sees an Alchemist versed in all three forms."
Silas smiled, though it didn''t reach his eyes. "Strengthening, healing, and poisoning are all necessary if one wishes to roam the lands alone."
Poliana thought to herself that one of those was not like the other two. The Town Lord of Sichal did not lie when she praised him.
She was genuinely impressed by all of the procedures he had done to the imitator¡ªreattaching missing limbs and a severed breast, staunching active wounds, and restoring blood flow to tissue on the verge of necrosis. Missing some dignity, hair, fingers, and teeth was much more preferable to being dead, she mused. He had somehow managed to restore her face by pulling on the parts that were caved in, much to Poliana''s surprise.
Even the scars left over could probably be fixed; it was just that this Senior Ji chose not to. After all, he did not do it out of kindness but rather necessity to speak to the woman.
Silas, however discovered something strange about Selen during the process. The muscles under her skin were strangely malleable. He felt as if he could mold her shape quite freely, as long as he did not try to rip it off the bones. Intrigued, he went a step further in healing her when he noticed another abnormality. When he touched the exposed bone in her stubs, he found he could stretch it¡ªit was not solid but something in between.
Truth be told, he had not exerted much effort or resources to restore her. When he brought the severed part of her large breast back to her torso to test his hunch, he was still surprised to confirm that he could squish down on the separated flesh and it would attach itself. A scar line had formed, but brushing his fingers upon it revealed that he could simply scrape it off, the little part that he did it on was almost pristine.
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"Curious," Silas thought.
Her bones¡ªhe could reproduce a similar effect by elongating a portion on the remaining bone and the severed end, followed by pressing them together. It was as if she were made out of clay.
"I wish to move to another inn," Silas said abruptly, breaking Poliana''s train of thought. "I''ve added a sedative to the imposter and would like to try a civil discussion first."
Poliana nodded. "We can move to the Siren''s Rest Inn."
Selen''s breath came in ragged gasps as the water rose to her neck, the cold liquid pressing against her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Panic clawed at her throat, making it hard to breathe. She tried to move forward, but her legs felt like they were encased in cement. Her heart pounded wildly as she struggled against the invisible force holding her back.
Then, without warning, the water began to drain away. The ceiling above her cracked open, and a single beam of moonlight pierced through the darkness, blinding her momentarily. She blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. When her vision cleared, she found herself standing on bone dry land.
The moonlight illuminated a large pointed rock formation in the center of the cave. Beneath it lay a skeleton, its bones draped in the tattered remains of what might have once been a silken blouse and a strange ceremonial skirt adorned with images of various animals.
Selen''s curiosity drew her closer.
As she approached, she noticed two small lines etched into the ground, as if something had clawed its way away from the skeleton. The lines began below the ceremonial skirt and trailed off into the darkness. Another shiver ran down Selen''s spine at the sight.
Before she could process what she was seeing, something cold and clammy grabbed her calf. She looked down and saw a hideous creature clinging to her leg. It was about the size of a ripe melon, with clawed hands resembling hooks and a malformed head that looked like an unhinged mouth folded in on itself.
Revulsion surged through her, and she kicked out with all her strength, flinging the creature into the darkness. She nearly vomited from disgust but forced herself to stay composed. Her reprieve was short-lived as more of those grotesque creatures began crawling towards her from all directions, their numbers growing like an incoming tide.
Fear gripped her heart as she ran towards the skeleton, hoping to escape the encroaching horde. But they surrounded her from all sides, drawing closer with every passing second. Just when it seemed they would overwhelm her, they reached the edge of the moonlight and began to evaporate into nothingness.
Relief washed over Selen as she realized that the moonlight offered protection from these nightmarish beings. She moved closer to the skeleton and noticed that its bony hands were clutching something beneath the ceremonial skirt¡ªa small, tiny skeleton nestled lovingly in its grasp.
Her heart thumped loudly in her chest, each beat echoing through the cave like a drum. The sight filled her with a profound sense of sorrow and unease.
Suddenly, water began to drip down from the crack in the ceiling above. Selen looked up and saw herself as a child staring down at her with wide eyes and making funny faces. The surreal image left her frozen in place, unable to comprehend what was happening.
The child version of herself continued to make faces, seemingly oblivious to Selen''s confusion and fear below.
Zinnia walked towards the inn, her mind replaying the amusing interaction she had inside the Artificer''s Guild.
Theo, the receptionist, had been sweating bullets as he greeted her, his face a mask of anxiety. He had started apologizing profusely for doubting her identity thinking that she was the Selen he saw yesterday.
Zinnia held her chin in a thinking pose, tilting her head slightly. Theo squirmed under her gaze, clearly uncomfortable. She then broke into a full-faced smile under Selen''s guise and extended her hand forward.
"Don''t worry about it," she said warmly.
Theo took a relieved breath as he accepted the handshake. But before he could relax, Zinnia pulled him in so close that their noses mashed against each other.
"Although, you are going to have to pay up for that," she whispered breathily.
The sound of something falling to the ground drew their attention. They locked eyes with Mureli, who stood stunned by the scene. Zinnia''s fun quickly turned into a painful annoyance, as she had to explain her flirting to Mureli as a joke and nothing serious.
Afterwards, she gave them the story of how Theo was correct and that the Selen from the day before was a pretender. Both were shocked. As Zinnia filled in more details, they also quickly started spilling the information she wanted to hear¡ªnamely, the events of Selen''s arrival back at the guild, what had caught their suspicion, and whether she would have to do anything else to cement herself as the real deal.
With that done, Zinnia was ready to meet back up with Silas. She headed towards the inn, her thoughts still lingering on the funny yet troublesome encounter at the guild.
As she arrived at the inn, she noticed a gaping hole where a window should be and a pile of debris being cleaned up by the staff. She puckered her lips in a face that seemed to say, "Not my problem," and entered.
The receptionist looked confused as he saw her approach. He could swear he had seen Selen¡ªalbeit bald and wrapped in a blanket¡ªbeing carried out just a couple of minutes ago.
"That person you saw was a fake," Zinnia informed him confidently. "I''m the real deal."
The receptionist blinked in confusion.
"Was it a tall guy, with a weirdly trustworthy face carrying her out?" she asked.
The receptionist hesitated but then nodded slowly. "Yes, that''s an¡ apt description. The man called Ji did look very reliable."
After a bit more talking he finally told her where they went. He said politely, "They were headed to the Siren''s Rest Inn."
Zinnia whistled softly. "Expensive."
The receptionist agreed with a nod.
As she headed out again, Zinnia thought to herself, ''''What the hell happened in just one damn hour?! And why does he not give any sort of heads-up?'''' She muttered grumpily under her breath, "...probably is just making it up as he goes along."
Suddenly, a pair of large talons landed atop her head as Nyx squawked loudly in affirmation.
"What do you want?" Zinnia asked irritably.
Nyx simply sat down atop her head, making himself comfortable. Zinnia''s mouth twitched in annoyance as she realized the crow was using her for transportation.
"Great," she muttered sarcastically as she continued towards Siren''s Rest Inn with Nyx perched on her head like an oversized hat.
Chapter 32: A Soft Hand
Selen''s arms reached out towards the rough edges of the crack in the cave ceiling, her eyes fixed on the face of her childhood likeness peering down at her. The young girl''s eyes were wide with curiosity, mirroring Selen''s own.
As Selen reached further, a desperate need to connect with this anomaly appeared in her heart. Small hands, fitting a child''s proportion reached back towards her.
Strangely, it seemed as if the harder they both reached, the distance between them shrunk, as the ceiling of the cave lowered itself towards Selen. The moment their fingers touched, ripples spread from the point of contact, distorting everything around her. The cave walls wavered like reflections in disturbed water, and the ground beneath her feet seemed to dissolve. Panic surged through her as she began to fall, her hand still outstretched towards the moonlight and the child above.
The descent was swift and disorienting. The moonlight grew distant, a mere sliver in the ever-darkening void. Selen''s heart pounded in her chest as she plummeted, reaching futilely for the fading light.
Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. The skeleton that had been resting amidst the rocky formation now appeared directly behind her, its bony arms wrapping around her torso. Despite their appearance, the bones were surprisingly warm against her skin. The skull leaned close to her ear, its jaw clinking together in a macabre mimicry of speech.
Terror gripped Selen as she struggled against the skeletal embrace. Her mind raced with thoughts of the dead coming back to life, whispering secrets they no longer had flesh to utter. She twisted and turned, trying to free herself from the skeletal hold.
From the shadows that encroached around them once again, an almost wailing grief-filled word echoed through the darkness: "Blasphemy."
The sound reverberated through Selen''s very being, chilling her to the core. The word carried a weight of sorrow and condemnation that seemed to pierce through her soul. She gasped for breath, feeling as though she were drowning in an ocean of despair.
The skeleton''s grip tightened momentarily before it began to dissolve into dust, leaving Selen suspended in mid-air. She glanced around frantically, searching for any sign of solid ground or a way out of this nightmarish descent.
But there was nothing¡ªonly darkness and echoes of that haunting word: "Blasphemy!"
Selen''s mind reeled as she tried to make sense of what was happening. The dreamscape twisted and shifted around her, offering no respite or clarity. She felt herself being pulled deeper into the void, further away from any semblance of reality or safety.
Her thoughts turned inward as she grappled with the meaning behind the word that had been spoken. Blasphemy¡ªan accusation that carried with it a profound sense of guilt and transgression. What had she done to warrant such condemnation?
With a final surge of willpower, Selen reached out once more towards the distant moonlight above...
Poliana entered her office, the complications of the day''s events pressing heavily onto her shoulders.
Rianus, the captain of the town guard, followed closely behind, his expression a mix of concern and readiness. She motioned for one of her trusted clerks, Thomas, to join them. As soon as the door closed, she addressed them both.
"We have a few problems to deal with," Poliana began, her voice steady despite everything that had happened.
Thomas, who was already habitually nervous, rubbed his hands together¡ªa tick that had become more pronounced over the years.
"The events at the Laughing Jester Inn were beyond strange and inconvenient," Poliana continued. "The moment the Special Inspector arrived, the Inquisitor turned rogue and attacked him. Then, we discovered he was an imposter himself, and the original imposter had been tortured half to death."
Thomas nodded, taking in the information.
Poliana''s eyes narrowed as she asked, "Thomas, what are the fastest ways one can reach Sichal from Rhysling?"
Without missing a beat, Thomas replied in order, "Teleportation, flight, riding atop fierce beasts, and walking."
Captain Rianus chimed in, "Every method has its risks. Teleportation could be unreliable if the Wizards aren¡¯t competent or are lacking in numbers for a safe transfer. Flying depends on the type of Airship¡ªsome are fast, others slow. Some cultivators can fly too, but long distances can horribly exhaust even the best of them. Beasts require rest and can be difficult to control. Walking varies greatly¡ªa mortal could take days, while a skilled Warrior or Air Elementalist could do it within a fraction of the time."
Poliana nodded, absorbing their input. "Where was the Inquisitor in the days between the Artificer''s imposter appearing and the attack inside Rhysling?"
The clerk and guard captain exchanged glances before answering in unison. "We have no idea."
Poliana''s teeth ground together in frustration. "I did¡ instruct you to keep him on the outskirts¡ and avoid interacting with him for too long."
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She couldn''t deny it¡ªthe Inquisitor had been invited into Sichal only after the attack and barely a day before Ji arrived with the real Selen. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on.
"The Special Inspector Ji is neither hotheaded nor completely rational," she continued.
"He is the very definition of a lone cultivator¡ªeasy to get along with but also easy to fall out with. Some of my probing was obviously ignored. I can''t quite understand what gets Ji going... aside from a comedy play apparently."
She sighed deeply before giving further instructions. "Thomas, contact the troupe leader of Traveling Orchid to put on a showing of ''The Rotten'' within the next few days¡ªthey will be well rewarded."
Thomas nodded and made a note.
"Rianus," Poliana turned to him next, "tip off the city''s ''entrepreneurs'' that business needs to be shiny for a while."
Rianus gave a curt nod.
"And our ''friends'' should behave accordingly," she added.
Both men nodded again.
"Finally," Poliana said with finality in her tone, "all ''specialty'' establishments are to discontinue their services until I say so."
The two men acknowledged her orders and left to carry them out.
Poliana leaned back in her chair as they exited, feeling another wave of exhaustion wash over her. The complexities of dealing with rogue inquisitors and imposters were bad enough without adding Ji''s unpredictable nature into the mix. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to stave off an impending headache as she prepared for whatever came next.
Zinnia poked at the unconscious Selen''s meaty calf, kneading the muscle around with her thumbs. "Wow," she exclaimed, confirming what Silas had told her about Selen''s muscles and bones having strange properties. She pressed her thumbs into the calf, creating a valley that molded itself into shape without springing back. "Weird," she muttered, slapping the valley with a satisfying thwack. Only then, did the calf ripple and bounce back into its normal shape.
Across from her, Silas stood at a tall desk, grinding something into a paste with a mortar and pestle. The scent of old leather emanated through the room from whatever he was creating.
He had mentioned the strange physical properties to Zinnia, hoping she might be able to shed some light about Selen that could explain it, but she knew nothing.
Nyx was still seated comfortably on top of Zinnia''s head, seemingly forgotten by her.
The crow thought to himself that the strange constitution of this human and the odd situation in Sichal were building up to be quite a fun little mystery. He hopped off Zinnia and took flight onto Silas''s shoulder.
Nyx began squawking information into Silas''s ear. Silas nodded along to Nyx''s rambling, listening to him far more intently than he had Zinnia when she answered his questions upon entering the room.
There was a fair amount of strangeness within Sichal.
The Rats increasing the price for banal information usually meant one of two things: either the information was only valuable to those willing to pay for it first or they were involved more actively within the situation themselves.
"All largely irrelevant to our purpose here in any case," Silas spoke aloud.
She sat cross-legged on the velvety carpet behind Silas and in front of Selen. As Nyx continued to squawk at Silas, she asked, "Will you tell me anything relevant to what we will be doing here then?"
Silas continued pounding and grinding the mixture inside the mortar. "Kill the heat from Rhysling, acquire a pair of items I require, get information about the ''hidden realm'' where the Thorn was found, and gain an unsuspecting way to get near two of our targets in Lythoria."
Zinnia tilted her head. "Just two?~"
"One will be ready once we arrive," Silas replied.
"Any more details?" she pressed.
"No," Silas said stoically, making her roll her eyes.
"Are you interested in whatever the hell Selen is?" Zinnia asked.
"I am," Silas admitted, "but it is not a priority."
Zinnia saw an opportunity to get more words out of him and doubled down on her questioning. "Why the hurry?~"
Silas didn''t respond to that question. Instead, he asked her, "Why are the slum dwellers living a more lavish lifestyle here than the rich?"
The question threw her for a loop. She blinked and said, "Huh?"
Nyx landed in front of her and pulled off another feather. Remembering their previous encounter, Zinnia jumped away before he could use her blood as ink again.
Nyx squawked innocently, waving his wing with a flourish as paper and ink from Silas''s desk floated in front of him. Zinnia narrowed her eyes at Nyx, who looked at her with rather adorable upturned eyes.
The room fell silent except for Silas¡¯s rhythmic grinding at his desk.
¡but to no avail, as the shadows consumed her and the bony skeleton hugged her tighter. What was most disturbing to Selen was the fact this hug was full of warmth, carrying a kind of love even beyond what one might feel when their mother hugs them.
She felt as if she were drowning, there was no water in her nightmare anymore, yet as she was sinking deeper and deeper she only felt as if she were getting dragged down into a deep ocean. The moonlight was now nothing more then a tiny sliver, she could no longer see. Ever deeper she sank, and after what felt like an eternity pass Selen turned numb all over.
Just as quickly and even more suddenly as she was trapped in the cave, the whole scene of darkness in front of her exploded into a blinding light.
The feeling of being hugged vanished as the scene shifted back into the snowy landscape from the start.
She was in front of the lake again, only this time there was no blood red moon above her. Instead, it was daytime with a rather dull sun shining a faint light across everything she could see. The snow began to melt and the evergreens she used to play with transformed into impossibly tall tree trunks with no branches, almost as if they were pillars.
From the top of the trunks towards the bottom and further into the ground, strange shifting lettering appeared all around, their meaning was utterly unknown to Selen.
Then the incredibly still lake rippled violently by itself, as from its depths Selen saw something vaguely human shaped begin to walk out.
Try as she might, she could not look at its face. Its contour definitely looked human yet she was unable to look up beyond the feet of whatever it was.
She could only see sandaled feet, covered in hundreds of tiny scars walking towards her lifting up a long ceremonial skirt with each step. Whatever this thing was had incredibly long pure white hair. As it stepped towards her, that magnificent hair was still trailing up from the water not leaving it even as it''s owner arrived within touching distance of her.
Selen was unable to move, her head forced by some unknown force to only look down, yet for the first time she felt no fear as a soft hand, carrying a pleasant heat rested atop her head and caressed it gently.
She heard a voice so melodic and full of joy that Selen for a moment thought she was going to melt into a puddle out of delight.
The word that was whispered ever so softly and so so comfortingly, however was anything but kind as it declared harshly, "Die."
The magnificently soft hand, that felt as if it lacked bones¡ clenched.
Chapter 33: Silver
Silas put down the pestle, the faint stench of old leather still wafting from it.
He reached into his satchel and pulled out several rolls of high-quality gauze. After inspecting them for any sign of contamination, he was pleased to see they were all still sterile. With the gauze and the mortar containing the freshly prepared ointment in hand, he moved towards the unconscious Selen.
As he passed by Zinnia and Nyx, he couldn''t help but notice the portly crow diligently sketching and writing descriptions for Zinnia, who leaned in close, scrutinizing his work.
Silas smirked at the sight of Nyx¡¯s ink-dipped feather not only scribbling on paper but also leaving inadvertent marks on Zinnia¡¯s face. A fleeting thought crossed his mind¡ªNyx might have been secretly studying the humanoid anatomy scrolls Silas had given him long ago, judging by the realism of the artwork. But Silas quickly dismissed the idea, after all patience was not one of Nyx¡¯s virtues.
Reaching Selen''s side, he placed a hand onto her neck to check her pulse. Her recovery was still progressing a little too well¡
Her blood levels had improved beyond even his usually accurate expectations after administering only a single restorative.
Yet, strangely as her muscles regained their healthy shade, the malleable properties she exhibited earlier seemed to weaken.
"I wonder if she could survive without blood," Silas mused silently. "Hmm¡ something to test perhaps."
Zinnia sneezed suddenly, rubbing her nose. "Watch the damn feather," she snapped at Nyx.
Nyx squawked indignantly, flapping his wings in outrage as Zinnia had smudged the ink on her face.
Ignoring their bickering, Silas began spreading the ointment onto the clean gauze. He removed the blanket covering Selen and then started wrapping her from head to toe with the mixture covered gauze, starting from the bottom.
However, after less than a minute passed the skin which made contact with it had an unexpected reaction, it began to blister as if burnt by an open flame, releasing a rather heavy stench. The odor of it was so disgusting it even made Zinnia gag. She stood up from the floor and asked Silas what he was doing.
He raised an eyebrow. "I have mixed together a salve called [Gift of Salamander]. Usually, it functions to¡ª"
"It''s [Gift of the Salamander]," Zinnia interrupted proudly. "It gets the dead layer of skin on top of the body to draw in moisture from the surrounding air and forces it into the layers underneath while the top layer peels away. Standard beauty-enhancing procedure for those moneybags who want to keep looking ''perky.'' Why are you dolling her up? That your kink?" She says with an annoyingly smug expression on her face.
Silas continued as if she hadn''t interrupted. "¡ªdistribute energy evenly across a cultivator''s body. At a low concentration, it causes the top layer of skin to peel off due to the inability of most bodies to handle an additional energy load focused into such a thin part of the body."
Zinnia''s eye twitched. "Wait, what about the water that forms on top of the skin? Isn''t it named after salamanders shedding their skin?"
Nyx flung a piece of paper at Zinnia with two words: "Sweat" and "Sal''amand."
Zinnia read it aloud, and Silas nodded towards Nyx while mixing something else into the mortar with the ointment.
"The beauticians who sold you that garbage added something to the mixture to force your body to sweat, without giving enough time for the sweat to mix with your bodies natural oils," Silas explained calmly. "The creator of the salve was named Sal''amand. Over time, his name got bastardized into Salamander."
Zinnia raised a clenched fist in anger upon realizing she''d fallen for a marketing scheme. "I''m going to have a nice long talk with someone as soon as I get out of here."
Nyx squawked with mirth and finished his drawings.
Silas dipped a fresh gauze into the revised mixture and carefully placed it onto the same portion of Selen''s foot that had blistered earlier. This time, there was no such negative reaction. He watched as the ointment settled into her skin, the flesh remaining calm and unblemished.
"Fascinating," he said, his eyes alight with curiosity.
Zinnia, glanced over at him and asked, "What''s so fascinating? And why are you even applying that to her?"
Silas didn''t look up from his work. "Simply killing some time while we wait for Poliana to set up our next stage for us."
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Zinnia rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, of course~, but what''s the point of doing what you are right now?"
Silas finally met her gaze. "I wished to see how such a strange physiology would react to a substance that overly enriches the largest organ of the body with energy."
Nyx flew up onto Silas''s shoulder and cawed questioningly, looking down at Selen''s foot. He squawked a few more times as if conveying his thoughts.
"I added Niacarine to the ointment," Silas explained, nodding at Nyx. The crow nodded back before flying onto Zinnia''s head, much to her annoyance.
"What did that do to the [Gift of Salamander]?" Zinnia asked, swatting at Nyx.
"It''s a substance usually used to delay the effect of pills without diluting their potency," Silas replied. "The problem earlier was that her flesh seems to be a better conductor for energy than even some of the arcane metals used by Magicrafters for their tools. As soon as the original mixture touched her flesh, it began to burn because all of the energy within her body at once focused on the area touching the salve, essentially cooking herself from the inside out due to the heat generated."
Silas paused, studying Selen''s form. "I''m surprised she chose to be an Artificer. With this property alone, she could easily become the jewel of Magicrafters, perhaps even having her name resound throughout the continent."
"Really?" Zinnia asked, eyes wide with shock.
"No," Silas deadpanned.
Zinnia gave him a deadpan look in response but then noticed something strange. Selen''s shaved head was beginning to fill up with luscious silver hair at an alarming rate.
"That is unexpected," Silas said, tilting his head.
"What is unexpected?" Zinnia asked.
Nyx decided to show her instead. From atop Zinnia''s head, he plucked a hair, causing her to yelp out with a profanity. Ignoring her protests, Nyx hopped down and grabbed onto her belt before quickly pecking at her arm and plucking an almost invisible yet unmistakable hair.
"Ow! Damn bird!" Zinnia swore again but finally comprehended what Nyx was showing her. She looked again at Selen¡ªspecifically at her arms, legs, upper lip, and even the private area still wrapped in gauze. Unlike the hair on her head, there was no growth anywhere else.
"That is weird," she agreed.
Silas rubbed his chin in thought before reaching into his satchel and pulling out a set of square crystal containers.
Before Zinnia could ask what he was doing now, Silas yanked out a few strands of hair from Selen and placed them into one container. He drew some blood into another container and pulled out a sample of fat from her hip into yet another one. Unceremoniously but rather disgustingly to Zinnia''s eyes, he squeezed the inside of Selen¡¯s cheeks and tilted her head so saliva could flow into one of the containers.
"What are you doing?" Zinnia finally snapped out of it and asked.
"Sampling," Silas said stoically as he flipped Selen onto her side and grabbed one of his silver needles.
He pointed it at her spine while Zinnia quickly turned away not wanting to look at the process of his sampling.
Selen found herself still stuck within the strange realm of dreams, her consciousness slowly reawakening as she found herself on all fours. Her hand felt as if it were mired in something thick and unyielding¡ªa red, viscous substance that clung to her skin like tar. Her vision was obscured, her eyes stung by the same material that covered her face, clinging to her eyelashes in a sticky mass that made even blinking a struggle. She instinctively shook her hand, dislodging some of the sludge, and wiped away the grime from her face. With a groan, she pushed herself upright, her gaze sweeping over her surroundings.
The world around her was blanketed in an oppressive mist, dense and humid, that seemed to wrap around her like a shroud. Below her feet was an endless expanse of thick, cloying mud, stretching out in every direction into the fog''s obscuring veil. The light in this strange place was peculiar¡ªethereal glows emanated from patches of the mist, casting an eerie luminescence, while other areas were draped in shadow, as if the light itself had been drained from them.
Tentatively, Selen took a step forward and felt something firm beneath the mud. Curiosity piqued, she reached down, her fingers closing around something solid. She pulled with effort, her heart racing as she brought the object into view.
What she held was disturbingly familiar, yet utterly alien¡ªa figure, vaguely human in shape, though far from complete. It was as if a sculptor had abandoned their work midway, leaving the form soft and unrefined, its surface pliant and textured almost like flesh. Yet as she watched, the arm she held began to fragment, splitting apart to reveal that it was most definitely not made of flesh at all, but of the same mud-like substance that surrounded her, its interior hollow and unsettling.
A chill ran down her spine, but before she could fully comprehend what she was seeing, a sound cut through the heavy air¡ªa cry, sharp with frustration, followed by a mournful wail that seemed to echo from an ancient soul. She spun toward the source of the noise, but the mist obscured her view, revealing only shifting shadows. The voice changed, its timbre shifting, growing younger and younger until it became the plaintive cry of a newborn.
Selen hurriedly rubbed the last of the mud from her eyes, her vision clearing just as she caught sight of something extraordinary. A multitude of clay hands, rising from the mud, held aloft a tiny, newborn figure. The glowing mist coiled around the infant like a protective cocoon, its luminescence casting an almost serene light over the unsettling tableau.
¡°What is happening?¡± Selen¡¯s voice broke the silence, but it was not her voice. It was deeper, more resonant, and the very sound of it caused the world around her to shudder as if the dreamscape itself were reacting to her words.
The dull shadowy mist began to move, rolling toward her like a living thing, its intent unmistakable. Panic surged through her, an instinctual fear that urged her to flee. She struggled to free her legs from the mire, each step an agonizing effort, until she finally managed to break into a run, her eyes fixed on a distant strand of glowing mist. She reached out, her hand grasping desperately at the light, just as she felt a tendril of the dull mist brush against her back.
But she was faster. With a final, desperate leap, she hurled herself into the bright glow, leaving the encroaching darkness behind. Safe within the light, she paused, breathing heavily, and absently brushed a few strands of hair from her face. The touch of the hair against her fingertips felt unfamiliar. She glanced down and froze.
¡°Silver¡¡± she murmured, staring at the strands of hair that gleamed in the ethereal light. ¡°This is not mine...¡±
As she stood there, the light surrounding her grew even more intense, until it consumed everything around her in a blinding brilliance.
Chapter 34: The Tree
Silas meticulously wiped down several of his needles, the metallic sheen reflecting the bright light that filled the room. Each needle was carefully inspected before being slipped under his sleeves, hidden but ready for any situation that might arise.
Across the room, Zinnia was vigorously scrubbing at her face with a cloth, trying to remove the ink that Nyx had playfully scribbled onto her skin.
¡°What exactly do you learn from that?¡± she asked, her voice tinged with irritation. Her face had turned red from the friction, and her patience was wearing thin.
¡°Composition,¡± Silas replied calmly, not bothering to look up from his work. ¡°Differences between normal samples, functionality, and viability.¡±
Nyx, who was currently hiding within Silas¡¯s shadow, had wisely decided to vanish as soon as Zinnia noticed the ink. Her earlier tirade of bird-based insults had echoed throughout the room, but now she seemed more resigned than angry, her frustration simmering beneath the surface.
¡°Viability for what?¡± Zinnia pressed, clearly not satisfied with the vague answer. But Silas, in his usual manner, chose to ignore the question entirely.
¡°Have you looked at the completed drawings Nyx made for you?¡± he asked instead, deftly changing the subject.
Her eyes twitched at the mention of Nyx, and the crow snickered quietly within Silas¡¯s shadow. Grumbling to herself, Zinnia walked over to where the drawings were lying and picked them up. She studied them for a moment, her irritation giving way to reluctant admiration as she acknowledged the crow¡¯s talent despite his mischievous nature.
¡°If these drawings are accurate,¡± she said after a pause, ¡°they¡¯re not showing the wrong people.¡±
Silas raised an eyebrow at that. ¡°Care to elaborate?¡± he asked, his tone suggesting he was genuinely curious. ¡°And by the way, it¡¯s not in your best interest to try and act like me when I withhold information from you.¡±
¡°No kidding,¡± she muttered under her breath before speaking up. ¡°The people inside the upper-class housing are its usual occupants. I recognize a few of them¡ªformer marks and clients.¡±
Silas glanced over at Selen, who was lying on the bed. Her appearance had vastly improved, a stark contrast to the half-corpse she had resembled just a few hours ago. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he finally spoke again.
¡°So it¡¯s not a switch¡ Nyx.¡±
The crow, hearing his name, jumped out of Silas¡¯s shadow and perched onto his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with interest.
¡°That¡¯s where you were?!¡± Zinnia exclaimed in exasperation, throwing her hands up in the air.
Ignoring her outburst, Silas leaned in and whispered a few words to Nyx, whose eyes lit up with mischievous glee. The crow then flew toward Zinnia, who instinctively tried to swat him away but ended up getting her arm brushed off by Nyx¡¯s wing.
¡°Ouch!¡± she yelped, rubbing her hand while glaring daggers at Nyx.
¡°Go and follow the slum dwellers,¡± Silas instructed calmly, as if the small skirmish had never happened. ¡°Focus on those of middle age and stout build¡ªman or woman. See if you and Nyx notice anything out of the ordinary while we wait.¡±
Zinnia huffed, still annoyed by the crow¡¯s antics, but her curiosity got the better of her. ¡°Oh? You¡¯re giving priority to this over your new toy there?¡± she asked sarcastically, jerking her thumb in Selen¡¯s direction.
¡°Your insight has added another layer of oddity to an already strange situation,¡± Silas replied, his tone serious. ¡°Considering this is happening within a town the size of Sichal, I¡¯m now more interested in seeing what potential benefit we can extract from solving this mystery.¡±
Zinnia opened her mouth to respond but stopped short when she noticed something strange happening to Selen.
¡°Uhhh, big guy¡ªI think she¡¯s melting,¡± she said, her voice tinged with alarm.
Silas¡¯s gaze snapped back to Selen, and he saw that she was indeed beginning to liquify. He placed a hand near her forehead and immediately noticed a significant temperature spike. The scent of smolders began to fill the room as the gauze and sheets around her started to burn.
Silas¡¯s eyes widened briefly in surprise before he quickly pulled out a needle from his sleeve and loosened his robe. With practiced precision, he used the needle to extract a murky white potion from one of the grooves on his chest. The room¡¯s temperature dropped instantly as the liquid materialized, causing the furniture to ice over from the spreading cold.
Without a moment¡¯s hesitation, Silas jabbed the needle into Selen¡¯s neck, his expression calm despite the chaotic turn of events..
Selen floated down a river now, her body face up and limbs spread wide. She couldn''t move, couldn''t even twitch a finger, but she felt the gentle touch of two hands at the tips of her own, guiding her downstream. An odd warmth enveloped her, so intense it threatened to bring tears to her eyes. She blinked a few times, trying to clear her vision, and caught sight of something enormous in the bottom corner of her eyes.
It resembled the deer she had seen earlier, but its proportions were far beyond anything natural. The antlers alone looked like mountains atop its elongated head. Its eyes were closed as it drank from the river on which she floated. Her eyes shook slightly as she watched the deer move its head, hearing the ground tear as it dug a new channel to divert some of the flow. She couldn''t turn her head to see anything to her sides and had no idea what that action had done, but suddenly she felt a lot more lonely, save for the two hands pulling her downstream.
The giant deer continued walking forward towards her. She could now see clearly that one side of its face was covered in flesh while the other was a perfectly cleaned skull. When it reached over with its head directly above her, it stopped and took a sniff before opening its eye to reveal a crimson pupil staring down at her. She immediately shut her eyes, feeling the great beast examine her.
The beast exhaled, and she heard something rise out from the water, likely a hoof. A horrible premonition began to form within her as she braced herself for the worst. Suddenly, a terrible desperate scream echoed from above her, seemingly even above this beast, and it was spoken in a language unknown to her but it felt like the words were filled with pleading. The great beast let out a sound of anguish as if something precious had been taken away from it and it was throwing a tantrum. The sounds grew faint as the hands pulled her further downstream.
Selen''s body began to submerge lightly as it also began to curl up on its own accord. When she next opened her eyes, she noticed that she had lost control over her body entirely. She began to sob uncontrollably, stubby arms extended towards a couple with tender smiles on their faces. She managed to blink a couple of times before darkness enveloped everything around her.
The sensation of floating persisted even in the darkness, leaving Selen feeling adrift in an endless void. The warmth from earlier lingered faintly at the edges of her consciousness, but now it was accompanied by an overwhelming sense of loss and confusion.
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She tried to call out for help but found herself unable to produce any sound. The silence was deafening, pressing in on all sides as if trying to suffocate her very thoughts.
In this state of helplessness and despair, Selen''s mind raced through fragmented memories and emotions¡ªflashes of faces she couldn''t place, snippets of conversations that seemed both familiar and foreign.
As she drifted further into this abyssal dreamscape, the only constant was the gentle touch at the tips of her fingers¡ªan anchor in an otherwise chaotic sea of sensations.
And then... nothing. That feint warmth disappeared.
The dreamscape held its breath as if waiting for something¡ªor someone¡ªto break through its oppressive stillness.
But nothing came.
Only silence remained.
And Selen floated on...
"What kind of God... has these servants?" The voice echoed through the darkness, reverberating within Selen''s very bones. The timbre was oddly familiar, yet unsettling, as if it belonged to a distant memory. With immense effort, she managed to pry her eyes open for just a moment. Before her stood a stranger, his face twisted into a mask of frustration and anger. His features were harsh, his expression one of barely restrained fury, and his fist was clenched tightly and raised as if to strike. "Still you refuse to speak?!" he yelled into the void, his voice laced with a venomous impatience.
The scene dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Selen adrift once more in the inky blackness. The fleeting vision felt like a snippet from someone else¡¯s life¡ªa life filled with bleakness and despair. The darkness enveloped her, pressing in from all sides, and she once again found herself floating on the river she had drifted on earlier. But this time, something was different. The current seemed to be pulling her in the opposite direction, impossibly upstream. Unlike the slow, meandering journey before, this one was swift, almost urgent, as if the river itself was in a hurry to reach some unknown destination.
The monstrous deer that had haunted her earlier was nowhere to be seen, yet the fear of encountering it again gnawed at her. The thought of its enormous, grotesque form looming over her sent a shiver down her spine, even though the beast was not there. But as the current quickened, her fear of the deer was replaced by a new, more immediate terror. The water around her began to heat up, gradually at first, then more rapidly, until the warmth became unbearable.
The intense heat jolted her paralyzed limbs into action, her body instinctively reacting to the scalding sensation. She opened her eyes wide, flipping upright, only to be greeted by the sight of her own reflection within the glowing water staring back at her. But it wasn¡¯t her face. The reflection had silver hair and piercing blue eyes, features that were utterly unfamiliar to her. Confusion mingled with the fear as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. But there was no time to dwell on it; the water grew hotter still, overwhelming her senses with its burning touch.
Strange sensations gripped her body, as if it were being distorted, reshaped by the heat. Her leg felt as though it had been crushed and flattened, twisted into a grotesque form. Panic surged through her as she struggled to maintain some semblance of control, but her efforts were futile. The river seemed to be alive, intent on breaking her down.
As she thrashed in the water, she caught sight of something even more horrifying. Porcelain-like human shapes began to leap out of the river, their bodies steaming as if they had just been pulled from a blazing kiln. Each one was eerily perfect in form, yet utterly lifeless, their hollow eyes staring blankly as they floated away into the ether. The sight of these figures, so unnervingly human yet so devoid of life, filled her with a deep, primal terror. She couldn¡¯t understand what was happening or why she was seeing these things, but the fear was all-consuming.
The water around her began to change color, turning a deep, ominous red. The heat was now so intense that she feared she would burst into flames at any moment. Every nerve in her body screamed in agony, and her mind was on the brink of collapse. She could feel herself being torn apart, her body disintegrating in the scorching river. It was as if the river was trying to consume her, to break her down into nothingness.
But just when all hope seemed lost, something unexpected happened. A tree branch suddenly erupted from the darkness in front of her, its long, deep green leaves swaying gently despite the intense heat. The branch moved with a strange, almost sentient purpose, wrapping itself around her neck with surprising gentleness. It began to pull her away from the dangerous water, dragging her towards safety with an ever-increasing strength.
Gasping for breath, Selen felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and grab hold of the branch, to aid in her own rescue. But as she tried to lift her hand, an inexplicable feeling washed over her. It was as if saving herself now was somehow wrong, immoral even. The sensation was confusing and disorienting, but she couldn¡¯t shake it. The thought of clinging to life felt selfish, as if she were doing something she wasn¡¯t supposed to.
But despite these feelings, her will to live was stronger. She tried to push through the moral conflict, to reach out and grab the branch that was her lifeline. Yet her body refused to obey, her hand remaining stubbornly at her side as her consciousness began to fade once more. The darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, and she felt herself slipping away.
The branch continued to pull with increasing strength, determined to drag her away from the scalding river¡¯s grasp. Her vision blurred, the world around her dissolving into a haze of black and red. All that remained was the faint awareness of being pulled toward safety, of something or someone trying to save her from the fiery depths.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Nothingness enveloped her once again, a deep, all-consuming void that offered neither comfort nor fear. She was adrift in the darkness, floating aimlessly with no sense of direction or purpose.
But then, out of the void, she felt something. A solid surface, rough and unyielding, slammed against her body, jolting her back to awareness. The sensation of water was still there, lapping at her feet, but she was no longer floating, no longer being dragged upstream or downstream. Her eyes fluttered open, her vision clearing as she took in her surroundings.
What she saw was yet another strange sight, one that made little sense to her tired, confused mind.
But it was there, and it was the first thing she had seen in what felt like an eternity that wasn¡¯t trying to harm her, despite an oddly menacing aura surrounding it. Her savior was seemingly¡ a tree.
The tree stood as a colossal, ominous presence, its gnarled roots sprawling across the width of the river, hungrily devouring the water and whatever unfortunate things drifted along its current. The roots twisted and burrowed deep into the earth, their grotesque tendrils reaching out like skeletal fingers, siphoning life from all that passed beneath them. As one looked higher, the tree''s crown rose into a darkened sky, its immense branches a dense canopy that blocked out any light. But the tree was not without its scars¡ªportions of it had withered, the bark cracked and lifeless as if some unseen force had drained it of vitality. The contrast was stark against the rest of the tree, which thrived with an unnatural vigor.
The flowers that bloomed on the healthier branches were a thing of twisted beauty. Their petals, pure and white, exuded an almost ethereal glow, yet there was something deeply unsettling about them. They seemed to beckon, alluring in their perfection, but the faint scent they emitted carried a promise of death, a toxic perfume that warned of their deadly nature. Scattered among the flowers were fruits¡ªlarge, oval, and green. A few had been plucked, leaving behind gaping wounds in the tree''s branches. From these open wounds oozed a thick, venomous sap, shimmering with a sinister violet sheen. Whoever dared to take the fruit had likely paid a terrible price, as the sap dripped slowly down the branches, hissing as it met the air, corroding all it touched.
At the very top of the tree, amidst the densely packed leaves, one branch stood out, contorted and twisted around a single, festering fruit. The fruit was swollen, its once-green skin now a sickly brown, covered in patches of rot that pulsated with a dark energy. The branch seemed to cling to it protectively, as if the decaying fruit was the tree''s most prized possession¡ªa symbol of its malevolent power. This was a cursed being, a dark sentinel that parasitized over the river, stealing from it, thriving on death and decay; its very essence was a blight.
However, for Selen, this tree seemed to be nothing but a kind savior. The river water seemed to beckon her to jump back in and follow its will but instead of succumbing to its cruel call she took another step onto the monstrous tree. The bark felt rough under her feet but solid¡ªreassuringly so.
A branch lowered itself before her eyes with deliberate slowness. Hanging from it was one of those large green fruits she had seen earlier. It dangled precariously close to her face as if offering itself willingly.
Her hand¡ªstill misshapen from her ordeal in the red water¡ªslowly reached out toward it almost involuntarily. The fruit¡¯s surface glistened under some of the light coming off the river, droplets of venomous sap clung stubbornly to its skin like tiny jewels.
As her fingers brushed against its surface an odd sensation washed over her¡ªa mix between dread and curiosity¡ªa feeling that perhaps this cursed offering held answers to her strange experiences or perhaps salvation within its toxic core.
She hesitated for just a moment longer before finally wrapping her fingers around it firmly...
Chapter 35: Awakening
"What the hell did you just pull out of yourself?" Zinnia''s voice wavered, her breath visible in the cold air that now enveloped the room. She rubbed her nose, feeling the discomfort of it running and the sting of the cold.
"[Cryohex Tincture]," Silas responded flatly, his attention fixed on Selen as he examined her from head to toe. Her condition seemed to have stabilized; the strange properties that had overtaken her body appeared to have disappeared to a point where even Silas, with his keen senses, could no longer detect them.
Perched atop Zinnia''s head, Nyx was uncharacteristically serious as he stared intently at Selen''s neck. "This is mildly unsettling," he mused silently. "Even if the dose was small and old, a Paramount-level brew should have turned her into a solid block of ice. Yet here she is, as relaxed as a lump of dough."
"I''ve never heard of that Cryo-whatever," Zinnia remarked, rubbing her hands together as she channeled energy into her palms to warm them. She began deicing herself and the nearby furniture, the frost retreating under her touch. "Did you manage to fix her?"
"I did," Silas confirmed, his tone neutral. "However, her energy meridians are beginning to shrink."
"Shrink?" Zinnia echoed, her brow furrowing as she continued to deice the floor. "Is she entering deviation?~"
Nyx squawked and fluttered down to Selen''s stomach, his beady eyes focused as he prepared to investigate further.
"What do you think, Nyx?" Silas asked, observing the crow''s actions closely.
Nyx used his wings and talons to conduct a detailed examination of Selen¡¯s internal Energy flows. When he reached a point just above her navel, he tilted his head, his mind racing as he discovered something unusual. "The main Energy lines... they''re branching off into odd segments."
Zinnia, having finished deicing, felt a pang of irritation. "Am I being ignored again?" she muttered, clearly annoyed.
"Patience," Silas advised calmly. "Nyx is more skilled than I am when it comes to detecting Energy."
Zinnia blinked in surprise, unwilling to acknowledge anything positive about the damnable crow.
Nyx continued his inspection, delving deeper. "What¡¯s this? How is this possible? Even we can¡¯t grow another pair!" He squawked at Silas, communicating something only the two of them could understand.
Silas reached into his satchel and pulled out a small, red, palm-sized box adorned with a feather symbol. He placed it in front of Nyx, who eagerly flicked it open with his wing. Inside was a fine amber powder, which Nyx quickly absorbed into his beak, its tip turning shadowy as he did.
Zinnia watched Nyx''s shadowy beak with suspicion, mentally noting to be cautious around shadows in the future, and to occasionally stomp her own.
Nyx hopped back onto Selen¡¯s abdomen, pinpointing the abnormality he had sensed. With a powerful exhale, he released the amber powder from his beak, spreading it over Selen¡¯s stomach.
Zinnia and Silas both leaned in, watching as the powder revealed the intricate network of Selen¡¯s meridians, normally hidden deep within her body.
"...That¡¯s... incredible," Zinnia murmured, though her tone held grudging admiration. It was one thing to sense your own meridians during cultivation, but to actually see someone else''s was¡ well something else entirely.
Silas wasn¡¯t surprised by Nyx¡¯s skill, but the sight that the crow had uncovered did catch him off guard. "She is indeed undergoing a deviation," Silas said, finally addressing Zinnia¡¯s earlier question. "But it¡¯s an unusual one."
"That¡¯s never good, right?" Zinnia responded with a hint of sarcasm. "Any deviation in the energy flow makes cultivation impossible, or am I mistaken?"
"You¡¯re correct," Silas confirmed, his gaze steady. "There are no known cultivation techniques that work with deviated meridians. However, what¡¯s intriguing here is that her meridians aren¡¯t just deviating¡ªthey¡¯re being absorbed into her body. And from her core, a new set seems to be forming."
"What the hell!?" Zinnia''s head snapped away from Selen as she looked up at Silas, astonished.
At that moment, Selen stirred for the first time since being brought in, her body shifting slightly as a soft grumble escaped her lips.
"Looks like sleepyhead is waking up," Nyx squawked thoughtfully, his head cocked to one side as he observed her.
Pain gnawed at Selen''s gut as she slowly drifted back into consciousness. The terrifying images from her dream clung to her mind like a suffocating shroud, making it difficult to distinguish between reality and the nightmare she had just experienced. Her head throbbed, each pulse like a dull hammer against her skull, amplifying the unease that lingered in her chest.
Her eyes felt unbearably heavy, as if weighed down by stones, and it took all her effort in an attempt to flutter them open, but with no luck.
Her throat was parched, yet it also felt as if she had swallowed a lump of ice, each breath sharp and chilling as it moved down to her lungs. She swallowed with difficulty, the sensation uncomfortable, almost painful, as if the icy coldness had lodged itself deep within her body.
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With great effort, she raised a trembling hand to her neck, her fingers brushing against the sweat that had gathered on her skin. The dampness clung to her, making her shiver in disgust. A sore spot throbbed under her touch, the skin tender and aching. She grumbled incoherently, trying to make sense of the pain and the memories that clouded her mind.
A yawn forced its way through her dry lips, her body reacting instinctively as she fought to stay awake. Slowly, she managed to pry her eyelids open, her vision blurry at first. As her eyes adjusted, the sight that met her took a moment to fully register. Perched on her knees was a rather plump crow, its beady eyes fixed on her with unsettling intensity. The bird''s presence was odd, almost surreal, but it was the least of her worries.
Confused and still groggy, Selen turned her head to the side, her muscles protesting the movement. She noticed a tall woman with striking silver hair standing nearby, her arms crossed beneath her chest. The woman regarded Selen with an expression of curious interest, though there was a hint of something else in her gaze¡ªperhaps concern¡ or amusement?
Her nose was comically red and raw, as if it had been rubbed repeatedly with a rough cloth, adding a strange, almost whimsical touch to her otherwise composed appearance.
Beside the silver-haired woman stood a young man, his features youthful yet marked by distinct laugh lines that suggested a life filled with both joy and sorrow. His deep dark blue eyes locked onto Selen, reflecting the same look of intrigue she saw in the woman¡¯s gaze. His expression was calm, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that made Selen uneasy, as if he was trying to read her thoughts or peer into her very soul.
Selen shifted uncomfortably, the strange sensation of the thin, oddly scented gauze wrapped around her body becoming more apparent.
The gauze felt foreign against her skin, and the scent was unfamiliar, a mixture of herbs, leather and something else she couldn¡¯t quite place. It was soothing yet slightly unsettling.
Glancing down at herself, she suddenly became acutely aware of her vulnerability, the thin gauze doing little to cover her properly. Embarrassment and fear mingled in her chest, and she quickly pulled a sheet from the side, covering herself more modestly.
As she did, the crow hopped off her knees and fluttered onto the young man''s shoulder, its gaze never leaving her. The movement was swift and fluid, the bird¡¯s dark eyes unblinking as it continued to watch her with what seemed like unnatural focus.
She coughed, trying to clear the dryness from her throat, the sound harsh and grating. Her body still felt sluggish, her mind foggy, but she mustered the courage to speak, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at her insides. "Hello¡ May I ask, what exactly is going on here?" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it held a note of calm determination.
The silver-haired woman exchanged a look with the young man, her expression shifting into something Selen couldn''t quite decipher. There was a strange baffled look in her eyes as she said something in a language that Selen couldn¡¯t understand. The words were foreign, their meaning lost on Selen, leaving her even more puzzled and anxious.
"H?llo¡ M?¦Ã I ???, w??? ?x???l¦Ã i? ?oin? on ?????"
Zinnia''s lips curled into a wry smile as she glanced at Silas. "Seems like you messed up somewhere, Boss~. She¡¯s speaking in idiotese."
Silas turned his gaze to Zinnia, his eyes locking onto hers with a cold, unsettling intensity. The smile on Zinnia''s face faltered, and she shifted uncomfortably, feeling as though she was on the brink of experiencing something very unpleasant. But then, Silas merely shrugged, his expression indifferent.
"Considering everything that¡¯s happened, I¡¯m honestly surprised to see that her brain has only suffered standard trauma."
"So this is what you were expecting?" Zinnia''s voice held a note of disbelief.
"Not in the slightest," Silas replied, his tone flat and unbothered as he moved closer to Selen, inspecting her more thoroughly.
Nyx, perched quietly on Silas''s shoulder, squawked softly and pruned his feathers, seemingly uninterested in the exchange.
Selen''s brow furrowed as she tried to speak again, her voice hesitant. "U?, q??bon m?¡ I bon''? unb?????nb ???? l?n?u???¡ bo ¦Ãou q????q? ?q??? V?l?ni??? ??????i?n? Korr''av-el?"
Silas¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly, and Nyx¡¯s feathers ruffled as they both snapped their attention to Selen with much greater intensity. Nyx waved his wing, creating a gust of wind that carried one of his drawings toward Silas. Silas deftly caught the paper along with a feather dipped in ink that Nyx offered him.
Zinnia, intrigued by the sudden shift in atmosphere, watched curiously as Silas began to scribble furiously on the paper. She tried to focus on the symbols he was writing, but the more she looked, the more a dull ache began to form at the base of her skull. She quickly averted her eyes, rubbing her temples in an attempt to alleviate the discomfort.
Silas finished writing and turned the paper toward Selen. She reached out cautiously with one hand, still clutching the sheet around her with the other. The message scrawled on the paper was barely legible, the penmanship rough and the grammar worse: "Cn you udersand ths? If ys, nod. F not, shae your hed."
Selen stared at the words, her face scrunched up in concentration as she attempted to decipher the message. It took her a moment, but she finally grasped the meaning and gave a small nod in response. Silas¡¯s stern expression softened, and a warm smile crept across his face as he clapped his hands together.
"Korr''av-el i? i? ???n, w?¦Ã bo ¦Ãou no? ?q????" Selen asked, attempting to speak in the language he had written, hoping to establish clearer communication.
Silas took the paper back and began writing again, this time more slowly, trying harder to mimic the symbols from his memory. The result was slightly more legible, though still far from perfect: "I know litlee of what thiss written mean, I do not know the hearing."
Selen blinked at the message, her mind racing. "How does that work?" she thought. "He can read and write, but he doesn¡¯t know how it sounds? What a strange person."
She pointed at the feather in Silas¡¯s hand, and he handed it to her without hesitation. Taking the quill, she quickly wrote a much clearer message in neat, flowing script: "What is going on here?"
Silas took the paper from her and studied the words carefully, his brow furrowing as he pieced together their meaning. Zinnia, still nursing the remnants of her headache, glanced over at the paper and grimaced. "What the hell is that? And how can you even stare at it?"
Silas, with a smile that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, responded in an unusually cheerful tone, "It seems we have someone blessed on our hands, perhaps."
"Huh?" Zinnia blurted out, utterly baffled by his words.
Ignoring her confusion, Silas handed Selen another piece of paper, this one written with more carefully drawn symbols: "We are here to help you."
Selen read the message, her tension easing slightly, though her mind remained a whirlwind of questions and uncertainties. However, now that she has had a moment to calm down, she could not help but feel that this young man¡ was familiar.
Chapter 36: Where Is...?
The sound of running water filled the room as Selen drew herself a bath, the steam rising and curling around her, wrapping her in a warm, comforting embrace.
She glanced over at the clothes Zinnia had given her, neatly folded on a stool nearby. The sight of them brought a fleeting sense of normalcy after everything that had happened. The warmth of the bathwater was a welcome relief, soothing her tense muscles and offering a brief respite from the confusion that had plagued her since waking.
In the main room, Silas and Zinnia were deep in conversation. Silas, usually so reserved, seemed almost relaxed, his posture easy, a faint smile playing on his lips. Zinnia, however, was far from at ease. Her brow was furrowed, her thoughts clearly tangled as she tried to make sense of the situation.
"Why doesn¡¯t she recognize me?" Zinnia''s voice was tinged with frustration. She paced back and forth, her agitation evident. "Hell, I''ve basically stolen her life!"
Silas¡¯s smile widened slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Her cognition is just fine," he said, leaning back in his chair as though the answer was obvious. "One of the brews I gave her after we established communication was a truth serum of sorts."
Zinnia paused, recalling the moment when Silas and Selen had exchanged parchment, both scribbling furiously. At one point, Silas had taken out several vials and creams, handing them to Selen. Zinnia had watched as Selen had taken a whiff of one vial, shrugged, and downed it without a second thought. Her cheeks had flushed, and she had burped softly, covering her mouth with embarrassment before nodding at Silas and continuing to write.
"So you believe her when she says she doesn¡¯t know why she stole ''my'' appearance?" Zinnia pressed, her voice filled with skepticism.
Silas nodded, his attention now on a fresh scroll he had unrolled. He began to write out the alphabet of the Empire''s language, Livish, his pen moving swiftly across the page. He added lines that correlated to some of the strange, headache-inducing symbols that Zinnia had seen before.
"I do," he replied simply, as though the matter was settled.
With an exasperated sigh, Zinnia flopped onto the bed, her frustration evident. "What do you want to do with her?~" she asked, her voice tinged with resignation.
Silas¡¯s eyes never left the blank scroll as he continued writing, his focus unwavering. "I would like to learn from her," he said, his tone thoughtful. "She seems to have developed an ability to understand a language that shouldn¡¯t exist."
Zinnia¡¯s curiosity was piqued by his words. She propped herself up on one elbow, her earlier frustration momentarily forgotten. "How do you know it then? And why would a date with an inquisitor make someone understand a dead language?~" she questioned, her tone more curious than accusatory.
Silas paused in his writing, turning to face her. "The language is not dead," he corrected her, his voice steady. "It simply should no longer exist." He took a moment to choose his words before continuing, "I know it due to some ''fortunate'' circumstances in my youth, but it has taken me my whole life to decipher a portion of it."
He looked at Zinnia, a pleased expression on his face that sent a shiver down her spine. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her uneasy, he was always one step ahead, always planning something she couldn¡¯t quite grasp¡ or rather wasn''t allowed to grasp.
"Understanding this language was once my single most vehement drive in life," Silas admitted, taking a deep breath before stretching his back. The loud cracks that followed made Zinnia¡¯s eyes widen; she thought for a moment that he had injured himself. But no¡ªSilas simply continued speaking, his voice calm, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "Life likes to play tricks on its players," he mused, his tone almost philosophical.
Zinnia couldn¡¯t help but roll her eyes at his words, though a part of her couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was somehow becoming even more dangerous than he let on originally. She sat up, watching him carefully as he continued to speak.
"As for how and why she developed the understanding..." Silas¡¯s voice trailed off as he suddenly flickered and appeared right in front of her, his blue eyes darkening into an abyssal onyx as he locked his gaze onto hers. The suddenness of his movement took her by surprise, and she gulped, her throat suddenly dry.
"How and why did she develop the understanding?" Zinnia asked again, her voice barely a whisper, the intensity of his gaze unnerving her.
Silas¡¯s gaze grew even more piercing as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper that sent chills down her spine. "Impossible to guess and not important," he answered, his words cryptic.
Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Silas flickered back to the desk, resuming his writing as if nothing had happened.
Zinnia exhaled a breath she didn¡¯t realize she had been holding, sticking her tongue out at him in a childish display of defiance. "That schtick is getting old!" she called out, though there was a tremor in her voice that betrayed her nerves.
Silas remained unbothered, his attention still on the scroll in front of him. "Why would I bother understanding why it happened if I only want the knowledge she has after it happened? What if probing into her now destroys the unique opportunity?" he replied, his tone as rational as ever.
Zinnia was at a loss for words. Silas¡¯s logic was, in a way, flawless, but it also felt deeply unsettling. Who the hell was that rational? And more importantly, what was he really after? She glanced around the room, suddenly realizing that Nyx had slipped away again without her noticing.
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As she was about to ask where the bird had gone, the sound of someone getting out of a bath echoed through the room, drawing her attention back.
Miranda¡¯s Boutique stood silently under the night sky, the small windows reflecting the soft glow from the street lamps outside. Inside the shop, Miranda, an aged woman whose beauty had only deepened with time, moved with graceful finesse as she locked up for the night.
Her hands, though marked by years of work, still carried an air of elegance as they turned the key in the lock, ensuring the security of her carefully curated inventory.
She took a moment to survey the various herbs, metals, and tonics that filled the shelves of her shop. Miranda¡¯s Boutique was known for offering exotic materials sought after by cultivators, who valued the rare and potent ingredients she provided.
Despite the challenges that came with being a mortal now, Miranda had managed to maintain a thriving business, thanks in part to her sons, who ensured that any would-be troublemakers were kept at bay. Miranda herself was once a feared and respected Dancer, capable of intimidating even the most seasoned warriors. But now, she had to rely on the strength of her sons to protect her.
Satisfied with the day¡¯s business, Miranda allowed herself a small, contented smile. The recent surge in economic activity in Sichal had brought many customers to her door, and while she didn¡¯t know the exact reason for this increase, she was more than happy to reap the benefits. As she prepared to head to the side room, she heard a faint rustling sound coming from behind the counter.
Curiosity piqued, Miranda moved toward the source of the noise and pulled aside the curtain that separated the main shop from her storage area. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw a crow with a sash full of pockets hanging upside down from one of her shelves. The bird was busily rummaging through her carefully organized herb containers, seemingly oblivious to her presence.
¡°What on earth¡?¡± she thought, staring at the unusual sight.
Before she could react further, a strong hand suddenly clamped over her mouth, and another grabbed her arm, forcing her against the door frame. A cold blade pressed menacingly against her side as a voice, slurred with intoxication and thick with a noticeable lisp, growled into her ear.
¡°You psycho bitch! Was it really necessary to sic your attack dog on me just for a harmless compliment to an old bag like you?¡± the voice spat, dripping with venom.
Miranda¡¯s mind raced as she recognized the voice. It belonged to a ruffian who had made inappropriate and crude comments about her hind quarters in front of her son Gabri, a Warrior with a fierce temper when it came to his mother¡¯s honor.
He had responded by giving the man an impromptu lesson in respect and dentistry, which apparently had not been taken to heart. Now, the brute had returned, fueled by liquor and bent on revenge.
Despite her current limitations as a mortal, Miranda was far from defenseless. Her years as a Dancer had left her with a level of physical agility and flexibility that belied her age.
Though her hands were pinned and one of the attacker¡¯s legs was wedged between hers, she knew she still had options. With deliberate precision, Miranda began to maneuver her left leg, sliding it in front of her and then bending it at an impossible angle for most until her heel was pressed flat against her thigh. Her foot, now positioned perfectly, aimed directly at a rather sensitive area of her attacker¡¯s anatomy.
The man was too slow to react as Miranda pushed herself forward, nicking herself on the blade slightly, but using the momentum to escape his grasp while simultaneously delivering a powerful kick. The force of the blow propelled her forward, while the man let out a high-pitched yelp of pain, his voice breaking as a wet stain quickly appeared on his trousers.
¡°Bitch!¡± he shrieked, doubling over in agony.
Miranda quickly put some distance between them, though not without consequence. Her daring move had caused her dress to tear lengthwise, exposing much of her long, slender leg and a portion of her wounded torso.
Undeterred, she turned to face her attacker, her expression one of steely resolve. Raising her arms above her head, she reached up and pulled a large pin from her hair, causing her dark locks to cascade down around her shoulders. As she brought her hands down, she revealed the true nature of the pin¡ªa thin, exotic dagger, its blade shining ominously in the dim light of the street lamps coming from outside.
From his perch on the shelf, Nyx emitted a sound that could only be described as a catcalling whistle. Miranda, however, had no time to pay attention to the bird. Her focus was entirely on the man before her, who, despite his injury, was already lunging at her once more.
With the grace of a seasoned Dancer, Miranda twisted out of his reach, her blade flashing as she sliced through the air, catching the man¡¯s ear. He howled in pain, stumbling forward as he clutched at the wound. Seizing the opportunity, Miranda extended her leg once more, delivering a swift kick to his back that sent him sprawling to the floor.
As the man struggled to regain his footing, Miranda used the brief lull to compose herself. With a swift motion, she used the dagger to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the movement highlighting her high cheekbones and the small beauty mark near her ear.
Meanwhile, the crow, who had been watching the scene unfold with apparent amusement, let out a rumbling squawk that sounded suspiciously like laughter. His beady eyes gleamed with a mischievous light, as if to vocalize a perverse, ¡°Hehehe!¡±
Despite the situation, Miranda remained focused on the task at hand. Perhaps the years she had spent living as a mortal had dulled some of her instincts because she had failed to account for one crucial detail: when dealing with an ambush, always assume there are more enemies than it seems.
A dull thwack echoed through the room as something hard struck Miranda from behind. Her world tilted, and she crumpled to the ground in an unflattering heap. Pain shot through her head, and her vision blurred as she reached up to feel the now-damp spot at the back of her skull. She rolled over, her breath coming in ragged gasps, to see a scrawny young man standing over her, holding one of the Icklium metal bars from her stock.
The pain was sharp and intense, clouding her thoughts as she struggled to process what had just happened. Desperation clawed at her mind as she realized the gravity of her situation. She tried to roll away, but the older man, who had by now recovered, stomped down hard on her back, pinning her to the floor.
¡°Not good!¡± Miranda¡¯s mind screamed as she attempted another defensive move. She arched her back and bent her legs, trying to execute a trick kick, but the younger man was quicker. He grabbed hold of her calves, effectively immobilizing her. Her dress, already ripped, was now in tatters, leaving nothing to the imagination.
The older man grinned maliciously as he pressed his weight down on her. ¡°Ohhh, you¡¯re gonna regret that,¡± he sneered, his voice dripping with menace.
But Miranda was not one to go down without a fight. With no other options left, she bit down hard on her tongue, drawing blood. The sudden and unexpected action caught the two men off guard, their expressions shifting from smug satisfaction to shock and confusion.
In that instant, Nyx, swooped down from his perch and landed squarely on the older man¡¯s shoulder. Before the man could react, the crow¡¯s talon flashed before his eyes.
Chapter 37: Headstart
The older man who had been pinning Miranda to the ground suddenly collapsed to the side, his body going completely limp.
Nyx, with his customary elegance, descended gracefully onto the fallen man.
Miranda, initially perplexed by the abrupt change in her attacker¡¯s behavior, quickly regained her composure as her instincts took over. The younger man, who had been holding onto her calves, was too shocked by his accomplice¡¯s sudden fall to notice Miranda flexing her body backward.
With precise, fluid movements, she reached behind herself and disoriented him by clapping her hands against his ears. The younger man grunted, the sudden pain forcing him to release his grip on her and clutch at his ears.
Not wasting a moment, Miranda swiftly regained her footing. She had a single-minded focus as she delivered a swift and brutal kick to the man''s groin. Nyx mused ''''Well, she definitely has a favorite zone¡ quite fitting for the situation.''''
Though still in pain from the bite she had inflicted on her tongue earlier, she remained fiercely concentrated on her task. Nyx observed her every movement, a look of subtle admiration in his eyes.
He knew that had he not intervened, Miranda would have continued to do whatever was necessary, even going as far as to bite off her tongue completely, to maintain her dignity in the dire circumstances she found herself in. After all, many would say that death was preferable to living with this experience.
Meanwhile, the older man whom Nyx had incapacitated was fading quickly. His breath was growing shallower by the second, the single talon strike from Nyx having left him horribly disfigured.
The man was beyond recognition, almost flayed across the length of his face, his life slipping away with each passing moment.
Miranda, her fury not yet abated, grabbed the Icklium bar that had been used to strike her earlier. Her grip on the metal was tight as she lunged at the younger attacker with deadly intent.
But just before she could bring the bar down on him, her gaze was drawn to the older man¡¯s prone form. Her eyes locked onto the strange crow, who stared back at her with an eerie atmosphere. For a split second, it seemed as if the crow let out a deep, human-like chuckle.
Miranda quickly shook off the odd sensation. She recognized that the crow, having aided her in this violent struggle, posed no threat for the time being.
The momentary distraction faded, and she redirected her attention to the younger man, who was still reeling from the kick to his groin. Her eyes were filled with a fierce determination and disgust as she raised the bar high above her head, ready to deliver a crescendo of blows.
Nyx, still watching the scene unfold, felt a slight twinge of embarrassment at the sound he had made¡ and in his true form no less.
Despite this, he couldn''t help but feel a surge of savage satisfaction as he watched Miranda take control of the situation. He thought to himself, "Such a shame I¡¯ll need to keep this quick. They take priority... but perhaps I¡¯ll find some time for this lovely specimen."
Miranda¡¯s dress, now torn and disheveled from the struggle, only seemed to enhance her allure. The fabric clung to her figure, accentuating her curves even in the midst of the violent confrontation. Her high cheekbones were flushed with exertion and anger as she swung the Icklium bar down on the younger man¡¯s head with all the strength she could muster. The sound of metal meeting bone reverberated through the boutique, a sickening crack that echoed off the walls.
The young man''s eyes rolled back into his head as he crumpled to the floor, his body collapsing in a heap near his fallen accomplice.
Miranda stood over the two men for a moment, her mighty chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her grip on the bar was tight, her knuckles white as she stared down at the men who had dared to attack her.
Nyx hopped closer to Miranda, his dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. He could see the fire in her eyes, the fierce resolve that had driven her to fight back with such ferocity. It was a quality he admired, one that drew him to her even more. Despite the violence of the situation, there was something undeniably captivating about the way she moved, the way she held herself even in the face of danger.
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Miranda didn¡¯t look at Nyx as he approached. Her focus was still on the men at her feet, her breath coming in heavy, ragged gasps.
She knew she had already finished this, but she had to make sure her tab with these two barbarians was clean. Without hesitation, she raised the bar once more, her muscles tensing as she prepared to strike once more to deliver some additional tenderizing.
Nyx observed with keen interest, his gaze never leaving her as she delivered blow after blow to the men at her feet.
He could see the raw power in her movements, the controlled fury that fueled each strike. It was a sight to behold, one that he couldn¡¯t tear his eyes away from. The scene was both brutal and mesmerizing, a perfect display of strength and cruelty.
As Miranda stood over the lifeless bodies, her passionate breath gradually steadied. The initial rush of adrenaline began to fade, leaving her with a cold, hard resolve. She had done what needed to be done, and there was no room for regret. These men had tried to do something unforgivable to her, to steal away something precious, and she had fought back with everything she had. There was no pity in her heart, no second-guessing her actions. They had made their choice, and now they had paid the price.
Nyx, still watching her with that same dark amusement, couldn¡¯t help but appreciate her even more. She was a rare find, a human filled with such brutality was like a drug for Nyx''s peculiar tastes. It was a quality he found endlessly intriguing, one that only heightened his interest in her.
"Where''s Nyx?" Zinnia asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of impatience.
Silas glanced up from his work, his fingers deftly arranging various glassware on the table. "He''s out acquiring some missing ingredients," he replied. "I need them to make a draught of [Headstart]. Usually it''s used to aid young children with learning basic skills faster, but in this case, I want to use it to expedite Selen''s re-learning of the Empire''s language."
Selen had just exited the bath, her hair damp and her skin flushed from the heat. She was now seated at a small table, looking over the alphabet Silas had drawn for her. Her eyes flicked between the letters and Silas, a mixture of concentration, confusion and exasperation upon on her face.
Zinnia leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Will this new situation with her affect our plans for the capital?~" she asked, her tone skeptical.
Silas shook his head. "It won''t. This will only save me some time down the line after I get my hands on all the items I need."
Zinnia rolled her eyes. "And once you''re done? Will you let me go?"
Silas''s lips curled into a faint smile. "You may be the one that refuses to go."
Concern flickered across Zinnia''s face at his words. Meanwhile, Selen waved towards Silas, drawing his attention back to her.
Silas moved closer and began to articulate each letter slowly and clearly. Selen repeated after him, her pronunciation improving with each attempt.
After spending some time answering Selen''s questions, Silas returned to his conversation with Zinnia. "Early in the morning," he said, "I''ll pay the imprisoned inquisitor a visit. Once Nyx comes back, I''ll brew the draught for Selen and have her focus on learning to communicate normally."
Zinnia nodded slowly. "And what do you want me to do?"
"Nothing has changed," Silas replied. "You and Nyx will investigate the oddity he found within the town." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small tin containing several wads of cotton-like material colored in strange hues of dull pink around the edge and vibrant green in the middle. "If you run into trouble," he instructed, "use the piece of flint inside to light a spark onto the exterior of these. Once you do, run¡ªand close your eyes and mouth. Pinch your nose shut if you want to avoid problems."
Zinnia looked intrigued but confused. "What do they do?"
"They bloom." Silas answered cryptically.
Zinnia raised an eyebrow but didn''t press further.
Silas then took another of his disguise pills to maintain his appearance before shifting the topic. "How long have you been cultivating Illusionist arts?"
Zinnia cracked a joke about him wanting to get to know her more intimately but it didn''t land, so she said simply "Just because you have my life in your hands doesn''t mean I''ll reveal and do absolutely everything you want..."
Silas sat down on the bed with a crack of his neck. "You''d be surprised how many claim similar bravado but often end up not being able to carry it out." Before she could retort, he continued, "I''m asking for your sake as I''m in a good mood." He revealed a bloody pendant hidden inside one of his satchel pockets.
Zinnia''s eyes grew wide as she recognized it as an Illusionist manual.
Silas waved it around before hiding it again. He laughed softly. "This manual has a bone age requirement to access its basic contents, but to open its secrets requires an Illusionist''s matured Energy."
Zinnia gulped and answered through gritted teeth at the dangled prize. "Close to four decades of bone age and slightly over two for how long I''ve been practicing."
Silas raised an eyebrow and said ''''Lie''''.
She hesitated but admitted, "My bone age is closer to three decades, and I''ve been cultivating for a decade and a half."
"You have no reason to guess an appropriate age," Silas said as he threw the pendant at her.
She caught it quickly.
"I have no need of it," he continued. "Consider it an advanced treat from me."
Excitedly, Zinnia let some of her energy flow into the pendant.
Silas chuckled darkly. "The requirement to open it is five hundred years of both bone age and energy maturity."
Immediately, her fingers started to grow numb as she stopped her attempt to pry into the manual.
Zinnia deadpanned at him. "You''re cruel for getting my hopes up.~"
At that moment, Selen walked over with a piece of paper in hand¡ªa drawing of a tree atop a river on it¡ªand written in Korr''av-el above it: ''''Recognize?''''
For once, after a long while, Silas found himself stumped by such a strange question; after all, plants within rivers were not an uncommon sight.
Chapter 38: Charmed
Miranda stared at a parchment in her hand, her thoughts whirling as she read the message scrawled across it. The elegant script was almost incongruous with the bizarre events that had just unfolded in her boutique. The adrenaline that had fueled her earlier had subsided, leaving her drained but alert. The parchment crinkled slightly as she gripped it, the only sound in the stillness of the room.
She couldn¡¯t help but replay the sequence of events in her mind before focusing on it.
The two intruders had been dealt with rather swiftly, their threat neutralized. But the real surprise had come from the crow that had appeared in front of her as she stood over the bodies.
He had landed before her with a grace that seemed almost regal, his dark eyes studying her with an intensity that made her pause. He had bowed with great flourish, a gesture so peculiar and refined that it caught her completely off guard. His wing had then risen in a silent command, urging her to stay her hand and wait.
She had watched, baffled, as Nyx reached into one of the pockets on his sash and produced a small vial filled with a clear liquid. With a swift motion, he uncorked it and allowed a few drops to fall onto the remains of the intruders. To her astonishment, the bodies began to dissolve immediately, their forms breaking down into an amber-colored paste that bubbled and frothed before settling into an inert mass.
Before she could fully process what was happening, Nyx had darted behind the counter, his movements quick and strangely showy.
Miranda¡¯s thoughts were a jumbled mess of confusion and curiosity, but she remained still, intrigued by this strange creature that seemed to be helping her. In a flash, Nyx reappeared, dragging a stool behind him. He positioned it directly behind her, his actions conveying a level of concern that seemed oddly out of place for a crow.
"A familiar!?" the thought had screamed through her mind. The idea seemed absurd, yet as she observed Nyx''s behavior, it was the only conclusion that made any sense.
He was silent, his actions speaking louder than words as he brought his wings together, creating a shadowy web between them.
Nyx began to circle her, his wings moving in fluid motions that left trails of shadow in their wake. To her amazement, the shadows coalesced into something resembling fabric, forming a robe that wrapped around her with a perfect fit.
The robe was neither too tight nor too loose, covering her torn dress with a modesty that was both comforting and disconcerting. The transformation was seamless, her once disheveled appearance now concealed by a garment that seemed even more luxurious then her previous one.
Nyx¡¯s touch was gentle as he guided her onto the stool, his wings pressing lightly against her shoulders as he urged her to sit.
She complied, her body moving almost on instinct as she tried to make sense of what was happening. The crow then landed in her lap, his beady eyes locking onto hers for a brief moment before he dropped the parchment into her hands and hopped off, returning to his work with an air of practiced efficiency.
Miranda¡¯s attention was drawn to the parchment, bringing her back from her recollection and she began to read, her eyes scanning the neatly written text.
The first line instructed her to drink a small healing potion that had been placed on her shoulder. Bewildered, she reached up and found the vial, the cool glass pressing against her fingers. How had it gotten there without her noticing?
The thought was fleeting as she uncorked the vial and drank its contents, feeling an immediate wave of relief wash over her as the potion healed her nearly severed tongue.
A warm trickle of blood pooled in her mouth, the last remnants of her injury, and she wiped it away absently as it spilled down her neckline. The crimson streak stood out starkly against her skin, tracing a path down her chest.
Nyx, who had been busy cleaning up the remains of the intruders, paused in his work as he noticed. A visible shudder ran through his tail feathers, a reaction that was as subtle as it was telling.
As she continued reading, Miranda was taken aback by what she saw next. The crow, this curious and charming creature, introduced himself as Nyx in the following lines. The introduction was followed by a surprisingly formal apology, expressing his regret for intruding on her evening and hinting at a sense of obligation to make amends for a most unbecoming robbery. The words were elegant, almost playful, and conveyed a charm that was completely unexpected from a¡ bird.
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Miranda¡¯s lips twitched into a faint smile as she considered the absurdity of the situation.
Silas took the parchment from Selen and carefully examined the drawing of the tree on a river, its intricate lines and details catching his attention. His first thought was ''''She is wasting time when she could be studying¡''''.
The image was striking, with the tree''s roots reaching deep into the flowing water, almost as if it was alive in its own right. Without a word, he picked up a quill and, with deliberate care to his penmanship, wrote the word for tree in Korr''av-el beneath the drawing. His script was smooth, the characters fluid and precise.
Selen¡¯s response was less appreciative. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she observed his writing, and with a subtle roll of her eyes, she turned back to her desk. She resumed studying the alphabet he had painstakingly drawn for her earlier, her fingers tracing the symbols as she tried to commit them to memory.
Silas couldn¡¯t help but feel a flicker of irritation at her dismissive reaction.
Zinnia, who had been quietly observing the exchange from her spot beside the bed, broke the silence with a burst of laughter. "Serves your secret-keeping ass right," she quipped, her voice laced with amusement. "How''s it feel being asked random questions and getting nothing in return?"
Silas¡¯s expression hardened slightly as he stood up from the bed. His movement was sudden, causing Zinnia to flinch.
The smirk that had been playing on her lips quickly vanished, replaced by a look of uncertainty. "It was just a joke, come on," she added hastily, backtracking in an attempt to defuse the tension.
Ignoring her attempt at reconciliation, Silas crossed the room to where Selen sat, his presence overwhelming to Zinnia''s eyes.
He moved in closer, his hand reaching for the ink and quill beside her, startling Selen slightly with his proximity. She hesitated, her hand pausing over the parchment as she glanced up at him. Without a word, he began writing once more, his expression carefully neutral, perhaps masking the irritation still simmering beneath the surface.
He wrote the symbols for the word "explain," then looked down at Selen with a smile that was meant to seem good-natured, though it didn¡¯t entirely reach his eyes. The tension in the room was palpable, the silence thick as Selen stared at the symbols, her mind working to process his request.
After a moment of contemplation, Selen nodded. She took the quill from him and began writing, her strokes measured and deliberate.
Several paragraphs in Korr''av-el appeared on the parchment, each line conveying a fragment of the memory she was trying to share. She detailed that this tree was the last thing she remembered seeing before waking up in this place. Her hand moved steadily as she described the scene, her words forming a vivid picture of the tree standing tall by the river, its roots intertwined with the water, as if it had saved her from something sinister.
When she finished, Selen looked up at Silas, her eyes wide and innocent. She waved him away, a gesture that seemed almost dismissive, but Silas knew it was because she understood it would take him some time to fully decipher her meaning. He took the parchment from her and turned away, his mind already focused on the task at hand.
Zinnia, who had been watching the exchange with a knowing smirk, couldn¡¯t resist making a comment. "She''s about to have a bad time annoying him like that," she muttered, her tone laced with amusement.
He returned to the bed, sitting down beside Zinnia, his attention already shifting to the letters on the parchment. His focus was intense, the rest of the room fading into the background as he began to decipher the writing.
Zinnia¡¯s smirk slowly faded as she observed him, replaced by a frown that reflected her growing frustration. "What''s with the difference in treatment?!" she asked, her voice tinged with bitterness.
It wasn¡¯t like Silas to be so gentle with someone from her experience, and the contrast in his behavior towards Selen irked her.
Silas didn¡¯t look up from the parchment as he replied, his tone calm and measured. "Selen has something I need. You only have something you need from me." His words were blunt, cutting through the air with an unspoken finality.
Zinnia bristled at his response, her hands curling into fists as she made a series of rude gestures in his direction. "It''s not my fault," she retorted, her voice rising slightly. "You''re the one making me tag along!"
Silas didn¡¯t bother responding to her quips, his focus entirely on the task before him. The symbols on the parchment began to take shape in his mind, the headache that had been forming at the back of his skull growing more intense with each passing moment. But he pushed through it, determined to understand the message Selen had written.
As he worked through the text, the meaning slowly became clear. The drawing of the tree on the river¡ªit was from a dream. The last thing she remembered seeing before waking up in this place was the tree, standing tall by the river.
She had written that she fell asleep in her bed, only to experience a nightmare that felt disturbingly real.
In the dream, something had been chasing her, something that filled her with a sense of impending doom. At the last moment, the tree had appeared, saving her from whatever was pursuing her.
She had eaten one of its fruits, and then she woke up here, in this strange place, with no explanation of how she had arrived.
Silas felt a deep sense of intrigue as he pieced together her account. The connection between her dream and the ancient language of Korr''av-el was more than likely connected, and it raised more questions than answers.
As he mulled over the implications, Zinnia shifted beside him, her earlier irritation giving way to curiosity.
Silas finally looked up from the parchment, stabbing a needle into Zinnia''s jaw, causing her to tumble to the ground paralyzed.
The concept of overkill was lost on him.
Chapter 39: What Do You See?
Gabri walked through the deserted streets of Sichal, rubbing his wrist absently as he made his way towards his mother¡¯s boutique. It was well past midnight, and the town lay in silence, the only sounds being the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of night creatures. He had just finished his guard duty for the Traveling Orchid''s latest show, and the quiet was a welcome change from the bustling energy of the performance.
As he walked, he couldn¡¯t help but reflect on how absurd it was for the Director to have hired him for such a task. Gabri might have been a skilled warrior, but he knew he was no match for the Director, who was probably the strongest cultivator in all of Sichal. He recalled the arm-wrestling contest that had ended with the Director''s easy victory, the lanky man¡¯s comically large mustache twitching as he laughed at Gabri¡¯s futile efforts.
Gabri had asked him afterward why they were wasting money on someone who clearly wasn¡¯t needed. The Director had just chuckled and said, "It¡¯s all about appearances. When you¡¯re putting on a show, it¡¯s important that the audience feels a sense of awe, that they know they can¡¯t just approach the dancers. A strong presence like yours helps maintain that illusion." He had then added, with a sly wink, "And it doesn¡¯t hurt that you¡¯re Miranda¡¯s boy."
That last remark had stayed with Gabri, gnawing at him even now. He muttered under his breath, still annoyed by the memory, "...if he''s gonna act like mother matters, he shouldn¡¯t have kicked her out of the troupe after one mistake."
Gabri¡¯s thoughts turned to his mother, Miranda, who had once been the star of the Traveling Orchid. Her beauty and grace had captivated audiences, but that was years ago, before she lost her cultivation. Gabri remembered her telling him that it was safer for her to stay away from the troupe now, as she could no longer defend herself against cultivators.
She had tried to console him by mentioning how the Director had sent Warrior manuals for Gabri and his brother, Imael, as a form of restitution. But Gabri knew it was little comfort. Miranda¡¯s strength had faded over the years, and the vibrant energy she once possessed was now a shadow of its former self. The thought saddened him deeply, but he knew there was little they could do. The idea of restoring her atrophied meridians was nothing more than a distant dream.
Miracles were beyond their financial reach, and even if they could afford one, the chances of success were slim. They had no connections to the Priesthood, and the idea of asking for such a favor was out of the question. The other option¡ªpetitioning Grandmaster Ryker to melt away the necrotic energy channels and reform what was left of her healthy meridians¡ªwas even less feasible.
As Gabri approached Miranda¡¯s Boutique, he forced a smile onto his face, determined not to show his mother the weight of his worries. He wanted to appear strong for her, to be the support she needed. He reached the door, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.
The sight that met him caused his smile to vanish, his jaw dropping in shock as he took in the scene before him.
Zinnia lay crumpled on the floor, paralyzed by Silas¡¯s needle. Her eyes flicked around, frustration brewing as she was left immobilized. Selen, seated nearby, noticed how Silas had nudged Zinnia with his foot after rendering her motionless, just to check she could still breathe.
It was a small, almost indifferent gesture, reflecting the strange dynamic between them¡ªa mix of harshness and familiarity that blurred the lines between friendship and bullying.
For the past hour, Silas had been fixated on reading Selen¡¯s single-page story, his gaze intense enough to make her uncomfortable. Selen tried to concentrate on practicing the alphabet but found it difficult to ignore the heavy silence in the room, only broken by the occasional scratch of his quill.
Silas eventually stood up, taking a deep breath and tucking the page into his satchel. He moved toward Selen, placed a small vial on the table before her, and quickly wrote a note: ''''?iv? ??? ??i? i? ??? ?u?n? ??b.''''
Selen nodded, understanding the command.
She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, Silas had vanished. His sudden disappearance was unsettling, but she had chosen not to question things too much¡ªat least, not until she could engage him properly.
Selen glanced back at Zinnia, a fleeting thought crossing her mind, "Probably not red enough yet..." The thought brought a hint of amusement before she refocused on her alphabet practice.
Zinnia, meanwhile, simmered with irritation. "Where the hell is he off to now? And didn''t he forget something?~" The paralysis left her feeling utterly helpless¡ªan experience she despised.
The room returned to an uneasy quiet. Selen continued her practice, occasionally checking that Zinnia was breathing comfortably. The vial on the table remained untouched.
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Gabri stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock. "Mother, what happened to you?" His voice wavered as he took in Miranda''s transformed appearance.
She looked as though she had stepped out of his childhood memories, her beauty restored to an almost unnatural radiance. The black robe she wore was unlike anything he had ever seen her in¡ªopulent and extravagant, a stark departure from her usual flashy but tasteful attire.
Miranda¡¯s face lit up with a radiant smile, and she hurried toward him. "Gabs!" she exclaimed, wrapping him in a tight embrace. Gabri returned the hug instinctively, his mind swirling with questions.
"Mother, what¡¯s going on? Why do you look like this? Are you alright?" His words spilled out in a rush as he pulled back to examine her more closely.
Miranda stepped back, composed herself with a light cough, and began, "Two intruders tried to assault me earlier."
Gabri¡¯s reaction was immediate and fierce. "What?!" he roared, his body tensing with fury. He looked like a beast ready to tear apart anyone who had dared to harm his mother.
"Stop yelling! People are sleeping," Miranda quickly admonished. "It¡¯s been handled. Don¡¯t worry; I had help from a benefactor."
Gabri''s mind raced to process her words. He grabbed her arms, searching for any sign of injury, but found none. His anger slowly gave way to confusion and concern. "What benefactor?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
Miranda offered a wry smile. "A crow named Nyx who was rummaging through our storage saved me and gave me a¡ simply wondrous tonic."
Gabri crossed his arms and exhaled deeply, nodding as he tried to make sense of the absurdity. "I see." He reached out to feel her forehead, checking for any signs of fever-induced delirium.
Miranda swatted his hand away irritably and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Let me explain in more detail, but before that..." She flicked her hand casually.
Gabri¡¯s sword slid halfway out of its sheath on its own before sinking back down. His gaze snapped from the sword to his mother¡¯s hand and then to her smirk.
"I¡¯m told it¡¯s temporary," Miranda said, her smirk widening into a grin, "however..."
Nyx perched himself atop a building opposite Miranda''s Boutique, his beady eyes fixated on the empty vial wrapped in his wing. He stared into it, lost in thought. "Definitely was a Dancer¡ temper is beautiful¡ meridians fit the aftereffects¡ too much of a coincidence¡ mhmm~ and the smell divine," he mused, chuckling in a disturbingly human-like manner. Shaking the empty vial, he added to his thoughts, "Such a shame¡ such a shame¡ this flower is almost ready to bloom."
A deeper shadow suddenly enveloped him, startling Nyx into a comical leap forward. He barely caught the empty vial as he almost dropped it. Turning around, he saw Silas sitting behind him, hunched over and bringing his face closer.
"It''s only funny if I do it," Nyx squawked in anger.
Silas''s raspy voice cut through the evening air. "Were you harmed? Why did you call me? Is there a problem with acquiring the ingredients?"
Nyx waved him off nonchalantly with his wing. "Calm down," he seemed to say, knowing Silas was genuine in his concern for him. After all, Nyx very rarely reverse summoned him.
Silas narrowed his eyes. "You wouldn''t call me for no reason, especially when we have a chance to decrypt the scroll."
Nyx pointed down at the boutique and, uncharacteristically, spoke in a distorted mimicry of Silas''s voice, "¦Ø§ß¦Á§ä ?¦Ò §å¦Ò¦Ô ????"
Silas raised an eyebrow. Nyx usually detested speaking even with him.
He focused his gaze on the scene below. "I see a woman hugging a man."
Nyx chuckled. "¦Ç¦Ò! ¦Ç¦Ò§ä §ä§ß¦Á§ä ?¦É§Þ¦Ñ??. ?§ß? ¦É?... §Þ¦É§ñ¦Á¦Ç?¦Á, q¦Ô¦É§ä? ¦Á ?¦É¦Í??§å ¦Ò¦Ç?, ¦Á ?¦Ò§ñ§Þ?§ñ ?¦Á¦Ç¡é?§ñ ¦É''§Þ ?¦Ô§ñ?. ¦Ø? §Ü¦Ç¦Ò¦Ø §ä§ß?¦É§ñ ?§ä§å??, §ä§ß?§ñ? ¦É? ¦Ç¦Ò §Þ¦É?§ä¦Á§Ü? §ä§ß?§ñ?."
Silas nodded slowly. "I believe your judgment there." He assumed Nyx was inferring a connection between the woman and the troupe ''''Travelling Orchid''''¡ªwith a niche cultivation style like Dancer, it was most improbable for her to not have an affiliation.
Nyx continued describing Miranda with enthusiasm. "¦Ò§ß§ß§ß, ?§ß? ¦É? ¦Á ?¦É?§ñ§å ¦Ò¦Ç?, §å¦Ò¦Ô ¦Ø¦Ò¦Ô?? ?¦É§Ü? §ß?§ñ. §Ü¦É??? ?¦É§Ü? ¦Á ¦Í¦É¦Ç?¦É¡é§ä¦É¦Í? [§Ó¦Á¦Ç?§ß??]. ?¦É?§ñ¡é?§ñ §ä?§Þ¦Ñ?§ñ §ä§ß¦Á¦Ç ¦Ò¦Ç? §Þ¦Ég§ß§ä ?¦Ö¦Ñ?¡é§ä, §Þ¦Ò¦Í?? ¦Ø??? ?¦Ò§ñ ?¦Ò§Þ?¦Ò¦Ç? §ñ??¦Ô¡é?? §ä¦Ò ¦Á §Þ¦Ò§ñ§ä¦Á?."
"Do you want me to seduce her for something?" Silas asked dryly.
Nyx chuckled again and handed him the empty vial. Silas uncorked it and took a whiff. The scent was unmistakable¡ª[Fertile Substitute], a rank one red liquid fertilizer used by Alchemists to temporarily wean maturing herbs that required pure Energy as sustenance.
"§ß?§ñ §Þ?§ñ¦É?¦É¦Á¦Ç? ¦Á§ñ? ¦Á§ä§ñ¦Ò¦Ñ§ß¦É??. §ä§ß¦É? §ß?¦Á??? §ß?§ñ," Nyx informed him.
Silas didn''t need even a second to grasp what Nyx was implying. "A crippled Dancer with a fierce temper who was healed by [Fertile Substitute]?" he muttered.
Nyx squawked with a nod.
"One down then," Silas said thoughtfully before asking, "Have you gotten what I asked for?"
Nyx took off his tool belt and handed it to Silas with an affirmative caw.
Silas examined the contents of the belt briefly before looking back at Nyx. "Good work," he said simply.
Nyx preened his feathers proudly as Silas continued to scrutinize the scene below them.
"You had the antidote this entire time?!" Zinnia''s voice echoed through the room, her face a furious shade of crimson. She trembled with rage, her eyes locked onto Selen.
Selen, however, didn''t understand a word of what Zinnia was yelling. She could only sense the displeasure radiating from her. "She is a loud one," Selen thought to herself. "I was carefully watching how red she got. Perhaps apple red was not red enough?"
Zinnia''s outrage grew at Selen''s nonchalance. She raised an accusatory finger at her, but before she could say more, she began to wobble on her feet. Her eyes darted to the antidote vial in Selen''s hand.
"Son of a bi-" Zinnia managed to mutter before collapsing to the ground, falling into a deep sleep.
Selen looked at the vial in her hand and quickly knelt next to Zinnia''s chest. Resting her head against it, she confirmed that Zinnia''s heart was still beating. Placing a finger under her nose, she saw that she was still breathing normally.
With a shrug, Selen stood up and picked Zinnia up, placing her gently on the bed. She tucked her in carefully and brushed aside her hair so it would be more comfortable for her to sleep.
Satisfied that Zinnia was settled, Selen returned to her study area. The room was quiet now, save for the soft sounds of Zinnia''s breathing.
Chapter 40: Another...Or?
Selen took a cautious peek at Silas, who had just returned with Nyx perched on his shoulder. The moment they entered the room, Silas began pulling out an impressive array of glassware, tubing, and herbs from his satchel. Neither he nor Nyx spared a glance at the comatose Zinnia, who lay peacefully on the bed.
Nyx fluttered over to Selen''s desk and landed with a soft thud. The crow twisted its head, observing her from different angles, causing her mild discomfort. She shifted uneasily under his gaze but couldn''t tear her eyes away from what Silas was doing.
Silas rolled up his sleeves, revealing the softly glowing Sage Grooves carved into his forearms. The intricate patterns appeared to be alive, pulsing gently with an inner light. He took a steadying breath and began setting up a strange interconnected glassware station.
Selen''s curiosity piqued as she watched him work. The glass tubes and flasks connected in a complex network, each piece fitting perfectly into place as if they were part of an elaborate puzzle.
Nyx continued to watch Selen intently, his beady eyes following her. She tried to ignore him, focusing instead on Silas''s meticulous preparations. The room filled with the faint floral scent of herbs as he crushed leaves and measured powders with exacting care.
Silas''s movements were nearly hypnotic, each action fluid and purposeful. He poured liquids from one flask to another, the contents changing color as they mixed. Steam rose from a heated beaker, curling lazily in the air before dissipating.
Selen leaned forward slightly, trying to get a better view of the process. She had never seen anything quite like it before. The makeshift Alchemy station appeared to pulse with Energy, the liquids inside glowing faintly as they flowed through the tubes.
Silas glanced up briefly, meeting Selen''s eyes for a moment before returning to his work. There was an intensity in his gaze that made her shiver. She couldn''t help but wonder what kind of potion he was brewing and what its purpose might be.
Nyx finally looked away from Selen and turned his attention to Silas''s setup. The crow tilted its head, watching as Silas added another ingredient to the mixture. A faint hiss filled the room as the liquid reacted, bubbling up before settling back down.
Silas adjusted the flame beneath one of the beakers, his focus unwavering. The glow from his Sage Grooves seemed to intensify as he worked, casting a gentle light over the glassware. Selen found herself drawn to the patterns on his arms, mesmerized by their intricate beauty.
The potion began to take shape before her eyes, its color shifting from deep blue to vibrant green. Silas carefully monitored each reaction, making minute adjustments as needed. His expertise was evident in every movement, each step executed with flawless precision.
As she watched, Selen noticed the scent in the room shifting. What had started as a light floral aroma grew heavier, richer, the air thick with the mingling fragrances of crushed herbs and simmering liquids. The mixture emitted a warm, nearly comforting glow, reflecting off the glass containers, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The rhythmic bubbling of the concoction, combined with the steady glow of Silas''s grooves, gave the scene a surreal, almost otherworldly ambiance.
Selen leaned in closer, intrigued by the changing hues within the beakers. The liquid swirled with shades of emerald and sapphire, merging together in a dance of colors that felt alive. She could practically hear a faint hum, a soft, pulsating rhythm that matched the gentle throb of Silas''s grooves.
Silas moved with practiced ease, his fingers deftly maneuvering between the vials and containers. His precision was mechanical, yet there was an undeniable artistry to his actions, as if the brewing process was as much about intuition as it was about skill. The room was alive with the soft clinks of glass, the hiss of steam, and the subtle crackle of Energy coursing through the apparatus.
Selen¡¯s eyes were fixed on the delicate movements of Silas¡¯s hands as he carefully added a few drops of a viscous liquid to the mix. The potion responded immediately, a deep, resonant hum vibrating through the glassware. The colors intensified, swirling faster as if the liquid itself was coming to life. Silas leaned in, his gaze narrowing as he observed the reaction with a critical eye.
Nyx, still perched on the desk, ruffled his feathers and gave a soft caw, drawing Selen¡¯s attention momentarily. She glanced at the crow, who appeared almost too interested in the brewing process, his beady eyes gleaming with what she could only describe as admiration.
As the mixture settled, the once vibrant colors faded into a muted, but steady, glow. Silas carefully turned down the flame and began cooling the mixture, his hands steady as he transferred the contents into a small, ornate vial. The entire process had been so meticulous, so controlled, yet the result looked ordinary¡ªa small vial filled with a gently glowing liquid, the final product of what had felt like an elaborate ritual.
Selen watched as Silas sealed the vial and set it aside. Her gaze lingered on the intricate patterns of his Sage Grooves, their light slowly dimming as the potion was completed. A sudden thought crossed her mind¡ª"What a talented servant¡ servant?" The word echoed in her thoughts, out of place and puzzling.
Her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the word that had sprung to mind. Why had she thought of that term? Silas was no servant, at least not in any sense that she understood. The idea seemed absurd, yet it had surfaced so naturally, as if it had been planted there.
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Selen¡¯s hand instinctively moved to the back of her head, rubbing at a dull ache that had begun to form. The confusion lingered, a nagging thought at the edge of her consciousness. She glanced back at Silas, who was now tidying up his workspace with the same calm precision he had displayed throughout the brewing process. The word continued to haunt her thoughts, even as she tried to push it aside.
Silas placed the vial of [Headstart] in front of Selen, his expression unreadable as Nyx leaped off the desk and hopped onto his shoulder. The crow busied himself with straightening Silas¡¯s sleeves, but Silas paid no attention, his focus entirely on writing a message in Korr''av-el on a piece of parchment: "T?i? will ??lq ¦Ãou l???n ??????. I? n??b? ?o d? in?????b in?o ¦Ãou? ??m. ??inl???."
Selen¡¯s eyes scanned the message, her brow knitting with concern. The thought of injecting herself with the potion made her uneasy, but so far, she had placed her trust in Silas. Despite her growing apprehension, she decided to take the gamble once more. With a hesitant nod, she signaled her agreement.
Silas acknowledged her nod with a reassuring smile before turning to Nyx. ¡°They are much more pleasant when they cooperate, are they not?¡± he remarked casually, though the words carried an underlying edge.
Nyx squawked in response, nodding as he grabbed the vial of [Headstart] and flew up to perch on the wall above Selen. Silas pulled out a small device, inserting it into the cork of the vial and attaching a thin, flexible tube to it. He then gently lifted Selen¡¯s hand, drawing a silver needle from his sleeve. Selen flinched slightly as the needle glinted in the light.
"A fear of needles? Quaint," Silas mused silently as he pinched one end of the needle, revealing its hollow center. With practiced ease, he connected the thin tube to the needle and inserted it into Selen¡¯s vein. Nyx used his wing to tap the small device on the vial¡¯s cork, initiating a slow drip down the tube.
As the liquid began to flow into her bloodstream, the first rays of morning light filtered into the room.
Selen felt an immediate surge of energy ripple through her, her thoughts accelerating uncontrollably even as her limbs grew heavy. The headache that had been a dull throb intensified, sending sharp pulses through her skull.
Silas, observing her reaction, quickly penned another message: "You will d? ?in?, ??? qo?ion will d?in? ¦Ãou ?o ??? ?b?? o? ?l??q d??o?? i?''? ?ull ??????? m?ni????. I will d? d??? ?oon, ??? ??ow will w???? ov?? ¦Ãou."
Selen¡¯s head bobbed slightly as she nodded at Silas, her eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. The room, once filled with the scent of crushed herbs and the sound of bubbling potions, now felt like a distant, fading memory as her senses dulled.
Silas turned to Nyx, his voice steady as he said, ¡°I¡¯m going to visit our Inquisitor friend. Once the drip is done, wake Zinnia and begin investigating the strangeness in Sichal.¡±
Nyx flapped his wing in acknowledgment, his eyes fixed on the drip, ensuring it flowed smoothly into Selen¡¯s arm. The rhythmic dripping was the only sound in the room.
Satisfied that everything was in order, Silas straightened and prepared to leave. The room was now bathed in the warm embrace of the morning light, a great contrast to the night¡¯s earlier tension. As he stepped out, leaving Nyx to oversee Selen¡¯s treatment, the door closed softly behind him, leaving the room in tranquil silence.
Selen¡¯s mind drifted to the edge of consciousness, the effects of the potion taking hold. Her thoughts became disjointed, flickering between the here and now. She tried to focus on the sensation of the liquid coursing through her veins, but it was like trying to grasp water with her hands¡ªimpossible and fleeting.
The warmth of the sunlight mingled with the coolness of the potion, creating a confusing, surreal experience for Selen. Her senses were overwhelmed, each one battling for dominance. The scent of herbs still lingered in the air, mixed with the faint smell of the potion, sharp and metallic.
The room around her faded into a blur, the last thing she saw clearly was the faint outline of Nyx perched above her.
Umbres lay motionless on the cold, unforgiving floor of his cell, his body rendered useless by the paralytic that Silas had given him.
His eyes, crusted over from hours of immobility, struggled to see, and he found no comfort in the dull, gray surroundings of the prison. Speech and movement were impossible, leaving only his thoughts to keep him company.
Desperation gnawed at his mind as his thoughts spiraled into fervent prayers to Rovinius, the Divine he had devoted his life to. He pleaded for forgiveness¡ªfor himself, for the people of the world¡ªhis mind racing with questions he could not answer.
Why had the Divine allowed such a monstrous being to exist? How could a beast like that walk among them, unchallenged by the heavens? The jumble of "Why''s" and "How''s" consumed him, his faith shaken to its core.
In his mind¡¯s eye, he caught fleeting glimpses of that horrid face beneath Silas''s human exterior, twisted and transformed into something hideous.
Umbres shuddered inwardly, the paralytic preventing any outward sign of his distress. He knew that Silas was not done with him yet.
The thought chilled him to his soul, bringing him to a grim conclusion: perhaps the Divines had never truly forgiven the Great Betrayal. Perhaps Silas was a sign of that displeasure, a herald of a new era of suffering brought about from the Archbishops fears.
Then, a more horrifying thought began to take shape in his mind, clawing its way to the forefront of his consciousness: "Is it... another¡ or?"
The possibility hung over him like a dark cloud, and he was powerless to dismiss it.
What if Silas was-
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sound of the heavy, solid door of his cell creaking open. The noise was followed by the echoing footsteps of someone approaching, each step resonating in the small, confined space. Umbres¡¯s heart pounded in his chest, a frantic rhythm that seemed to scream for escape, even as his body remained frozen.
The door closed behind the visitor with a final, echoing thud. Umbres felt himself being rolled onto his back by the lazy push of a foot. As he came to rest, his eyes, blurry and pained, managed to focus on the figure standing above him. The worst of his fears was realized as he recognized the very source of his torment.
In that moment of terror, something within Umbres gave way. The paralytic might have rendered him immobile, but it had not reached every part of him.
His bladder, beyond his control, gave out, releasing a warm stream that soaked through his clothing and pooled beneath him. The humiliation only deepened his despair, but he could do nothing but stare up at the beast.
Silas, however pulled out a small tin box and ate one of the pills inside. His features slowly began to shift.
Chapter 41: The First Lie
Silas''s gaze locked onto the puddle beneath Umbres, the acrid scent wafting through the cell.
His lips curled into a mild smirk, the twisted amusement playing on his face. "Well, that''s unfortunate, isn''t it? Now we must endure your mess, my friend." His voice was low and raspy, carrying a playful venom, but each word slithered out with a chilling undertone.
Silas calmly tucked the tin of pills back into his satchel, his movements unhurried.
He knew full well the paralytic still held Umbres captive, leaving him frozen and helpless, unable to react. His eyes were wild with panic, yet unable to even shiver. They fixed on Silas¡¯s form as he transformed¡ªskin seeming to fold inward, revealing the terrifying reality beneath.
The false face of Senior Ji fell away, replaced by a visage more gaunt, more sinister. Eyes like polished onyx stared back at him, empty and soulless.
The Inquisitor''s silent horror deepened as Silas crouched, long calloused fingers closing around Umbres''s collar.
He dragged the paralyzed man toward the wall with a casual yank, as though the weight were inconsequential.
With a mocking tenderness, he set Umbres upright, propping him against the cold stone. Umbres¡¯s eyes, wide and stricken, saw everything now¡ªthe full, unrelenting nightmare that Silas truly was. A cruel smile twisted the creature¡¯s face, hollow and predatory.
"Do you know who I am?" Silas''s voice was soft, the mockery barely masked behind the question.
Inside his mind, Umbres was screaming¡ªwordless, panicked screams that echoed in the confines of his head. ''''No... no... no! This isn''t real! It can''t be! No one could survive that¡ªno one!''''
Silas cocked his head slightly, as if considering something. His smile widened, eyes narrowing in false sympathy. "Ah, my manners. Of course, you can¡¯t answer. How rude of me to forget."
With a fluid movement, Silas settled down, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor in front of Umbres, his hands resting loosely on his knees. The posture was disturbingly calm, but there was nothing peaceful about his presence. Every fiber of his being radiated something dark, something vile, something wrong.
"It pleases me that you¡¯re a devout of Rovinius," Silas mused, his tone light but dripping with derision. "I can appreciate that, you know. Knowledge over luck¡ªthat¡¯s a choice with some depth to it. Though I imagine the little Goddess Jrekisa would disagree. Luck''s so fickle, don¡¯t you think? Why do I bring it up? Well¡"
Umbres''s thoughts churned in panicked, desperate prayer, pleading to Rovinius for deliverance, for mercy. For this to all be a horrible, grotesque dream.
Silas, of course, didn¡¯t need to read minds to know the terror that gripped Umbres. He¡¯d seen it too many times to count. "Simply," he continued, his voice taking on a note of amused contemplation, "in all of the vast reaches of The Elrean Empire, across this giant southern continent of Ameras... how shit does someone''s luck have to be for you to stumble into me?"
He chuckled, the sound coarse and unsettling, like bones grinding together. "You must have the absolute worst luck in the world, my friend. And coming from me, that means something."
The smirk faded from Silas¡¯s face, replaced by a blank and indifferent look. His hollow smile disappeared entirely, leaving an emptiness that made the air feel heavier, more oppressive.
"But don¡¯t worry too much," Silas added, his voice eerily calm. "After today, you won¡¯t have to think about anything anymore. I promise."
Umbres¡¯s silent prayers grew more frantic, his mind reaching out for salvation, for an end to this waking nightmare.
Silas tilted his head back slightly, as though stretching, before casually continuing, "You know, there¡¯s something I¡¯ve been thinking about for a long time. You¡¯ll have a modest degree of time to consider it in your state. What makes a God? What criteria needs to be met for something to be Divine?"
Umbres¡¯s gut twisted painfully as nausea surged through him, bile rising in his throat. His mouth twitched uncontrollably, and vomit spilled out, dribbling down his chin and onto his lap.
"Ah, there it is," Silas said softly, tilting Umbres to the side with a gentle push. His fingers patted the back of the Inquisitor¡¯s head, as though consoling a child. "Easy now. Don¡¯t choke. We¡¯ve still got some time."
Silas wiped his hand on the Inquisitors hair before sitting back, his eyes locked onto Umbres¡¯s trembling form. "So, what is it? Is Divinity the power to reshape reality? If that¡¯s the case, anyone with the means to bend the world to their will could be considered a God."
The bile burned in Umbres¡¯s throat, his body betraying him at every turn. The paralysis held his limbs in place, but his eyes¡ªhis eyes couldn¡¯t look away from Silas. Couldn¡¯t escape the nightmare unfolding before him.
Silas continued, his voice a low hum in the confined space. "Take Jrekisa¡¯s Saintess¡ªshe can alter fate, twist fortune to her whims. Decimate a future or enhance it beyond belief. And I¡" His lips twisted into a cruel grin. "I butcher an entire army before the sun sets. Slaughter a city while walking through it. Would that prowess elevate me to Divinity? To Godhood?"
A faint groan escaped Umbres¡¯s throat, the sound weak and pitiful.
Silas didn¡¯t flinch, didn¡¯t blink. He reached into his satchel and retrieved a leather holster, placing it into the bile-stained puddle on the floor. Slowly, methodically, he opened it, revealing a series of metal tools. Each one more menacing than the last.
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The scalpel he chose first caught the small amount of light in the room, its edge impossibly sharp. Silas inspected it idly, turning it in his hand as though considering its use. "You see, I understand what you must think of me," Silas said, his voice casual, almost conversational. "Insane. Heretical. Perhaps even monstrous. You¡¯re not wrong, but you¡¯re not entirely right either."
The scrape of metal on leather as Silas laid out his tools sent shivers through Umbres, the sound cutting through his already fragile state of mind.
"Not too long ago, I might¡¯ve agreed with you," Silas mused, his hand absently rubbing his chin as he spoke. "I used to think of myself as quite the deranged creature. But now? Now, I¡¯ve come to appreciate my existence a little more over the last decade. I¡¯m not quite a person yet, you see. But we¡¯ll get there."
The scalpel hovered in Silas¡¯s hand as he turned his gaze back to Umbres, his smile returning, hollow and cold. "Once upon a time, I wouldn¡¯t have even bothered with this conversation. Would¡¯ve made short work of you. But now? Now I find this whole process... charming, in a way."
Umbres¡¯s vision swam, nausea tightening its grip on his gut. He wanted to scream, to beg, to plead for release, but the paralysis held him tight in its cruel embrace.
Silas leaned in, his breath brushing against Umbres¡¯s ear. "But enough of that. You look like you¡¯re suffering, my friend. So let me tell you a little story, while I begin to work. Something familiar. A lovely lie you¡¯ve probably heard before."
His voice dropped to a whisper, and as Silas spoke, his smile widened.
Silas yanked Umbres''s head forward with force, tipping him just enough to be in the perfect spot for his procedure. The stench of bile and urine mingled in the cell, thick in the stale air. His hands, calm and steady, reached for a sharp barber''s razor¡ªits steel glinting faintly in the cold dawn light creeping into the prison.
Without a word, Silas dipped the blade into the puddle of bile seeping across the floor. He let the fluid cling to the metal¡¯s spine before running it through Umbres''s hair, the slick substance acting as a crude lubricant.
Silas worked with slow precision, the sharp edge scraping away patches of hair from Umbres¡¯s skull. Clumps of hair fell to the floor, wet and foul. Umbres¡¯s eyes, wide with terror, were the only part of him that could move, darting frantically, pleading for mercy in a prison that gave none.
As Silas shaved the hair from one half of the scalp, his voice broke the silence with an eerie solemnity. "Of the great Nothing came forth the First Will," he began, his tone carrying a dark mockery, "from the Will came the Almighty. The Almighty saw the Nothing and found it lacking."
Each stroke of the razor scraped across Umbres¡¯s scalp, the blade making a soft, snicking sound as it stripped the last of the hair from the right side of his head. Umbres felt the cold air on his exposed skin, the sensation sharp and chilling against his fevered panic.
¡°With a wave of Its hand,¡± Silas continued, his voice smooth and almost soothing, ¡°The Almighty sundered the Nothing. The Nothing bled out its all-encompassing dominance, allowing The Almighty to begin Creation.¡±
He moved to the other side of Umbres¡¯s skull, repeating the process with the same ruthless precision. The scrape of the razor became the backdrop to his retelling, each stroke like a sentence punctuating the tale of the Divine.
"The Almighty then chose to sunder itself," Silas continued. "Of its fists were born the Goddess of War and the God of Justice. Of its legs, the God of Labour. And from Its loins, the Goddess of Life." He paused for effect, scraping the last of the hair away with the razor before casting it aside.
The sound of metal meeting stone rang out as Silas reached into his satchel and withdrew a thin brush. He dipped the bristles into a small vial of ink and began marking dotted lines across Umbres¡¯s freshly shaven scalp. The ink was cold against his skin, sending a shock of sensation through the nerves as Silas traced careful, geometric shapes. These were preparatory guidelines¡ªpreparation for something far darker than mere torture.
"Of Its heart," Silas continued, voice low and reverent, "was born the God of Honor. Of Its guts, the God of Death. Its liver bore the Goddess of Luck. And of Its brain," Silas¡¯s voice sharpened, ¡°the God of Knowledge.¡±
The brush hovered, lingering as Silas applied the ink with steady hands. He leaned in, speaking closer to Umbres¡¯s ear. "Of its spine," he whispered, "was born the Goddess of Craft. Its lungs gave birth to the God of Mischief. And from Its eyes, the Goddess of Fate came into existence."
Umbres¡¯s eyes were wild with terror, his mind racing with fear. He could feel the ink drying on his scalp. But there was nothing he could do to stop it. His body was paralyzed, trapped under the effects of Silas''s earlier venom. His prayers to Rovinius had become fractured, desperate cries in his mind, but none of them seemed to reach past the dark veil of horror enveloping him.
Silas set the brush aside, his smile widening ever so slightly as he pulled the scalpel from its holster. The blade, thin and glinting, caught the faint light filtering into the cell. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pressed the edge to one of the dotted lines on Umbres''s head, right above the temple.
"The soul," Silas said, his voice dropping to an even lower pitch, "gave birth to the God of Time."
Without a moment''s hesitation, Silas dragged the scalpel down, cutting along the inked line. Blood welled up from the incision, pooling along the razor-sharp path. Umbres¡¯s mind was a torrent of agony, every nerve on fire with the sensation of flesh being split open, but his body refused to scream. His own silence was a prison within a prison.
Silas moved methodically, cutting deeper, spreading the skin with his fingers as he worked.
"You see," he murmured, "This story teaches us more than we think. Of the Almighty¡¯s body, each god was formed, each aspect of the world given shape. And yet, what do we learn from this?" He sliced another line, the scalpel moving effortlessly through flesh and scalp. "That even the gods are made of something. Even divinity," he paused to wipe away the blood with a cloth, "has structure."
Umbres¡¯s vision blurred as pain overtook his senses, his mind fragmenting into shards of incoherent thoughts.
Silas moved with cold efficiency, carving through the flesh of Umbres¡¯s scalp like an artist shaping clay. His hands were steady, uncaring of the blood that now stained the floor, pooling in dark red puddles around Umbres¡¯s paralyzed form.
"However, I have always wondered,¡± Silas mused, his voice casual, "weather the Almighty ever regretted Its choices. Have his sundered aspects ended up as boons or as blights?" He pressed deeper, the scalpel gliding with chilling precision as he reached bone. "Perhaps you have wondered similar questions as well, Inquisitor of Rovinius. Does knowledge bring comfort? Or does it only deepen the despair when you realize how small you truly are?"
Umbres¡¯s mind screamed for release, for mercy, but none came. Each slice, each movement of the scalpel, pushed him further into despair. He could feel Silas¡¯s fingers probing beneath the skin, touching the very bone of his skull, preparing for something far worse than pain.
Silas withdrew the scalpel momentarily, examining his work with a clinical eye. The lines were perfect, the incisions precise. He glanced down at Umbres, his smile returning with a venomous twist. "You will not die here, Inquisitor. Not yet. After all, we still have to finish the story.''''
With that, he plunged the scalpel deeper, the blade scraping against bone as he began to peel back the layers of flesh.
Chapter 42: The Second Lie
Tharon, the God of Labour, was the first to step forward. His massive hands, forged from the very essence of strength, dug into the fabric of the void. From the Nothing, he carved the foundations of the world. He reached deep into the blackness, his fingers tearing at the endless expanse. Where his hands touched, stone and earth sprang forth. Tharon labored tirelessly, his breath heavy as he shaped the continents, the mountains rising under his guidance, valleys forming as he molded the land.
With each motion, he pushed the earth together, his strength bending the terrain into place. His sweat mingled with the stone, creating the rivers that would one day give life to the creatures that would walk the world. The earth groaned under his effort, but Tharon was relentless. He built the bones of the world, solid and unyielding, his creation the very foundation on which all else would rest.
"The paralytic also serves as a nice sedative," Silas said, his voice calm and detached. "You should not be feeling any pain."
Umbres''s silent scream echoed within his mind, a cacophony of agony that only he could hear.
Silas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Or was it a stimulant that enhances the experience? I was not in my right state of mind when I brewed some of these. Panic, you see, it gets to us all."
His expression remained neutral as he leaned over Umbres, his fingers gripping the sides of the Inquisitor''s temples. With a swift flick of his wrist, Silas popped open the top portion of Umbres''s skull, revealing the delicate meninges protecting his brain.
Silas grabbed another scalpel from his array of tools. "Why exactly is this happening to you? Bad luck," he said nonchalantly. "Why am I telling you a story that you already know while I do it? To make sure you remember it, after all¡ what kind of Inquisitor or Priest forgets such a thing."
He began to cut again, the scalpel approaching the membrane.
''''Now, where was I?''''
Selia, the Goddess of Life, watched as Tharon worked, her eyes filled with excitement. Once the land was shaped, she danced across it, her feet leaving trails of greenery in her wake. With a soft hum, she stretched her arms wide, and where her fingertips grazed the air, plants sprouted¡ªtrees, flowers, and vast forests. She breathed deeply, exhaling a soft, warm wind that swept over the land, filling it with the essence of life. The waters Tharon had created stirred with movement as fish and creatures began to fill the rivers and seas. Birds took flight from the trees, their songs filling the sky. Animals of all kinds roamed the plains, forests, and mountains, each one a part of Selia''s creation.
Her laughter echoed across the world, the sound a symphony of vitality. Life flourished under her touch, the world coming alive with a vibrancy that radiated from her very being.
But Valira, the Goddess of War, sneered at the peacefulness of it all. To her, a world without conflict was a stagnant world. With a single swing of her hand, she created storms that whipped through the skies, lightning cracking against the earth. Her presence was fire and fury, and wherever she walked, chaos followed. Volcanoes erupted from the ground, spewing molten rock that would burn the forests and reshape the mountains. Tornadoes spiraled into existence, tearing through the land. She carved rivers of lava through Tharon¡¯s solid stone, daring the others to restore balance.
¡°Nothing beautiful comes without struggle,¡± Valira declared. She scattered the seeds of war and conflict, ensuring that the creatures of the world would fight, adapt, and evolve.
"If you are curious why you are still conscious, it is an unfortunate necessity of modifying the mind. It is not so much you that I find useful, but what you shall become." Silas''s voice was a low murmur, almost tender, as he leaned over Umbres.
Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth, but Silas knew better than to mistake this for brain death.
"I am quite aware that you are still more than capable of hearing me," Silas continued, his tone still conversational. "Believe it or not, I could once do this with my bare hands. No cutting or tools required." He gave Umbres''s brain a gentle poke with a finger, feeling the slight resistance of the tissue.
Silas chuckled darkly. "Don''t you worry now, a little Energy coating will make sure this doesn''t spill into a pasty mush." He reached for a tool that looked like a retractor. In his other hand, he held a vial half filled with a green liquid containing a single squiggling maggot inside.
"Hmm, justice and honor come now if I recall the yarn¡" Silas mused aloud as he adjusted the retractor around a segment of Umbres''s exposed brain. The maggot inside the vial wriggled with an eager anticipation.
Oren, the God of Justice, stepped forward. His face was a mask of calm, but his hands trembled with the weight of his task. He touched the world Valira had scarred, and where his fingers pressed, balance returned. The molten rivers cooled, becoming fertile ground for new growth. The storms subsided, but not completely, for conflict must exist for justice to have meaning.
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He raised his hand, and the scales of justice hung in the air, unseen by the creatures below. Oren decreed that for every act of chaos, there would be an equal measure of order. His law was not one of peace, but of fairness. Those who took from others would find themselves judged. Those who waged war unjustly would feel the consequences of their actions. Oren¡¯s justice was sharp and swift, like the edge of a blade. The creatures of the world would know that their actions would not go unnoticed.
Probitas, the God of Honor, followed, a solemn figure. He stood beside Oren and spoke not of laws but of virtue. His voice echoed through the mountains and plains, and the creatures heard him. He whispered of loyalty, of bravery, and of sacrifice. His words were carried on the wind, filling the hearts of all living beings with the desire to stand tall, even in the face of adversity. Probitas¡¯s honor was the unbreakable oath, the promise that no matter the chaos or the conflict, there would always be those who would uphold what was right. His essence infused the world, giving strength to the righteous, and guiding warriors to fight with dignity.
"It does look like an insect, does it not? Yet, it is nothing more than a liquid given a small spark. I don''t have many of these left, so it is a sort of honor, no?" Silas''s voice was steady, clinical, as he observed the writhing ''maggot'' burrowing into Umbres''s exposed brain. The creature, a grotesque alchemical creation, gnawed at the exposed lobe.
Silas watched with detached curiosity as the maggot performed its grim task. It chewed away at the part of the brain responsible for memories on one side and regurgitated fresh brain matter seemingly untouched by time, as if Umbres was a newborn.
"I do believe you can hear a bit more before we have to begin rebuilding," Silas continued, his tone matter of fact. He leaned closer to Umbres, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the process. The maggot''s work was efficient. It was a marvel of alchemical engineering, one of Silas''s more ingenious creations.
Silas straightened up, wiping his hands on a cloth. "You see," he said softly, "memory is such a fragile thing. Easily taken apart and just as easily reconstructed." He glanced at the maggot again, noting its progress with satisfaction. "But first, we must clear away the old to make room for the new. Which coincidently brings us to Hiran and our favorite Most Knowledgable..."
From the shadows, Hiran, the God of Death, smiled as his brothers and sisters shaped the world. He knew that no matter how vibrant Selia¡¯s life was, or how strong Tharon¡¯s mountains stood, death would come for all. With a flick of his wrist, he wove the threads of mortality into the fabric of existence. The creatures of the world would live, but their time would be finite. Every life would have its end, every battle its final breath. His touch was cold, but it was not cruel. Hiran gave meaning to the struggles of the living, for without death, there could be no urgency, no reason to cherish the fleeting moments of life.
Jrekisa, the Goddess of Luck, danced through the newly formed world, her laughter light and whimsical. She scattered her influence like seeds in the wind, touching some creatures with favor and leaving others to chance. Luck would be fickle, she decided. Some would rise through fortune alone, while others, despite their strength or wisdom, would fall to misfortune. She spun the threads of fate, tying them loosely, letting chance rule where skill and strength faltered. Her touch ensured that not all outcomes could be predicted, and that the world would forever be a place of surprise.
Rovinius, the God of Knowledge, stood apart from his siblings, his gaze deep and contemplative. He reached into the core of the world, embedding hidden truths and ancient secrets into the very stone. Knowledge would not be freely given; it had to be earned. He planted the seeds of curiosity in the hearts of mortals, driving them to seek, to learn, and to uncover the mysteries he had hidden away. Some knowledge would lead to enlightenment, while others would bring madness, but all would fuel the endless quest for understanding.
Silas gently lifted the brain from Umbres''s skull, tugging slightly on the stem. He brought his face closer, inspecting it with a meticulous eye. No abnormalities presented themselves, but he blew a soft breath over it, dislodging a fine layer of dust.
"Well," Silas rasped, his voice low and amused, "I suppose it is fitting for an Inquisitor to have a dusty brain. But now it is time for you to become a Priest."
He released the brain, allowing the stem to pull it back into place. With a deft hand, he pinched shut the meninges and doused them in one of his healing brews. The liquid hissed softly as it made contact, sealing the delicate tissues seamlessly.
Silas moved behind the unmoving Umbres and carefully grabbed the top portion of his skull, resting it back atop his head. He took a moment to think, his mind wandering, "A few more minutes before I have to tell him who he is," Silas thought to himself. "May as well finish the story while I wait."
As the world took shape, Ithaera, the Goddess of Craft, brought order to the chaos of creation. She took the raw elements Tharon had forged and shaped them into tools, weapons, and structures. She taught the creatures of the world how to mold their surroundings, how to build and create. Her hands worked tirelessly, crafting wonders that would last through the ages. She gave form to the formless, and in her creations, the creatures found purpose.
Feyren, the God of Mischief, was not content to let the world settle into routine. He flitted between the others, adding touches of chaos wherever he went. He whispered tricks into the ears of mortals, turning noble deeds into folly and simple tasks into grand misadventures. His laughter echoed in the minds of the living, reminding them that not all was within their control. Feyren ensured that even in moments of peace, there would always be a spark of unpredictability, a reminder that the world was not to be taken too seriously.
Above them all, Serahiana, the Goddess of Fate, and Chronamos, the God of Time, watched in silence. Serahiana¡¯s hands wove the threads of destiny, her eyes seeing the paths of all living beings, from the moment of their birth to the hour of their death. She bound them to their fates, ensuring that no matter what choices they made, they would always end where they were meant to be.
Chronamos, silent and eternal, turned the wheel of time, watching as the world spun into being. He did not interfere, for he knew that all things would come to pass in their own time. He was the keeper of eternity, the one who would outlast even his brothers and sisters.
And so, the world was created¡ªa place of beauty and terror, of war and peace, of life and death. Each god and goddess had left their mark, their essence woven into the fabric of existence.
Chapter 43: See For Yourself
¡°You filthy slave!¡± Umbres''s voice cracked, hoarse from hours of screaming. His wrists, rubbed raw from the shackles Silas had fastened too tightly, trembled as he struggled, yanking with every ounce of strength he had left.
¡°Slave to the False Twelve!¡± His once-calm eyes, always laced with that irritating warmth, were wild now, unfocused, swimming with madness. ¡°You are nothing¡ªnothing but a servant of lies!¡± He strained forward, the chain dragging against the stone, a manic light flickering behind his eyes.
Silas leaned against the cold, unforgiving wall of the prison cell, half-slouched in the damp corner. He yawned, lazily adjusting his robe''s sleeve, now back to his persona of ''Senior Ji''.
His eyes flicked toward Umbres¡ªor rather, Ambri, as he would be known now¡ªbut only briefly, before half-closing again. He could barely muster the energy to care about the lunatic¡¯s ranting. After all, the paralytic that had frozen the man¡¯s limbs earlier had worn off, and Silas needed him lucid for this part of the performance.
The man before him was no longer the proud Umbres, the ruthless Inquisitor of Rovinius. No, Silas had destroyed that man hours ago, and in his place now stood a creature made entirely of lies and delusion: Ambri, a self-proclaimed Priest of a deity that had never existed, Aiel. A god whose name Silas had plucked from the air, like picking out a random piece of lint.
And yet, in Umbres¡¯s warped mind, this fiction had become reality. Every word he screamed, every accusation, every so-called prophecy, had been crafted by Silas himself.
Ambri thrashed again, and the dull clink of metal filled the room, a sound Silas had grown used to. ¡°You follow the corrupt! The deceivers!¡± Umbres¡¯s lips curled in disgust, spit flying with each frantic word. ¡°Aiel will cleanse this world, and when it does, you¡¯ll burn with the rest of them!¡± His voice pitched higher, shrill, as his conviction deepened. ¡°Aiel sees you, heathen!¡±
Silas ran a hand through his hair, his fingers moving lazily through the tangles.
Ambri¡¯s words washed over him like meaningless noise. They were all made up, conjured from his own invention in the moments after returning Umbres''s brain into his skull.
[Envy¡¯s Seduction] had worked beautifully, still maintaining a convincing disguise for Umbres as the Priest of Probitas. It would hold strong for weeks, keeping the man lost in the fog of Silas¡¯s design.
There was something almost enchanting in watching someone become the thing you told them they were.
Umbres believed he was Ambri. He believed in Aiel. He believed Silas was a servant of False gods. It was all fabricated, a tangled web of lies, but to Umbres, it was real. Real enough to make him the perfect physical scapegoat for the bloodshed at Starlight Bidders¡¯ Hall. A neat solution, with a handy puppet to take the fall.
Another yawn escaped Silas as he pushed himself off the wall. He strolled toward Umbres, ignoring the wild eyes that followed his every step. There was no hurry.
The show now was for anyone who might come later, not for the delusional wreck before him. Silas had to make it look convincing¡ªhad to make sure it appeared that Umbres had been properly interrogated. Senior Ji, after all, was not to be known for ''unwarranted'' violence.
Umbres¡¯s raving intensified as Silas closed the distance. ¡°You¡¯re blind! Blind to the truth!¡± His voice cracked, faltering for a moment as his breath hitched in his chest. His wrists strained again against the shackles. ¡°Aiel¡¯s light¡ª¡±
Silas grabbed a fistful of the man¡¯s filthy hair, jerking his head upward with casual force. The sharp crack of Umbres¡¯s knees scraping across the stone floor echoed through the small cell, but Silas didn¡¯t flinch. He glanced at the top of Umbres¡¯s skull, carefully inspecting the spot where he¡¯d performed the lobotomy. No visible marks. No scars. Good.
¡°Who do you serve?¡± Silas asked, his voice low, bored. He was barely paying attention as his fingers tightened in the matted hair.
Ambri growled, his teeth bared in defiance. ¡°I serve Aiel!¡± His chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps. ¡°I¡¯ll never speak to you! I¡¯d rather die than betray my god!¡± Spittle flew from his mouth, spraying Silas¡¯s neck.
For a moment, Silas didn¡¯t move. The spit slid down his skin in a warm, wet trail. Slowly, he reached up and wiped it away, his expression completely blank. His hand, now wet with the man¡¯s saliva, hovered for a moment before he calmly smeared it across Ambri¡¯s shoulder. The slickness of the spit mixed with the grime that already covered the man''s ragged clothes, but Silas didn¡¯t bother to look.
Instead, he drew his hand back, fist clenched, moving with deliberate slowness. He locked eyes with Ambri, whose face twisted in fear now, the fury replaced by something more primal. The crackling defiance in his eyes flickered, dimming under the weight of his impending pain.
Ambri¡¯s breaths came faster now, ragged gasps that filled the silence between them.
Silas¡¯s knuckles tightened, the slow-motion descent of his fist unfolding in front of Ambri¡¯s widened, terrified eyes.
Selen¡¯s eyes were terrifying, her pupils constricted to pinpricks as the effects of the [Headstart] potion took full hold. They looked hollow, her gaze vacant yet frantic, searching the world through a narrow tunnel that only she could see.
Her breath rasped in and out of her lungs, each inhale sharp, each exhale shallow. Froth gathered at the corners of her mouth, a small, but unsettling sign that the potion was working far too well.
The study materials Silas had left for her were spread out before her on the desk, and her bloodshot eyes raced across the pages with a fevered intensity.
Every line of text seared itself into her mind as though burned into her brain with a branding iron. Her fingers, pale and trembling, gripped the edges of the wooden desk so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her silver hair, once neat and composed, shook with each feverish movement, strands slipping free and tangling around her flushed face.
The atmosphere in the room was tense.
Nyx, perched atop Zinnia¡¯s head, was uncharacteristically still. His usual troublemaker demeanor had melted into something resembling mild concern¡ªor perhaps morbid curiosity.
His claws tapped against Zinnia¡¯s scalp in a rhythmic, absentminded pattern as he tilted his head, watching Selen with a mixture of bemusement and wariness.
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Zinnia had woken up groggy and disoriented around the same time that the IV had stopped its slow, steady drip.
Now, fully alert, she sat with her lips pressed into a hard line, watching the strange spectacle unfold before her. Selen¡¯s lips moved constantly, her voice no louder than a whisper, muttering in the Empire''s language as though every word had a different weight that she was trying to balance.
"Is that supposed to happen?" Zinnia asked at last, unable to mask the unease that had been building within her. She kept her gaze fixed on Selen but directed the question at Nyx, who shifted on her head, his claws pressing slightly deeper into her scalp.
Nyx let out a confident squawk in response, but the air around him felt far less certain than his tone. "Well¡ probably," his thoughts betrayed him. "Guess that¡¯s why only infants are supposed to take it."
Zinnia¡¯s unease deepened as she glanced back at Selen, whose movements had only become more erratic. She was twitching now, her hands darting back and forth across the pages, her fingers tracing the letters as if drawing power from them. Suddenly, Selen snapped her head around, locking eyes with Zinnia so abruptly that it sent a shiver down her spine.
For a brief moment, there was silence. A thick, unsettling pause hung in the air, so suffocating that Zinnia found herself holding her breath.
"I am tree!" Selen declared, her voice clear and surprisingly fluent in Livish, before immediately turning back to her notes with manic dedication.
Zinnia blinked, her mouth slightly agape. She stared at Selen, waiting for her to say something else, but the girl had already returned to furiously scrawling notes, the absurdity of her declaration seemingly forgotten.
Nyx, however, seemed to find the whole situation highly amusing. A squawk-chuckle escaped him, and he flopped onto the top of Zinnia''s head, hammering down on her head with his wing as if to contain his amusement.
Zinnia snapped her jaw shut, still too baffled to form a proper response. She cast another quick glance at Selen, her mind struggling to make sense of what had just transpired.
But the more she stared, the clearer it became that Selen was in no state to answer questions, let alone notice their presence anymore. The potion had taken full control, and all that remained was a driven, delirious scholar bent on mastering the Empire¡¯s language at a breakneck pace.
"Alright, that''s enough," Nyx concluded. He fluttered his wings, a bit of his old mischief returning, and began tugging at Zinnia¡¯s hair, pulling her roughly towards the door.
¡°Okay, okay!¡± Zinnia hissed, swatting at him. ¡°I¡¯m coming, relax!¡± But Nyx was insistent, his claws gripping her scalp like iron hooks, yanking her forward with surprising strength for such a small creature.
As Nyx tugged her relentlessly toward the exit, Zinnia gave one last glance over her shoulder at Selen. The girl was still absorbed in her work, feverishly flipping through pages, muttering fractured words under her breath. She looked lost to the world, consumed by the potion¡¯s manic influence.
With one final pull, Nyx guided Zinnia through the door, her feet stumbling slightly as she tried to keep pace with the crow¡¯s determination. The door clicked shut behind them with a soft thud, cutting off the strange, fevered murmurs that had filled the room.
In the relative quiet of the hallway, Zinnia straightened up, running her fingers through her disheveled hair with a frustrated sigh.
"You could be gentler~," Zinnia grumbled, giving the crow a sideways glance, still trying to rub out the soreness from where his claws had tugged too hard.
Nyx merely let out a contented squawk, clearly unfazed by her irritation. He ruffled his feathers, before jumping down to the floor and beginning to walk, completely at ease.
Poliana stood outside the prison, her breath a visible mist in the crisp dawn air. The cold bit at her skin, but her focus was on the task ahead. She cast a glance at one of her guards, a young man whose face had turned an unhealthy shade of pale. His unease was evident in the way his eyes darted nervously between her and the ground.
"Has Senior Ji come to interrogate the criminal?" Poliana¡¯s voice, though steady, carried an edge of urgency.
The guard swallowed hard before responding, his Adam¡¯s apple bobbing visibly in his throat. "Yes, Town Lord. He arrived four hours ago."
Poliana gave a brief nod, her mind already working through how best to approach Senior Ji. There were too many variables, too many unknowns with him, and with each passing minute, her potential situation grew more precarious. As she moved toward the prison door, the guard''s shaky voice interrupted her.
"Honorable Town Lord¡ everything was quiet for the first two hours¡ bu-but-t the last two have been¡" His voice trembled, his words faltering as he tried to find the right way to express his fear. "Terrifying."
Poliana raised an eyebrow at the statement, intrigued but cautious. Before she could ask for clarification, a blood-curdling scream tore through the air. The sound echoed down the stone corridors, raw and primal, the kind of scream that came from someone who had abandoned all hope. It sent a chill down her spine, and she wasn¡¯t the type to be easily rattled. She turned her attention back to the guard, who looked as though he might collapse.
"Thank you," Poliana said, slipping him a few large notes of Reshal, the currency rustling softly in the cold air as she handed it over. The guard''s eyes widened in surprise as she winked at him. "You''ve heard nothing. Consider your Brenmari bonus has come early."
The guard¡¯s face relaxed slightly as he pocketed the bribe, his relief palpable. He saluted her, though it was a shaky gesture at best. "Be careful, Ma''am," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
Poliana gave him a curt nod before continuing down the hall, her boots making a rhythmic, hollow sound against the stone floor. The air seemed to grow colder the further she ventured into the prison, the temperature dropping noticeably as she neared the thick, iron-bound door that housed the man who claimed to be Inquisitor Umbres.
She had done her due diligence. The Bishops of Rovinius had confirmed that an Inquisitor by that name had indeed been dispatched to Sichal. It complicated things in ways she hadn''t anticipated. The confirmation of his identity cast a shadow over everything.
Umbres¡ªor the man calling himself Umbres¡ªhad official ties, which meant she had to tread carefully. This information needed to be shared with Ji, and soon. But the question remained: was the man inside truly Umbres, or had something untoward happened to the true Inquisitor?
As she reached for the door handle, her hand inches from the cold metal, the door swung open from within. Poliana instinctively took a step back, her eyes locking onto the figure standing in the doorway. Senior Ji.
His appearance startled her for just a moment¡ªhis eyes, usually a soft, gentle blue, appeared as dark as a moonless night, an abyss staring back at her. But just as quickly as it had happened, the blackness in his eyes flickered, shifting back to that familiar pale blue. A trick of the light, she told herself.
Her gaze drifted lower, and she couldn¡¯t help but notice his right sleeve. It was discolored, soaked through with some dark red fluid, its wetness evident from the way it dripped steadily onto the stone floor beneath him. Blood? Something darker? Poliana¡¯s mind raced, but her face betrayed none of the thoughts swirling behind her calm exterior.
Before she could open her mouth to ask, Ji¡¯s lips curled into a smile, though it didn¡¯t reach his eyes. "I was just on my way to retrieve you, Town Lord," he said, his voice smooth, pleasant, as though nothing unusual had occurred in the past four hours. His casual tone was unnerving.
Poliana tried to steady herself, but goosebumps prickled along her aged arms despite her efforts to maintain composure. Something felt off, deeply off. She had worked with nutjobs enough times to know that she could expect anything. But this... whatever had been happening inside that room¡ felt different.
"What¡¯s the situation?" Poliana asked, forcing her voice to remain calm, though her body instinctively wanted to step back from him. The smell that wafted from the open door was faint but unmistakable¡ªmetallic, sharp, the scent of blood mingled with something more acrid, something that didn¡¯t belong. Her eyes flickered to the door behind him, half-expecting to hear another scream from within, but all she could hear now was the soft drip of liquid hitting the stone floor.
Ji didn¡¯t seem to notice her tension. Or if he did, he gave no indication. His smile remained, though there was a coolness behind it that unsettled her. "The Inquisitor has ended up... more cooperative than I anticipated," he said, his tone laced with a strange amusement. He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter the room. "Would you care to see for yourself?"
Poliana hesitated, just for a moment, before straightening her spine. She stepped inside.
Chapter 44: Oddities
The quill scratched across the parchment, its tip catching slightly as it glided over the ink-streaked paper. The man leaned in closer, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Symbols and numbers lined the sheet, dense and intricate, filling every available inch. He paused, the ache in his wrist shooting up his arm, and he set the quill down, rubbing the swollen joint with a grimace.
His fingers, discolored from the constant pressure, trembled slightly. He had been at this for hours, perhaps longer¡ªhe wasn¡¯t sure anymore. Time seemed to blur when he was working, as if the very act of writing consumed everything else.
He glanced around the room, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. The grandeur of his surroundings did nothing to soothe the gnawing unease building inside him. Thick velvet drapes hung heavy at the windows, shutting out the daylight, and the ornate wooden desk beneath his arms was polished to a gleam. The quiet tick of a clock somewhere behind him was the only sound, but it felt distant, as though muffled by the weight of his own thoughts.
His eyes returned to the parchment. For a moment, he hesitated, fingers hovering just above the quill. Why am I doing this? he thought, a sudden surge of frustration rising in his chest. His gaze drifted back to the intricate calculations before him, the endless numbers twisting into patterns he couldn''t fully comprehend. There was a reason for it, wasn''t there? There had to be. But the more he searched for the purpose, the further it seemed to slip from his grasp.
With a sharp intake of breath, he stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with such force that it nearly toppled over. His hand shot into the air, trembling with indignation, ready to demand answers. His mouth opened, but no sound came. He blinked. The question¡ªthe burning need to understand¡ªfaded like smoke dissipating in the wind. Slowly, his arm fell to his side, his expression blank and distant. He stared at the parchment as if seeing it for the first time, and then, without another thought, he sat back down and picked up the quill, resuming his work as if nothing had happened.
At the same time within the slums, a large man stirred in the corner, his broad chest rising and falling steadily as he slept. Suddenly, he sat up, his body stiff and his muscles taut, as though responding to some unseen cue. He stretched his arms above his head, his fingers flexing until his knuckles cracked, the sound echoing off the thin walls. Another sharp crack followed as he rolled his neck from side to side, a yawn escaping his mouth.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood, his massive frame taking up most of the room. The wooden floor creaked under his weight as he moved toward the table. A woman was there, her hair matted with grease and dirt, her face streaked with grime. She worked quietly, setting out a bowl of stew and a piece of stale bread. Her movements were slow, as she placed the items down with care. Her eyes flicked upward as the man approached, and she put on a smile, her lips parting awkwardly.
¡°Good morning,¡± she said, her voice rising in cheer, the words coming out almost instinctively.
The man, already reaching for the wooden cup on the table, mirrored her smile. ¡°Good morning,¡± he replied, the enthusiasm in his voice a reflection of hers, as though pulled from some compulsion to respond in kind.
He lifted the cup to his mouth, but it struck his chin instead. He adjusted, tilting his head slightly, but missed again, this time spilling water just below his lip. A faint growl rumbled in his throat, barely audible, before he corrected his aim and finally drank. Water sloshed down the sides of his mouth, soaking into the collar of his worn shirt. The woman¡¯s eyes flashed with irritation, her lips pulling back into a snarl, though she quickly covered it with another smile.
The man lowered the cup and noticed the small fractures running through the wood where his fingers had pressed too hard. His thick brows furrowed, but he said nothing, only frowning at the damage. He reached for the bread and dunked it into the bowl of stew, letting the soggy piece hang in the air for a moment. His head began to lean forward, lips parting as if to drink directly from the bowl.
¡°No,¡± the woman hissed sharply, her voice low and venomous. Her hand twitched at her side, fingers curling briefly into claws.
The man froze mid-motion, blinking slowly as he processed the sound. He straightened, pulling back from the bowl, his eyes falling to the spoon that lay beside it. He reached for it with an awkward pinch of his fingers, his grip almost too tight for the delicate utensil. Slowly, he brought the spoon to his mouth, eating in small, careful bites.
The woman watched him, her eyes narrowing as he fumbled with the spoon. The room fell silent once more, save for the occasional clatter of the spoon against the bowl and the man¡¯s steady, rhythmic chewing.
Outside, the faint sounds of the slums waking up began to filter through the window¡ªthe distant murmur of voices, the creak of carts being pulled along uneven streets. But within the walls of the small room, there was only the sound of their shared routine, repeated and practiced, day after day.
The man finished his meal, his movements ungraceful, almost animalistic, though he didn¡¯t seem to notice. His hand lingered over the empty bowl, fingers twitching slightly.
Nyx perched on the ragged rooftop, his dark feathers blending into the shadows as he preened his wing. Around him, a dozen other crows shuffled and pecked at their own feathers, some hopping to different spots on the rooftop, others watching the slum below. Nyx¡¯s sharp eyes took in the scene beneath him¡ªbustling, but off. Something in the way the slum dwellers moved, how they carried themselves, didn¡¯t sit right with him. They were energetic in a way that clashed with the broken surroundings.
He mulled over possible reasons for the strange behavior. Maybe it was the way things worked here in Sichal¡¯s underbelly. He dismissed it as quickly as it came¡ªno slum this grim had people walking about with that much purpose without reason. As he pondered, one of the other crows, bold and foolish, edged closer to Nyx, giving him a sharp jab with its beak. Nyx snapped around, his beak clicking in annoyance. He squawked, something akin to, ¡°Not now,¡± and the offender hopped away, startled by the aggression.
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Nyx shook out his feathers, the irritation fading. He cast a brief thought to Zinnia. She was likely among the moneybags of the city, fishing for answers. He wasn¡¯t concerned about how she¡¯d fare. A crook like her would probably find something. And if she didn¡¯t, well, it wouldn¡¯t surprise him. His expectations were low, and they didn¡¯t need to be any higher.
His attention snapped back to the slums, eyes narrowing as he observed something peculiar. The slum dwellers¡ªthey only smiled when they were inside their homes. But as soon as they stepped out, their expressions darkened, their faces drawn and sour. The difference was striking, almost as if they¡¯d switched masks at the doorway. Inside, they played at being happy, mimicking some half-remembered routine. Outside, they became the bitter workers they were expected to be. But why? Nyx couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something else was at play.
With a flap of his wings, Nyx swooped down to a lower perch, settling on a ledge just above a gathering of laborers. They were clustered around a city official who was offering work¡ªstreet cleaning, judging by the tools scattered around. The pay was five hundred Reshal for the day, enough to feed a family of four and afford some cheap drink. As the official spoke, a grunt rose from the crowd. The official turned, offering to lower the pay. More grunts followed, the price dropping steadily.
Nyx tilted his head, watching as the bidding dropped to one hundred and fifty Reshal¡ªbarely enough to feed one. He clicked his beak in amusement. It was a game of desperation, one where the workers undercut themselves just to survive. He decided to test something. He threw his voice, sending out a grunt from the crowd, subtle but distinct.
The reaction was immediate. The laborers froze, confusion spreading across their faces. They looked around, bewildered, as if they¡¯d forgotten how to respond. Their confusion deepened when the official muttered, ¡°Been a while since someone went lower.¡± He asked again, offering the chance for anyone to bid less, but the laborers just stood there, scratching their heads, backing away in uncertainty.
Nyx squawked quietly to himself. The reaction was far more than he expected.
Eventually, the last laborer who had bid before Nyx¡¯s interference stepped forward. His face was blank, almost dazed, as he told the official, ¡°I¡¯ll take the job.¡±
The official frowned. ¡°Did you bid against yourself?¡±
The man nodded, his response mechanical. ¡°Yes.¡±
The official shrugged, handing over the tools as if this strange interaction were just another part of the day. Nyx scratched the back of his head with a wing, watching the man walk away. It didn¡¯t make sense. The laborers had fallen into chaos over a simple sound, something that should have barely registered, yet here they were, acting as though a declaration of war came to the Empire.
¡°Huh¡¡± Nyx squawked, ruffling his feathers.
A voice grated through the market, rough and high-pitched, laced with frustration. The owner''s thin hair wafting on the breeze, the mustache perched above his lip twitching with every angry word. His thick fingers jabbed toward the crystal supplier across from him.
¡°Late again! You think I¡¯m blind, don¡¯t you? Price gouging, broken promises¡ªthis is the third time this month!¡± he snapped, his face red with fury. The supplier, a smaller man, flinched but said nothing, his eyes fixed on the ground as the merchant ranted.
Behind the merchant stood a young woman, her head lowered, hands folded in front of her. She wore a plain grey dress, her demeanor meek, invisible in the morning market. She was meant to be no one of consequence, a simple maid waiting for her master to finish his business.
But the truth beneath that illusion was something else entirely. Zinnia, hidden beneath the layers of her disguise, kept her gaze lowered, listening to the merchant¡¯s ranting with the patience of someone who had already won the game.
Henkel, the old pervert, had no idea who he was dealing with. She knew him well¡ªbetter than he¡¯d ever know. Years ago, she had smuggled young Human girls and aged Elves for him, feeding his disgusting appetites. She had learned how to play him back then, how to manipulate him.
Taking on the appearance of the kind of girl he liked¡ªmodest, quiet, desperate for work¡ªwas laughably easy. She had spun a story of a younger sibling to feed, a poor lass down on her luck, and Henkel had devoured it. The bastard had barely kept his eyes off her since she first approached him.
Perfect.
She followed a few paces behind as he gestured angrily to the supplier. The argument dragged on, Henkel¡¯s voice rising and falling as he accused, demanded, and threatened.
Zinnia let the sounds blur in her mind, her focus elsewhere. Soon, she¡¯d have what she needed: access. Henkel believed he was bringing home a new servant, someone to clean up after him, to wait on him and more than likely screw him. But Zinnia had no intention of being his maid for long. She¡¯d have him knocked out and hogtied the instant the door shut. A few seconds, that¡¯s all she¡¯d need.
Once he was down, she could search his home, room by room. And get some nice souvenirs. Henkel didn¡¯t know it yet, but he was about to lose a lot more than his new ¡°maid.¡±
The merchant finally waved the supplier off with a dismissive snort, turning with a grimace. Zinnia followed as he made his way toward the Artificer¡¯s Guild. His exclusive contract with them was what made him a powerful player in Sichal. He was their sole supplier of materials, and in this city, that meant he had sway. If anyone was going to be involved in a town wide mess, it was going to be him.
Henkel went into the guild, staying inside longer than usual. When he emerged, his face was twisted in a frown, deeper than the one he wore earlier.
Something hadn¡¯t gone his way, it seemed. Zinnia noted the change, watching him closely as he made his way back through the market, walking faster now.
Noon was approaching.
By the time they reached his home, Henkel¡¯s pace had slowed. He was muttering to himself, though Zinnia couldn¡¯t catch the words. His mind was clearly preoccupied with whatever business had soured his mood at the guild. Zinnia smirked beneath her illusion, knowing she could exploit his distraction.
Once inside, it wouldn¡¯t take long. A quick choke, bind his wrists, and gag him. She figured she had a solid window to search for any clues to what was happening or valuables he might be hiding.
Although, he¡¯d regain consciousness soon enough, but perhaps with his own undergarment ripped off and shoved into his mouth, there wouldn¡¯t be much he could do about it.
But as they reached the door, something strange happened. Henkel placed his hand on the handle, twisted it, and pushed the door open. Then he stopped. Slowly, he turned to face her, his expression calm, serene. His eyes, which had gleamed with lechery just moments ago, now seemed distant. His lips curled into an unsettling smile.
¡°I have important work to do,¡± he said softly, almost reverently. ¡°I will require no maid to disturb me.¡±
Before Zinnia could react, Henkel waved a hand at her, a gentle shooing motion, and then stepped inside, slamming the door behind him with a finality that left her standing in stunned silence on his doorstep.
She blinked, staring at the closed door for a long moment. Slowly, her hand came to rest on her hip, her mind still trying to make sense of what just happened.
¡°What... the... fuck?¡± she muttered aloud, her voice heavy with disbelief.
Chapter 45: Strange
Henkel wasted no time as he entered his home, his steps purposeful and brisk as he made his way to the study. The door groaned shut behind him, and before the sound had fully faded, the familiar scratching of quill on parchment filled the air.
He hunched over his desk, his hand moving feverishly across the page, leaving behind dense, cryptic equations and symbols. There was no pause, no hesitation, as though his hand operated without direction from his mind. The scent of musky old leather thickened the air, subtle at first but growing with each hurried stroke of the quill.
Outside, Zinnia crouched by the back window, gripping a glass cutter with firm hands. The plan to seduce Henkel had fizzled out in an unexpectedly dismissive manner, much to her annoyance.
She had been ready to play her part, but the old pervert had tossed her out of his house as though she didn¡¯t matter, a serene calm taking over his usual lecherous demeanor. Now, she found herself back at square one.
"Should¡¯ve just done this from the start~," she thought, frustrated.
Carefully, she pressed the glass cutter to the window, carving out a neat circle in the glass. The familiar tension from breaking and entering settled into her muscles, an old, comfortable sensation.
She tapped the glass lightly and removed the piece, slipping inside with grace. Her boots landed soundlessly on the floor, and she crouched low for a moment, holding her breath.
Once she was sure the coast was clear, Zinnia calmed her breathing and let her Energy flow outward. The sensation was like an invisible ripple spreading through the room, brushing against the walls and corners, exploring every inch of the space, taking in every possible detail.
As an Illusionist, this ''sixth sense'' had always been her advantage. Her Energy slipped through the house, checking for wards, traps, or any cultivator-level protections. Nothing. The house was eerily quiet¡ªtoo quiet for someone of Henkel¡¯s wealth and position.
''''Strange,'''' she thought. She¡¯d expected servants to be walking about or at least some background noise, but there was none. It was as if Henkel lived in a vacuum, his home untouched by the usual rhythms of life.
Still, Zinnia pushed the discomfort aside, her focus sharp.
As she moved further into the house, the scent of musky leather grew stronger, sticking to the air like a dense fog. The strange smell gnawed at her senses, but she dismissed it, focusing instead on her mission. Her footsteps were soft, her movements deliberate as she made her way down the hall toward the study. The only sound was the steady scratching of Henkel¡¯s quill, a rhythmic noise that echoed faintly through the empty house.
Zinnia arrived at the study door, crouching low and pressing her eye to the keyhole. Through the narrow view, she watched Henkel hunched over his desk, writing with a mechanical precision that felt unnatural.
His hand flew across the page, filling the parchment with rows of numbers and symbols. His body was stiff, locked into place as if the act of writing consumed him entirely.
Zinnia¡¯s brow furrowed as she watched, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her mind.
He wrote without pause, his hand moving so consistently that it gave the impression he was a puppet, strings tugging at his limbs. For a brief moment, the thought of possession crossed her mind, but she shook her head. Ghost Cultivators were the stuff of children¡¯s tales¡ªold wives'' stories meant to scare people into staying indoors at night.
She shifted her focus, funneling her Energy into her eye, sharpening her vision through the keyhole. The narrow view expanded, stretching the angle of her sight so she could see more of the room. The crackling of fire caught her attention, and she noticed the fireplace was lit, flames dancing brightly within.
That was strange. The house wasn¡¯t cold, not even close to warranting the need for a fire. So why would he light one?
Before she could puzzle over it, Henkel stood abruptly, his chair scraping the floor as he pushed it back. His hand clutched the parchment tightly as he marched toward the fireplace, his steps hurried and rigid. Zinnia¡¯s eyes narrowed as she watched him throw the parchment into the flames without a second thought.
The paper caught fire instantly, curling into ash, and for a brief moment, the ash glowed a dull blue before disintegrating completely. The musky scent in the air intensified, filling the room with an overwhelming density.
Henkel returned to his desk, his movements just as mechanical as before. He grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment and immediately began writing again, as though the act of burning the last one had no significance at all. Zinnia¡¯s frown deepened. What was he doing? Why burn the parchment, only to start again with the same manic focus? She couldn¡¯t make sense of it.
Crouched at the door, Zinnia waited, her eye still trained on Henkel. The room¡¯s atmosphere felt heavy, oppressive even, and the musky scent clung to her like a second skin.
A faint wriggling sensation began to stir in her chest, a discomfort that sat just beneath the surface. She shifted slightly, dismissing the feeling as nerves, but it lingered, gnawing at the edges of her awareness.
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Henkel stood again, his routine unbroken. He carried the newly filled parchment to the fire, tossed it into the flames, and watched as it burned. The blue ash flared up once more, and the musky scent hit Zinnia harder this time, thickening in the air around her. She pressed a hand to her chest, the strange sensation growing stronger, like something was crawling inside her, but she pushed the discomfort aside. Her focus remained on Henkel.
He returned to his desk yet again, grabbing another blank sheet of parchment and setting to work. The quill scratched across the page with the same unrelenting speed. Zinnia¡¯s pupils dilated, though she didn¡¯t notice. Her attention was locked on Henkel¡¯s bizarre behavior, the wriggling in her chest ignored as her curiosity deepened.
Henkel repeated the process a third time¡ªwriting, burning, returning to his desk to begin again. Zinnia¡¯s breath caught for a moment as the scent in the room became nearly suffocating, thick and pungent. She blinked, trying to shake off the strange fog that had settled over her senses, but it lingered. Something was wrong here, deeply wrong, but she couldn¡¯t yet place it. Yet, she felt compelled to stay.
For now, she would wait and watch, her eyes trained on Henkel as he moved with unnerving precision, the musky scent tightening its grip on the air around her¡
Nyx crouched deeper into the shadows, his feathers blending seamlessly with the darkness around him.
The slums of Sichal were alive with their usual chorus¡ªdistant murmurs, raised voices, the clatter of boots on cobblestones. Yet, despite the bustle, something about the rhythm of the slum gnawed at him. It wasn¡¯t the noise or the chaos; it was the subtle offbeat that lingered just beneath it all.
Nyx¡¯s sharp eyes swept over the crowd, picking up on the movements and conversations, lingering on the small details others would miss.
A group of women gathered near a vendor, their voices raised in frustration as they haggled over the price of bread. One of them, her dirty blonde hair tied back with a faded ribbon, leaned forward aggressively, her voice rising as she gestured toward the vendor. Nyx watched her closely, tilting his head. Her face twisted in anger, but there was a slight delay to her movements, as if she had to remind herself how to act angry. The small gap between the emotion and the reaction prickled the back of his mind.
Not far from her, Nyx¡¯s attention was pulled to another woman, a working girl by the looks of her threadbare clothing, which had been deliberately torn to expose just enough skin to pass for seduction. Her lips were curled in a scowl, her arms crossed as she listened to the bickering women nearby. But it wasn¡¯t her posture or her demeanor that struck Nyx¡ªit was her tongue.
As the argument escalated, the woman¡¯s tongue flicked out in irritation. It was long, unnaturally long, and left behind a faint gleam of blue on her lips, as though she had licked something more than just the air. It was quick, almost too fast to catch, and none of the others seemed to notice it. Not the vendor, not the women beside her. It was as if it hadn¡¯t happened at all. Nyx blinked, his feathers bristling slightly.
''''Strange'''', he thought. He had seen many things in his time, but a tongue like that, in such an unremarkable moment, was new even to him.
The argument continued, the voices rising higher, but Nyx¡¯s attention had already shifted.
Further down the street, a group of laborers were loading crates onto a cart. They grumbled about the weight of the boxes, their voices laced with exhaustion, but Nyx noticed how one of them¡ªa lanky man with filthy hands¡ªmoved.
He handled the crate awkwardly, just ever so slightly slower that the rest, as if he was trying to mimic the sluggishness of his companions but hadn¡¯t quite figured it out. His grip faltered, and the crate slipped from his fingers before he caught it again, his body reacting a split second later than it should have.
The man beside him gave a short bark of laughter, but it was hollow, almost reflexive, as if the sound had been pulled from him rather than felt.
The others didn¡¯t seem to notice, going about their work with the same disjointed rhythm that was becoming all too familiar to Nyx.
He clicked his beak softly, narrowing his eyes. Nothing was glaringly wrong, aside from the tongue on the prostitute, but these small moments¡ªthe delayed movements, the hollow reactions¡ªwere stacking up. There was a rhythm here, a pattern, but it was out of sync, as if the entire slum was slightly off-beat.
Nyx shifted his position, flitting silently to another perch. He was now on the edge of a low rooftop, his gaze tracking the people below as they went about their routines. A pair of beggars sat slumped near a crumbling wall, their hands outstretched as they begged for coins. The older man muttered under his breath, his head hanging low, while the younger boy beside him¡ªhis arm twisted and deformed¡ªreached out to a passerby with jerky, hesitant movements.
Nyx watched as the boy¡¯s hand trembled, then stilled, as if he had forgotten what he was supposed to be doing. A coin was tossed in his direction, and the boy¡¯s hand snapped up, quicker than Nyx would have expected, the motion too sharp for someone who had been so sluggish just moments before. The boy pocketed the coin without even looking at it, his face rather blank considering his ''windfall''. Another small oddity. Another piece of the puzzle.
He moved on, his wings silent in the noise of the slum. As he shifted to a better vantage point, Nyx noted even more events¡ªa haggler¡¯s hand twitching too long as he gestured over a deal, a woman¡¯s laughter ringing out louder than necessary in response to a joke that wasn¡¯t particularly funny, the way a laborer sliced through a piece of wood with precision far too sharp for a rusted saw. It wasn¡¯t that anything was outright wrong. It just didn¡¯t feel entirely right either.
Nyx¡¯s eyes flickered to a man walking alone toward a narrow alley. The man was nondescript¡ªdressed in simple, worn clothing, his face drawn in the familiar mask of exhaustion that coated most of the slum¡¯s residents. There was nothing that set him apart from the others, nothing that would catch anyone¡¯s attention. But something about the way he walked tugged at Nyx¡¯s mind.
The man¡¯s steps were sluggish, sliding across the ground more than lifting, his feet barely leaving the cobblestones as he made his way toward the alley. His movements lacked any real urgency, as if he had nowhere to be and no real reason to get there. Nyx watched him for a moment longer, his beak clicking softly as he weighed his options.
With a quick beat of his wings, Nyx swooped down from his perch, landing silently in the alley just as the man turned the corner. The man didn¡¯t notice him at first, his back to the crow as he rubbed at the back of his neck, a low grunt escaping his throat. Nyx edged closer, his wings stretching wide as he moved closer.
The man paused mid-motion, his hand freezing on the back of his neck as though he sensed something. But before he could react, Nyx darted forward, his talons wrapping tightly around the man¡¯s neck.
Chapter 46: Duped
Poliana''s face twisted in shock as she took in the grisly scene before her. The criminal lay on the floor convulsing, his body trembling uncontrollably, spit and muttered nonsense spilling from his mouth.
His right hand had been flayed, the raw flesh exposed to the dank air of the prison, and the left side of his face was more bruised flesh than healthy skin, swollen and torn with jagged teeth protruding from his cheek. The stench of blood, sweat, and the unmistakable tang of urine hung heavy in the room, making her stomach churn slightly.
Silas stood beside the broken man, his blood-soaked sleeve dripping, his eyes calm. He spoke first, his voice a low rasp. "The noble Town Lord has arrived," he said, addressing Poliana without turning. His lips curled in amusement as he glanced at the quivering body on the floor. "Repeat to her what you just told me, my heretical friend."
The man¡ªonce a proud Inquisitor, now reduced to a muttering wreck¡ªshuddered, his breaths shallow and uneven. His voice wavered with fear, but he spoke as commanded, choking out the words. "I am Ambri De Lumas! Servant... and Priest of the Everlight Aiel! I was called forth by the Flock... to gather funding for the Great Return!"
Poliana blinked, her moment of shock giving way to an icy calm. She stepped closer, her boots making soft thuds on the damp stone floor. "What is this Aiel? What Flock, and what in Rovinius''s name is the Great Return?" Her voice was sharp, demanding clarity as her gaze bore into Ambri, who trembled before her.
The mention of his God sparked a faint flicker of energy in Ambri¡¯s eyes. He stammered with renewed fervor. "The Everlight... is the final gift of the Almighty, cast down from his rightful place by his treasonous children."
Before Ambri could speak further, Silas cut him off, his voice cold, dismissive. "Some sort of heretical deity, imagined to be a precursor of the Twelve Gods... not quite the interesting twist I was hoping for, wouldn¡¯t you say?" He sounded bored, the cruel edge in his words barely masked.
Poliana raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with disbelief. "You hoped for something more interesting?" She studied Silas, wondering how a man could be so nonchalant about what was clearly a well-established Heresy¡ªone powerful enough that its followers could steal the power of true Faith and use it to perform miracles.
Silas shrugged, the motion causing his blood-soaked sleeve to squelch with a wet, nauseating sound. "It¡¯s not the first time," he replied, as if they were discussing an academic theory rather than a man proclaiming the existence of a new God granting cultivators power. "Perhaps a Crusade shall be called?"
Poliana''s eye twitched at the thought. "If it comes to that, I doubt the Churches will find many volunteers." Her voice was low, strained.
Silas smiled thinly. "I¡¯m sure there will be enough." He turned back to the broken man. "Now, Ambri, would you kindly explain your Flock and this ¡®Great Return¡¯ to the Town Lord."
Ambri groaned, squeezing out a whisper, "We who know the Everlight are the Flock. The Great Return... is when the central countries fall in blood and fire... to mark the return of Aiel."
Poliana inhaled deeply, but immediately regretted it, the acrid stench of blood and bodily fluids filling her lungs. She suppressed a cough and asked, her voice cold and measured, "Why attack Rhysling¡¯s auction specifically? How did you manage to get to Sichal so quickly after?"
Ambri wheezed, his body shaking with every breath. "An opulence of wealth... was to be a gift to The Everlight... I..." He hesitated, his eyes darting wildly as if searching for a way out. "I... I was never there."
Poliana¡¯s eyes narrowed, her stare cold enough to freeze the very air. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, and a thin layer of frost began creeping along the stone floor. "Explain," she demanded, her voice icy.
Ambri¡¯s eyes rolled back into his head as his body slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Silas regarded the unconscious form with a casual glance. "Hmm, perhaps I overestimated the lad¡¯s tolerance," he spoke softly, taking a step toward Ambri.
"One moment, Town Lord." Without hesitation, Silas placed a boot on Ambri¡¯s chest and extended his hand. A bead of clear liquid, like water, formed on the tip of his finger, hanging for a moment before it dripped onto Ambri¡¯s exposed skin.
The second the liquid made contact, a horrific sizzling sound filled the air, the scent of burning flesh quickly overpowering the already foul atmosphere. Ambri¡¯s eyes shot open, and he let out a blood-curdling scream, his entire body convulsing as he shouted. "[Mind Displacement]!"
The guard who had accepted Poliana''s earlier bribe to play dumb. stood trembling at the entrance of the prison, his face pale as another agonized scream tore through the chamber.
Silas withdrew his hand, stepping back as Ambri¡¯s sobs echoed off the cold walls. He turned to Poliana, his tone light. "Now, where were we?"
Outside the theatre, the sun hung high in the sky, casting a sharp light over the streets of Sichal. People moved in waves, some stopping to admire the grand building while others drifted toward the market stalls, the noise of the city filling the air with a steady hum.
Standing just outside the theatre¡¯s entrance, Gabri, the taller and broader of two brothers, turned to his younger sibling, Imael, his expression dark.
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¡°They attacked mother,¡± Gabri growled, his voice low and tight with anger. His fists clenched by his sides, knuckles white. ¡°That needs to be repaid in blood.¡±
Imael, leaning casually against the wall of the theatre, crossed his arms. He was more slender, quicker to smile, but there was a sharpness in his eyes. ¡°Mother told us those bastards are already dead,¡± he replied, his voice calm but with a subtle edge. ¡°What more do you want?¡±
Gabri¡¯s scowl deepened, his jaw tight. ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter. No one¡¯s dared to touch her in years¡ªnot with us around. Now two fools who thought they could defile her are dead. But that doesn¡¯t mean a message has been sent to anyone else thinking like them. People have forgotten who and what we are¡ªwhy they should fear us.¡±
Imael sighed, though there was a glint of understanding in his eyes. He straightened up, uncrossing his arms as he met Gabri¡¯s gaze. ¡°So, we remind them?¡± he said, his tone resigned. ¡°Fine. But what about Nyx and this ¡®Honorable Master Ji¡¯? You think we can trust them?¡±
Gabri spat onto the cobblestones, the disdain clear in his gesture. ¡°This Nyx helped her, sure, but the Spirit Beast outright said he was planning to rob her and only helped because he found her struggle charming.¡± Gabri rubbed his temples in frustration. ¡°He claims he¡¯ll convince his master to meet with her. Could be a potential friend, but I¡¯m not holding my breath.¡±
Imael shrugged. ¡°A Spirit Beast with sticky fingers and its master who might show up for a chat? Doesn¡¯t exactly scream reliable to me.¡± He glanced toward the theatre, where performers and crew moved in and out of the side doors, their faces flushed from rehearsal. ¡°But speaking of plans, I¡¯ve got one.¡±
He turned to Gabri, his voice lowering conspiratorially. ¡°What if we get some of the Orchid¡¯s pretty aspirants to ¡®accidentally¡¯ wander into the slums? We swoop in, chop up some of the riffraff, save them from whatever trouble they find themselves in, and suddenly, the city¡¯s reminded why Miranda and her sons are not to be messed with.¡±
Gabri¡¯s eyes narrowed, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. ¡°Not a bad idea. Gives us something to work with.¡± He tilted his head, thinking it over. ¡°But we¡¯ll need the Director¡¯s blessing first. I¡¯m not interested in waking up with my body twisted inside out because we crossed him.¡±
Imael snorted, shaking his head. ¡°Yeah, no thanks. I¡¯d rather stay on the Director¡¯s good side. The man has a way of dealing with problems that leaves... permanent reminders.¡±
The two brothers fell silent for a moment, the noise of the midday crowd swelling around them. The sun beat down, warm on their skin, but their thoughts were cold, calculating.
They surveyed the street, eyes scanning the faces that passed by, minds already piecing together the next steps. A show in the slums¡ªsomething bloody, something loud¡ªwas just what they needed to remind Sichal that their little family still had the power of two cultivators. That no one touched Miranda without paying the price.
They exchanged a look, the unspoken understanding between brothers clear. They had always worked in tandem, each knowing their roles without needing to discuss them. Gabri, the enforcer, would handle the brute force. Imael, with his cunning and charm, would handle the finer details.
¡°Let¡¯s make sure it¡¯s a show worth dying for,¡± Imael said, nodding toward the theatre with a chuckle.
Gabri smirked, the earlier tension easing slightly. ¡°Oh, it will be.¡±
Silas and Poliana stepped out of the cell, the heavy door closing with a loud clank behind them. The damp, cold air of the prison gave way to the slightly warmer corridors, though the tension between them remained high. Poliana walked ahead, her face drawn¡ªthe weight of the interrogation still hanging over her.
"Senior Ji, you keep surprising me," she muttered as they walked, her gaze fixed ahead. "I didn¡¯t expect Rhysling¡¯s Savior to be so... efficient."
Silas tilted his head, a faint, almost amused smile playing on his lips. "On the contrary," he replied, his tone light. "I would expect exactly that: a strong moral compass, but one that doesn¡¯t make him soft toward the unjust."
Poliana''s eye twitched slightly at the remark, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"Perhaps," she said, her voice tight, but her thoughts lingered on what she''d just witnessed. She didn¡¯t like surprises, especially not from men like Silas. "But [Mind Displacement]... I didn¡¯t think they could access those abilities."
Silas¡¯s expression darkened, his voice losing its casual edge. "Since you recognize it, do not probe me for confirmation." He met her gaze squarely. "I¡¯m fully aware of what Revenant Paladins are capable of. I¡¯ve seen it firsthand¡ªback in Rhysling, not so long ago, as I''m sure you are aware."
Poliana rolled her shoulders, letting out a small, half-hearted cough. "No offense meant, Senior Ji. I made assumptions. Curiosity, that¡¯s all." Her words were measured, though it was clear the conversation made her uncomfortable.
Silas''s tone became more clinical as he explained further. "[Mind Displacement] allows them to transfer someone else¡¯s consciousness into a different body. The transplanted consciousness takes control of the host, reshaping its features to resemble the original body until the host is killed or the Paladin who cast it dispels it. Once either happens, the consciousness snaps back to the original¡ It''s a particularly cruel ability, often used to make its target experience the full pain of death within the host body without truly killing them."
Poliana grimaced, rubbing her temples as the implications hit her. "Which means there¡¯s at least one accomplice still out there, and they may already be long gone from Sichal. Worse," she added bitterly, "we have no idea where the stolen items went." She cast a sidelong glance at Silas, thinking, ''''And it means I¡¯m stuck with you longer than I¡¯d like. Hmm~ you better keep your nosiness in check.''''
Silas nodded, a grim look crossing his face. "The corpse that was possessed was likely among the dead at the Church of Rovinius or the Starlight Bidders'' Hall. When the ''Priest'' left Arim to die, they must¡¯ve dispelled the ability. The body would have reverted to its original form, hiding any evidence of the possession."
Poliana groaned softly, rubbing her eyes. "We¡¯ve been duped," she muttered under her breath, the frustration clear. "I¡¯ll contact Lachlan, have him dig through the body count and see if anything doesn¡¯t line up."
Silas folded his arms. "He should also interrogate anyone who handled the bodies. The Bag of Holding with the auction''s loot is missing, and I¡¯d wager another Heretic¡ªdisguised as a mortician, perhaps¡ªswiped it. Someone who knew exactly what to take."
Poliana gave a curt nod, her expression hardening as they reached the heavy wooden door leading out of the prison. The sunlight filtering through the cracks felt like a distant warm memory compared to the darkness of the prison. She placed her hand on the door handle, muttering, "Heretical Priests and Paladins... fucking hell."
Silas allowed himself a soft, dry chuckle. "Indeed," he replied quietly, his mind already turning to other matters. ''''Sufficiently convoluted,'''' he thought, ''''enough to keep them chasing empty plots for some time.''''
Silas then said, "Town Lord, I must ask you a question. There is something I have noticed out of place in Sichal."
Poliana stopped midway through opening the door as her mind screamed one word: ''''Shit.''''
Chapter 47: Who Was That?
As the door that was about to be opened clanked shut in front of them, the sound of metal on stone lingered briefly in the still air.
Silas¡¯s hands, marked with dried blood, disappeared into the folds of his sleeves as the silence between them grew thick. He tilted his head slightly, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Oh? I certainly did not mean to startle the honorable Town Lord," he remarked, his voice carrying a hint of playful mockery. "It¡¯s a rather simple matter, after all."
Poliana walked ahead, her back straight, but her fingers betrayed her tension as they twitched briefly. She kept her gaze forward, her tone strained yet controlled. "Of course, Senior Ji. Ask away! Ask away!" Her words came quickly, almost rushed, as if eager to steer the conversation. "My nerves... they aren¡¯t what they used to be. Between the trouble in Rhysling and Heretics seeping into our country..." She paused briefly, fingers curling tight. "Whenever there is Heresy involved, usually one of them is not far behind¡ it stirs concerns that someone else from the Blacklist might appear. Perhaps not at that level you faced, but still, unsettling."
Silas stroked his chin thoughtfully, his smile deepening. "If someone from that cursed list were to show up," he mused, voice smooth, "I would promise on my life to annihilate such a creature."
Poliana¡¯s thoughts churned behind her calm exterior. ''''And ruin everything it took a decade to build'''', she thought bitterly. Outwardly, she kept her expression measured, though her shoulders tightened imperceptibly.
Silas¡¯s hands slid out of his sleeves, the bloodstained fabric brushing against his sides. His smile grew a touch more curious. "Before I share my thoughts, though," he began, eyes glinting with interest, "there¡¯s a small question that lingers in my mind. Truthfully now¡ Why choose such an aged appearance? An Elementalist¡ªespecially a Cryomancer¡ªcan easily preserve their youth."
Poliana¡¯s eye twitched at the question, her lips pressed into a thin line. "True enough. But my younger self was reckless. Far too drawn to dangerous pursuits." Her voice hardened as she continued, "An unfortunate encounter with a Witch left me in this state... and without my elder brother."
Silas¡¯s smile faded, his tone shifting to something darker. "How inconsiderate of me." His gaze searched her face, unrelenting. "Yet, I wonder¡ªhow did you survive when he did not? And your inability to reverse the effects... a jinx, perhaps?"
Poliana let out a sharp, mirthless laugh. "A Witch demanded my brother¡¯s blood for her rituals. He, in his charming way, showed her how to shove a cattle brand where it doesn¡¯t belong. She didn¡¯t appreciate the humor."
Her voice took on a cold edge. "Before anyone could react, she tore half his throat out with a swipe and disappeared into mist. I tried to save him, but when I touched his neck, my own Energy turned on me. The damage..." She shook her head, pausing briefly. "It was a passing cultivator from our glorious Elrean, in Akribanipal, who saved me. But the damage was permanent. I saw no reason to waste resources masking the effects."
Silas¡¯s gaze narrowed as he absorbed the details. "Akribanipal," he repeated. "A port city in Rodam. Not a place one passes through lightly. The only reason to go there is to cross the Grand Shifting Sea. Quite bold, if that was your intention." His voice softened slightly. "It¡¯s unfortunate what happened to you and your brother. Witches... they hold grudges. Long ones. Deny them once, and they rarely forget."
Poliana¡¯s features softened just a touch, her voice more casual now. "That was three centuries ago. If anything, it ended my wandering days. Brought me here, to the Empire. Since then, I¡¯ve built a life. A good one, despite the occasional nightmare."
She straightened her shoulders, regaining some measure of control as she turned the conversation. "What have you noticed about my town, Senior Ji?"
Silas allowed the question to settle for a moment before speaking, his smile lingering, but his voice more pointed. "It¡¯s... perfectly average," he replied, the faintest trace of amusement in his tone. "So average, in fact, that one could walk through it and not notice a single thing out of place. Which, as I¡¯m sure you know, is unnatural in itself. Wouldn¡¯t you agree?"
Poliana¡¯s fingers tensed again, but her expression remained neutral. "I take pride in maintaining order here," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "A peaceful town is what any ruler would want."
Silas¡¯s smile thinned, his eyes watching her with a quiet intensity. "Indeed. But you¡¯ve been a little too eager to accommodate me, haven¡¯t you?" His words were soft, but they cut through the air like a blade. "Too eager to ingratiate yourself, to keep me from looking too closely. It makes me wonder if you hoped I wouldn¡¯t notice certain..."
Poliana blinked, the faintest flicker of something crossing her face before she spoke again, her tone steady. "I¡¯m simply being a good host."
"Of course," Silas said, nodding. His gaze drifted lazily around the corridor they came from, before locking back onto her. "And then there¡¯s that statue. I am still horribly curious about that play called ''''The Rotten'''', but the weeping man in the town square. It''s simply¡ too obvious of a showing."
Poliana¡¯s breath hitched, just for a second. But her voice didn¡¯t falter. "I don¡¯t recall anything out of the ordinary in that regard."
Silas chuckled softly, his expression unreadable. "No, I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t. Let us continue."
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Poliana stormed into her office, slamming the door behind her with such force the walls seemed to shake. She paced back and forth, her movements sharp, fueled by anger that simmered just below the surface. Thomas, her clerk, stood by the desk, silent but watchful, knowing better than to interrupt when she was like this.
"He noticed," Poliana spat, her voice tight with barely suppressed fury. "That hidden snake of a man, Senior Ji, noticed the ''freebie'' I gave him and didn''t bite into it." Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, shaking. "He practically spat at my face that the statue story was too simple and too easily revealed! That humiliation wasn¡¯t enough for him, was it?" Her eyes flashed as she glared at Thomas. "He pointed out that I was nudging him, trying to manipulate his actions, and then¡ª" she paused, her voice growing more venomous, "he said I misdirected the Inquisitor. Had it turned out that man wasn¡¯t a fake, I would have been guilty of obstructing a member of the Church from performing his duties. Do you understand the severity of that coming from a ''Special Inspector''?"
Thomas shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed somewhere near the window. ''''At least the old bat can''t weasel herself out from scrutiny'''', he thought, though he was careful to keep his expression blank. ''''That Senior Ji seems to have only focused on her behaviors, not letting her bring up anyone else during their conversation.''''
He nodded, his tone neutral. "Yes, Town Lord. Quite serious indeed."
"And as if that wasn¡¯t enough, he somehow found out about another problem," Poliana¡¯s voice dropped into a low, frustrated growl, "the affluent citizens have almost universally dismissed their staff. His room was under constant surveillance. How the hell did he get wind of that? It took three fucking years of steady displacement to get everything running."
Her eyes burned into him, searching for a solution, but Thomas merely blinked. "It seems the situation is worse than we anticipated, Town Lord."
Poliana snorted derisively, her face flushing with anger. "Tell Rianus to have his men checked for their eyesight!" she yelled suddenly, her voice bouncing off the walls of the small office. "If that man could see through our people so easily, we¡¯ve been slacking. I want answers from Rianus, and I want them soon."
Thomas gave her a short bow, though internally, he was biting back a smirk. ''''She¡¯s panicking now, at least for once it isn''t me.'''' he thought. He tried to maintain his usual tone as he replied, "Of course, I¡¯ll see to it immediately." But before he could turn to leave, Poliana cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.
"My origin¡," she said bitterly, rubbing her face as if trying to wash away the weight of her past, "¡brother killed by a Witch." The words seemed to stick in her throat, and her face twisted with old resentment.
Thomas, barely paying attention, nodded mechanically. "Noted." His voice was flat, though internally he wondered why she even bothered sharing the story.
"Get me the ''other'' orb," she snapped, her hands trembling as she pressed her fingers to her temples.
Thomas bowed his head and quickly turned on his heels, making his way downstairs from her office. The descent was brisk, though his thoughts raced. He pushed open the door to a small room below and rummaged through a locked chest, retrieving the cracked crystal ball¡ªthe [Limited Echo] she had asked for. The crystal was marred by deep fissures, its surface jagged, but it remained functional. He hurried back to her office, cradling the orb carefully in his hands as he re-entered.
Without a word, Thomas handed the orb to her and left, sensing that Poliana needed to be alone. As he closed the door behind him, Poliana sat at her desk, staring down at the cracked crystal in her hand. She took a deep breath, steadying her nerves, before placing her palm over the orb. The surface pulsed weakly for a moment, and then a faint glow emerged from the cracks. Slowly, the crystal came to life, connecting to another person.
The figure on the other side was obscured, their features hidden by some form of enchantment, but Poliana could hear the sound of applause, faint yet distinct, coming from their surroundings. Whoever held the other end of the orb was clearly in the midst of a crowd.
Poliana¡¯s expression tightened. "We may have a problem coming," she said, her voice firm but laced with the frustration of the day¡¯s events. "We need to talk."
There was a pause, and then the sound of slow, deliberate clapping echoed through the orb. It was loud enough to suggest the figure was somewhere public, but the tone carried a lazy confidence.
"My dear," came a languid, masculine voice, dripping with amusement. "You worry far too much."
Poliana¡¯s jaw clenched, her frustration mounting. "This isn¡¯t just another ''inconvenience''."
"Ah, the Special Inspector then?" the voice drawled, sounding utterly unconcerned. "The infamous cultivator who stood up to the big bad monster. But really, you¡¯ve handled worse then suicidal rogue cultivators..."
The voice on the other end of the orb let out a low chuckle. "You¡¯ve always had a knack for theatrics, Poliana. Let the man poke around. He¡¯ll find exactly what we want him to find. That¡¯s the beauty of it."
Her eyes darkened as she leaned forward. "And if he finds more?"
The figure was silent for a moment, the crowd¡¯s noise still faintly audible in the background. Then the voice returned, quieter now, but no less amused. "Then I suppose we¡¯ll have to make sure he doesn¡¯t leave Sichal with his eyes intact, won¡¯t we?"
As the conversation through the orb ended, the faint glow flickered once before the connection cut out entirely, leaving Poliana alone inside of her office.
She slumped back in her chair, releasing a long, exhausted sigh. "At least he¡¯ll finally move a fucking muscle," she muttered to herself, her voice tinged with frustration. She massaged her temples, the tension of the day¡¯s events weighing heavily on her.
A calm, unsettling voice suddenly whispered right beside her ear, "I rather like my eyes... Noble Town Lord, may you kindly tell this Ji, who was that?"
Poliana''s heart leaped into her throat. Her body froze for a split second, the absurdity of the voice¡¯s proximity, of its impossible presence, leaving her momentarily paralyzed. Quickly, she turned her head, her mind slower than her instincts.
There, practically leaning against her shoulder, was Senior Ji, his soft smile radiating something far colder than his words suggested. His eyes, however, remained as hard and unreadable as ever.
Before she could react fully, to leap away or say something¡ªbefore the shock could fully register¡ªshe felt an uppercut slam into her jaw with brutal precision. The force sent her head snapping back, a burst of pain shooting through her skull. She barely had time to register the sensation of a needle driving up through her jaw, piercing through her tongue and into her palate. Her eyes widened in horror as a cold, metallic liquid sprayed down her throat from the needle¡¯s tip.
Her limbs quickly grew heavy, the numbness spreading through her like wildfire. Her throat began to swell, and panic surged through her as her airway began to close, her breaths becoming desperate, shallow gasps.
The room spun around her, her vision blurring as she struggled to remain conscious, helpless against the cruelty that lay in wait.
Chapter 48: Lawful
The afternoon sun filtered weakly through the tall, arched windows of Lord Magistrate Lachlan¡¯s private chambers, casting long, angled shadows across the stone floor.
Inside, the room was thick with the mingled scents of medicinal herbs, blood, and charred flesh. Lachlan sat cross-legged on a cushion in the center, his back bare, a sheen of sweat covering his bald head. Despite the agony of the treatment, his face remained set, unwavering. His saber lay across his lap, a silent reminder of the battle that had left him in this state.
One of the aides, standing just out of the way, found his eyes drifting to the Magistrate¡¯s body. Lachlan was not what he appeared to be. Beneath the robes he normally wore, which gave him the appearance of a man grown soft with indulgence, was a frame built from pure muscle.
His gut, while prominent, was not flabby but solid, the abs beneath pressing outward like tightly packed bricks. It was no wonder the Lord Magistrate eschewed armor; his body was armor enough.
His chest and arms, massive and defined, barely moved as the court Alchemists worked around him.
The Healers tended to the raw burns on Lachlan¡¯s sides, two angry, gaping wounds that stretched from his ribs to his back. Four Healers, a Priest, and two Alchemists labored with unceasing focus. Their hands moved in steady rhythm, draining pus and applying salves, peeling away the charred flesh to reveal the damaged tissue beneath. Lachlan¡¯s eyes remained closed, his breathing calm, as if the pain were merely an inconvenience.
The aide shifted his gaze, his thoughts slipping back to the events of the morning.
Rhysling had been thrown into chaos with the sudden appearance of an Airship cutting through the sky. Not just any Airship¡ªa colossal vessel marked with the sigil of a burning bird. The Heavenly Flame Sect had arrived, and the Airship bore the scars of haste, its hull battered from a reckless flight that should have torn it apart.
Then came the roar¡ªSectmaster Royce¡¯s voice, filled with unrelenting fury. ¡°Lachlan!¡± The name echoed through every corner of Rhysling, and the citizens below looked up to see a pillar of fire erupt from the Airship. The flames stretched higher and higher, growing into wings that began their descent upon Castle Rhysling, threatening to reduce it to ash.
But Lachlan had been ready.
The Artificer¡¯s Guild had helped him prepare defenses against an attack like this. [Ice beacons], strategically placed throughout the city, flared to life the moment the flames appeared. Massive barriers of ice formed, layer upon layer, intercepting the fiery assault as it plunged toward the castle. The flames raged, crashing through the first few barriers with ease, but with each one shattered, the fire lost some of its strength.
At the final barrier, the Sectmaster and Grand Elder, side by side, broke through, their combined fists aimed at Lachlan. The aide recalled that split second when reality seemed to hold its breath.
Lachlan had stood there, his saber raised, blocking their attack with a force that sent a shockwave across the courtyard. His feet dug into the stone, but he didn¡¯t falter. Two half-Third Step Flame Elementalists had thrown their full power at him, and he had met them with nothing but his blade.
Lachlan had been pushed back roughly, his saber ringing out as he deflected blow after blow. The burns he now suffered were the result of a momentary decision¡ªto let the Sectmaster and Grand Elder strike him, to absorb their fury and force them into a corner. The aide could still hear his voice ringing out over the battlefield: ¡°Terrifying my city, attempting to destroy it, and two cuts of my flesh is the restitution you have chosen. Stop this barbarous foolishness and speak like thinking men!¡±
But the Flame Elementalists had not listened. Fueled by their rage, they continued their assault, pushing Lachlan back. Their flames had melted the stone beneath their feet, turning walls into molten slag. Lachlan had fought with a precision and power the aide had never seen before, carving deep gouges into the earth with each strike of his saber.
What came next, however, had turned the tide of the battle.
In the midst of the chaos, Lachlan had seen his people¡ªthe innocent citizens of Rhysling¡ªcaught in the flames¡¯ wake as the fight spilled over into the streets. He saw two children struggling to pull an elderly man to safety, their own skin blistering from the heat. He saw a couple, locked in a final embrace, consumed by fire as their screams pierced the air. That was the breaking point.
The aide shivered as he remembered what happened next. Lachlan¡¯s body had swelled with power, his frame expanding, his muscles bulging to twice their normal size. He stomped the ground, shaking the earth beneath him, and unleashed a downward slash so powerful it severed the Sectmaster¡¯s arm and the Grand Elder¡¯s leg in a single motion. The force of the strike didn¡¯t end there. The arc of his blade extended, slicing through the Airship that had loomed above, cleaving it in half before continuing upward to tear the very clouds apart.
In that moment, all of Rhysling had stood still. The Heavenly Flame Sect, so sure of their dominance, had been brought to their knees in the blink of an eye. As their Airship plummeted to the ground, Sectmaster Royce and the Grand Elder finally relented, realizing the devastation they had caused and the power Lachlan had revealed.
The aide remembered the faces of the citizens afterward. They had begun the day in terror, but now, their fear had transformed into something else entirely¡ªan electric thrill ran through the city. They had witnessed the impossible.
The Lord Magistrate, their protector, had stood against two of the most famous cultivators within the Empire and emerged victorious. Word was already spreading: Rhysling might soon be home to its first Third Step warrior. The prospect filled the people with awe, and even more so, with hope that no one would ever dare cause trouble in their home.
A hiss of breath escaped the aide¡¯s lips as one of the healers peeled away more burnt flesh from Lachlan¡¯s side. Yet the Lord Magistrate remained still, eyes closed, his expression untroubled. The aide couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the man¡¯s strength. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps Lachlan was destined for greatness beyond any imagination.
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Then a knock on the chamber door came as a surprise, breaking the heavy silence of the room. A young servant, trembling slightly, stepped in, bowing low before addressing the Lord Magistrate. ¡°M-My Lord! News from Sichal! Senior Ji is making contact through Town Lord Poliana''s [Limited Echo].¡±
Lachlan¡¯s eyes opened, sharp and focused, the weight of his presence filling the room once more. His voice, calm but commanding, cut through the air. ¡°Tell Senior Ji that I am coming immediately.¡±
The aide straightened, sensing the shift. The day was far from over, and Lachlan was far from done.
Silas¡¯s needle sliced into Poliana¡¯s throat, tearing open the narrowing airway with crude brutality. He watched as her chest shuddered, the barest hint of air now able to flow through her ravaged windpipe. Her body twitched in reflexive agony, though the poison coursing through her veins kept her silent.
¡°I''m running out of paralytics,¡± Silas thought with a sense of mild irritation. ¡°I should brew some more.¡±
His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he straightened up. His voice, softly rasping yet cutting, filled the room. ¡°I do hope a lesson can be learned here. Running away to immediately speak to your accomplice is never a smart idea.¡±
With a flick of his wrist, Silas reached for the mask concealing the left half of Poliana¡¯s face. As he peeled it away, he was greeted by a network of scars etched into her skin. But there was something else. Something out of place. His eyes narrowed in curiosity.
¡°Well, what is this now?¡± His fingers brushed against the hollow space where her eye should have been. He leaned in closer, noting the faint glint of red embedded deep in the socket. With a swift pull, he extracted the object, a slick squelch accompanying the motion. Blood spurted from the gory hole in defiance, but what truly captured Silas¡¯s attention was the crystal clutched between his fingers.
A Life Crystal.
Poliana¡¯s body seized as if trying to scream, but the poison held her in its iron grip. Her pain had no outlet, leaving only the grotesque sound of blood hitting the floor.
Silas whistled softly, turning the Life Crystal over in his hand. ¡°Why would the Town Lord of Sichal have a Life Crystal jammed into her eye socket?¡± he mused, more to himself than to her. He crouched beside her prone body, his tone almost conversational. ¡°I''m guessing the cracked [Limited Echo] is your previous official one that got ''accidentally'' damaged, yes? After all, these things aren¡¯t easy to come by.¡± His gaze flickered to the barely functional crystal she had used earlier. ¡°Quite clever, cracking it just enough to request a replacement while maintaining short distance functionality.¡±
Before Poliana could react, Silas¡¯s fist crashed down, connecting with her temple in a sharp blow. She slumped into unconsciousness, her body limp and compliant. He stood up, wiping the blood from his knuckles.
¡°To live or to die, how infuriating it is when the choice is robbed from you,¡± he thought grimly as he stepped away from her.
Moving toward the intact [Limited Echo] device on the other side of the room, Silas drained the Life Crystal he had torn from Poliana¡¯s head. The red stone glowed with a faint hum accompanying it, powering up the [Limited Echo], connecting to its counterpart in Castle Rhysling.
A few moments passed before the face of an official, clad in the robes of Rhysling, appeared on the orb. His expression shifted from boredom to concern as Silas¡¯s figure came into view.
¡°I bring dire news from my investigation,¡± Silas informed the man, his voice steady but grave. ¡°This must be conveyed to Lord Magistrate Lachlan immediately.¡±
The official, visibly unnerved by the tone, nodded quickly before the image faded from view. Silas let out a small sigh, allowing himself a brief pause before he turned back to Poliana.
He approached her unconscious form, drawing a vial from his satchel. The antidote would neutralize the poison, but it was far too late to prevent permanent damage. She would live, for now. Whether that would remain true depended on the circumstances yet to unfold.
Injecting the antidote into her neck, Silas watched as the color slowly returned to her face, her breathing becoming less ragged. His mind wandered, considering whether keeping her alive would be more useful in the long term.
The [Limited Echo] lit up once more. This time, the face of Lord Magistrate Lachlan filled the orb. Silas was genuinely surprised to see the faint traces of grey beginning to seep into Lachlan¡¯s eyes, a clear sign that the man was approaching the qualitative transformation of the Third Step.
Silas¡¯s lips curled into a sly smile. ¡°Are congratulations in order?¡±
Lachlan, despite his weary expression, managed a small smile in return. ¡°It is still uncertain whether I will fully cross the threshold,¡± he admitted, ¡°and the price of my fortune has been paid by my citizens.¡±
Silas raised an eyebrow. ¡°The Heavenly Flame Sect?¡±
Lachlan¡¯s smile faded, replaced by a solemn nod.
Silas frowned. ¡°They launched an assault while Lady Emma was still recovering in the castle?¡±
¡°Wrath can blind us all,¡± Lachlan replied, his voice heavy. ¡°I¡¯d wager they acted on emotion rather than a deliberate attempt to harm their own.¡±
¡°That¡¯s a more comforting thought than assuming incompetence or malice,¡± Silas mused, ¡°but unfortunately, I bring worse news.¡±
Lachlan¡¯s chuckle was resigned, his head dipping slightly. ¡°Please enlighten me, Senior.¡±
Silas turned the [Limited Echo] to face Poliana¡¯s prone body, her neck still oozing blood from the wound he had opened. Lachlan¡¯s expression shifted instantly, his eyes widening in shock. He shot to his feet, his movement so abrupt that some of the wounds on his torso began to reopen, darkening his bandages with fresh blood.
Silas¡¯s voice remained calm. ¡°The Town Lord of Sichal attempted to orchestrate a rather distasteful event for this Ji. After I pointed out some irregularities within the town, she contacted an accomplice in an attempt to¡impede me.¡±
Lachlan swallowed, his unease clear. ¡°I had received word that the auction¡¯s perpetrator was caught by you last night¡ Senior Ji, what foulness has struck Sichal?¡±
¡°The kind that shall hopefully not be my problem,¡± Silas thought to himself, though he masked his true feelings as he began to recount the events since his arrival. From his initial encounter with Poliana, to his fight with Umbres, and the strange behaviors among the citizens¡ªevery detail was laid out, though not without embellishments.
Silas painted himself as a dutiful inspector, ignoring the reality that much of his short time here had been spent covering his tracks in Rhysling or waiting for his allies, Nyx and Zinnia, to feed him information.
By the end of his recounting, Lachlan looked haunted. He muttered, ¡°Most Knowledgeable give us reason¡ Heresy and corruption¡ Senior Ji, do you require additional forces? I fear I¡¯ve asked you to walk into the dragon¡¯s den.¡±
Silas shook his head. ¡°None will arrive in time. I must act swiftly to find her accomplice. I cannot execute an Imperial official without permission. How do you wish for me to handle the Town Lord?¡±
Lachlan hesitated, his brows furrowing. Poliana was technically his senior in time served, though junior in rank. After a long pause, he finally spoke. ¡°Lock her up. And stay safe, Senior Ji. I wish you good fortune in your hunt, on behalf of myself and the Imperial Family.¡±
Silas nodded once, cutting the transmission. He glanced at Poliana¡¯s prone form, then back at the [Limited Echo]. With a low, amused chuckle, he muttered, ¡°Always such a fun time being ¡®lawful.¡¯¡±
His gaze returned to Poliana as he approached her again, his mind already spinning with the next move. Back in Rhysling, Lachlan clenched his hands together tightly, frustration gnawing at him. ¡°Just my damned luck,¡± he muttered.
As he reached for the [Limited Echo] to inform the Imperial Palace of Senior Ji¡¯s report, a knock came at his door. ¡°Sectmaster Royce requests an audience, my Lord,¡± a servant¡¯s voice called out from behind the door.
Lachlan sighed heavily, his hands falling to his sides. Another fire to put out.
Chapter 49: Run!
Zinnia crouched, her eye pressed tightly against the keyhole, staring into Henkel¡¯s study. Her pupils were unnaturally wide, dilated to the point of drowning out her irises in black.
Her fingers twitched, jerking in small, irregular movements, mirroring the rhythmic motions of Henkel¡¯s hands as he scratched at a parchment. Her breathing grew shallow, her attention sharpened, and the rest of the world dimmed.
She watched his every move, determined to memorize it all: the angle of his wrist, the way his fingers curled around the quill, the smooth, mechanical flow of his writing.
Her skills of observation, honed through years of cultivating Illusionist arts, allowed her to lock in on the smallest details. Zinnia¡¯s hand mimicked his, hovering just over the keyhole. She wasn¡¯t just learning¡ªshe was creating a new instinct, imprinting his movements into her mind like a natural reflex, preparing to recreate them later.
But something shifted. A strange softness filled her mind, like a gentle purr. It was quiet at first, a background noise, but as it grew louder, it curled around her thoughts, soothing her senses.
It was oddly comforting, coaxing her to relax into its embrace, to give in. She smiled slightly, her fingers still tracing Henkel¡¯s motions as her mind began to drift, unmoored from the present. The purring seemed to echo within her, vibrating through her bones, quite pleasurable.
Then her heart lurched. It slammed against her chest, pulling her forward. Zinnia barely stopped herself from smashing her head into the door, her forehead hovering a fingernails width away from the wood. Her breath hitched. The purring stopped, the warmth evaporating as quickly as it had come. She blinked, her pupils narrowing slightly as she stumbled back, shaking her head.
"What the?" she whispered, staring at her hands, the fingers still twitching, still trying to trace movements she couldn¡¯t remember. "What was I...?"
Before she could gather her thoughts, a low growl rumbled through her head, scraping against her mind like claws. Zinnia¡¯s hands fell limp at her sides. Her body moved without her command, mechanically returning to her position at the door. Her eyes locked onto Henkel once again, her hands lifting, mimicking him as the growl faded and the purring returned, deeper now, thrumming through her skull. She smiled faintly, unaware of the blood pooling into her mouth, metallic and warm against her tongue.
Time slipped away from her as Henkel¡¯s scratching filled the room. An hour passed, though she didn¡¯t notice. Her body moved like a puppet, mimicking Henkel¡¯s every stroke, her mind locked in a fog. Then, suddenly, another violent jerk of her heart ripped her out of the trance. This time, the pain lingered, a dull, constant ache.
Zinnia stumbled back from the door, her hands shaking uncontrollably. She touched her lips, feeling the sticky, congealed blood that had begun to dribble down her chin. Her heart raced, and her thoughts scattered.
"What... the hell is happening?" She wiped the blood off her face with the back of her hand, blinking hard to shake the haze clouding her mind. A growl, louder this time, echoed through her skull. Her arms went slack, her body sagging toward the door again. Her fingers twitched, ready to return to their mimicry.
"No!" Zinnia hissed as her heart spasmed again, blood welling up in her throat. She spat it onto her hands, shaking her head violently to clear the fog. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the purring, the growling. Her vision swam, but a single thought cut through the chaos: Run.
"Need to run," she whispered, her voice barely audible as her instincts kicked in, overriding everything else. Damn the mystery. Screw this old fucker.
Her heart hammered against her ribcage as her mind screamed at her, Run. Run. Run. The growling in her head intensified, becoming more feral, but the pain in her chest dulled it. Her breath came in short, ragged bursts as she staggered toward the window, her legs barely responding.
With no grace, she hurled herself through the window she had entered from, the glass she¡¯d cut earlier providing just enough space for her escape. She tumbled outside, landing hard on the ground, her knees scraping against the dirt. The growling stopped the moment she left the house.
For a brief, terrifying second, Zinnia¡¯s vision went dark. Her body felt weightless, her mind drifting in a haze. The memory of Henkel¡¯s repetitive motions blurred, replaced by flashes of faces¡ªSilas¡¯s gaunt, cruel visage, the Inn in Rhysling, the sensation of poison being forced down her throat. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, louder than the growls, louder than the purring, until the memories merged into one, undeniable truth.
"Him," she gasped, her chest heaving. The antidote. He¡¯d warned her, hadn¡¯t he? The poison in her system would hit her if she went too long without the antidote. Her heart palpitations, the blood in her mouth¡ªthese were the "unpleasant" effects he''d mentioned. But why now? She hadn''t run out of time yet, had she?
"Crazy bastard wouldn¡¯t send me out without ensuring I could get back," Zinnia muttered, trying to force her thoughts into order. Something triggered this. She gritted her teeth as another spasm shot through her chest, nearly making her scream. Her pupils shrank, her eyes bloodshot, the whites red and raw.
I have to find him, she realized.
Zinnia struggled to her feet, stumbling through the streets, her body weakened but driven by the single, pulsing command now pounding through her mind: Find the bastard, or die.
Zinnia moved through the winding streets of Sichal, hugging the shadows like a second skin. There wasn¡¯t much of a crowd this late, and any lingering folk moved with purpose, leaving her no cover to blend into. She kept her body low, avoiding the pools of light cast by flickering streetlamps coming to life.
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Her breath rasped, and with every exhale, blood trickled from her nose, thin and runny, soaking the hem of her sleeve.
As she passed by a low open window, the flicker of a dark green curtain caught her eye.
Without breaking stride, she reached through and tore off a strip, wrapping it around her mouth and nose to cover the blood. The spasms in her chest had become less frequent, but each one hit harder, sending a shockwave of pain through her body. Her fingers trembled as she tucked the cloth into place, her mind trying to stay ahead of the agony clawing at her heart.
Zinnia kept moving, slipping through the darkened streets unnoticed. She wound her way past houses covered in vines and flowers, their windows open to let in the evening air. Faint giggles and murmured conversations drifted from within, but she paid them no mind. She could feel another spasm building, and she gritted her teeth, determined to get through it without collapsing.
But it hit harder than expected.
Her vision blurred, and her foot caught on a loose cobblestone. Zinnia tumbled forward, her arms flailing as she crashed toward the ground. Just as she braced herself for the impact, something¡ªor someone¡ªdarted in front of her.
He must have miscalculated. The man threw himself forward, aiming to catch her but misjudging where she''d fall. Zinnia¡¯s body slammed into his bony abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. Her face, however, still met the pavement with a sickening thud, and the two of them ended up in a tangled heap, forming a cross on the cold ground.
"Ugh..." the man groaned, his cheeks inflating before he suddenly vomited up something green and mushy. Probably a once-leafy vegetable, now an unidentifiable mess.
Zinnia¡¯s arms shook as she tried to push herself up, her body quivering with the effort. The pain in her chest had grown unbearable, every breath a battle. She glanced at her savior, a young man dressed in a ridiculously tight shirt¡ªwell, it had been a shirt before he ripped it off for some reason to catch her¡ªand pants that seemed to be designed to restrict movement, not help it.
"I''m... sorry..." he wheezed, coughing with embarrassment as he wiped his mouth. "My heroism... uh... failed me."
Zinnia clutched her chest, leaning against the nearest wall, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat poured down her forehead, her vision swimming as another spasm wracked her heart. The man¡¯s eyes widened in panic as he noticed her worsening condition.
"Hey now! Are you alright?!" His voice rose with worry, and he scrambled to his feet, hovering over her. "You''re sweating like crazy! Oh, shit, you¡¯re having a heart attack, aren''t you?!"
Before Zinnia could respond, he darted into a nearby doorway, emerging moments later with his ripped shirt from earlier drenched in water. He knelt by her side, his movements frantic but well-meaning.
"Shit, I don¡¯t know what to do!" he exclaimed, pressing the wet cloth to her forehead, trying to make her more comfortable. "Breathe! Breathe evenly, alright?"
Zinnia looked up at him, her mind still spinning from the pain. Through her blurred vision, she noticed a small tattoo on his cheek¡ªfour tiny hearts etched into his skin. A strange reflex took over her, and she muttered through shallow breaths, "A prostitute?"
The young man recoiled slightly, cheeks flushing. "Oy! It''s good work, alright? And you¡¯re lucky it kept me here to help you!"
Her heart spasmed again, more violently this time, and her vision blurred as blood began to leak from her ears. She slumped further down the wall, her knees giving out beneath her. The pounding in her chest was relentless, and her instincts screamed at her: Run. Run. Run.
Zinnia tried to focus, forcing her words out between labored breaths. "If you... want to help me... take me to the prison..."
The man blinked, confused and panicked. "Prison?!" He glanced nervously down the street. "Don¡¯t talk crazy, you need a healer!"
Zinnia shook her head, clenching her teeth against the rising tide of pain. "Ask for... Senior Ji... at the prison. Tell him... Freckles likes stuffed crows~..." She coughed, tasting blood on her lips. "He¡¯s the only one that can help me."
The man¡¯s panic deepened as he watched her slide down the wall, her body weakening with every passing second. "Oy! Oy! Stay with me!" He shook her lightly, his voice rising with desperation.
Blood dripped from her ears, her body limp. He weighed his options, staring at the woman crumpled against the wall. She was just a stranger¡ªa bleeding, half-conscious stranger who was asking to be taken to a prison. But if there was even a chance he could save her, he had to try.
"Alright! Alright!" he muttered, hoisting her up into his arms. It took all his strength, and he grumbled under his breath, "You need to lay off whatever you¡¯re eating... My stamina¡¯s not built for this kind of activity!"
He staggered under her weight, struggling to carry her through the streets. Sweat poured down his face as he made his way toward the prison, dodging through the sparse crowds that had gathered near the city¡¯s theater. He bumped into several people along the way, each time muttering apologies. "Emergency! Sorry! I¡¯m really sorry!"
One of the people he knocked into¡ªa tall figure in a dark coat¡ªdeftly caught their top hat before it hit the ground. They chuckled, glancing over their shoulder as the young man scrambled past. "Be careful, little man," they called in a deep, amused voice. "Not everyone is as patient as I am!"
But the young man didn¡¯t hear. He had one mission now: get Zinnia to the prison, and hope that this Senior Ji could save her.
Silas shoved Poliana into a cell, right next to the drooling heap that had once been Inquisitor Umbres. The former inquisitor lay crumpled in the corner, a shadow of his former self, a trail of saliva pooling beneath him. Silas slammed the heavy metal door shut and turned to the guard trailing behind him, flashing his ¡®Special Inspector¡¯ badge with a casual flick of his wrist.
¡°Do not let anyone enter this cell except for me. Understood?¡±
The guard¡¯s eyes went wide, his body stiff with fear as he nodded furiously, too frightened to question the man who had thrown their Town Lord into prison after only a day in Sichal.
Silas turned to leave, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor. Then a high-pitched voice cut through the air, startling him. "Freckles likes stuffed crows!!!" The voice ricocheted off the stone walls, growing louder and more insistent.
Silas frowned. ''''The fuck?'''' His curiosity piqued, he turned toward the sound, making his way toward the entrance of the prison. As he approached, the shrill voice repeated the bizarre phrase, and he saw a young man standing at the entrance, cradling what appeared to be a corpse in his arms.
The boy continued to shout, ¡°Freckles likes stuffed crows! Freckles likes stuffed crows!¡± over and over, his panic evident.
Silas¡¯s eyes narrowed as he approached, but when he saw who the ¡®corpse¡¯ was, his face scrunched in annoyance. Zinnia.
Barely alive, she was limp in the young man¡¯s arms, her face pale, blood trickling from her nose and ears. Silas crossed the remaining distance in swift strides, his voice calm but commanding as he addressed the boy. ¡°What¡¯s happening here?¡±
The tattooed young man looked up, eyes wild with desperation. ¡°I need someone called Senior Ji to help her! She said he¡¯s the only one that can!¡±
Silas scowled, his patience wearing thin. He motioned to the guards at the door, his tone clipped. ¡°Let them in.¡±
Chapter 50: Whiskers Lied
Nyx¡¯s talons gripped the man¡¯s neck with a quiet but satisfying scrunch, the texture beneath his claws drawing immediate thoughts¡ª''''Soft. Slick. Viscous sweat.''''
He barely gave the moment to linger before yanking the man backward, his wings blurring into shadow as he propelled them both toward the wall behind them.
As they reached the dark surface, Nyx dissolved, merging with the shadow and enveloping the man in a thin, undetectable film. The alley had been empty, but precautions never hurt.
To the slum dweller, the world shifted violently, as if he¡¯d been dropped into a well, the light snuffed out above him. His feet skidded uselessly along the ground, but after a brief struggle, he went still. Disturbingly still.
Nyx hovered all around him, feeling the man¡¯s pulse steady in unnatural calm. His dark form materialized as a pair of onyx eyes, floating in the blackened space between them. A cacophony of voices erupted¡ªdeep and shallow, male and female, high-pitched and low¡ªswirling around them like a storm.
"Three questions. Three truths and you survive. One lie, and you die."
The man''s eyes began to roll unnervingly, searching for the source of the voices, darting so far back into his skull that Nyx wondered if they might not return.
His hair hung in brittle clumps, unnaturally uniform, and the lack of cleanliness wasn¡¯t enough to explain the condition. ''''Something¡¯s cocked with this one,'''' Nyx thought, narrowing his gaze. The man¡¯s stillness, the lack of fear, the absence of any instinct to struggle or flee¡ªit set Nyx¡¯s feathers, or rather shadows on edge.
Instead of pushing back, the man¡¯s limbs sagged as if deadweight, his legs scraping feebly along the cobblestones. Nyx¡¯s talons squeezed tighter, his shadowy form solidifying just enough to apply pressure.
The voices in the air hissed their question.
"What kin are you?"
Nyx¡¯s thoughts flickered, half-mocking. ''''I''d rip off my beak if this is Mortalkin¡ No features of Elementkin¡ Beastkin, maybe?'''' The man didn¡¯t respond, his mouth slackening as thick drool and snot began to ooze out, sliding down his chin in long, disgusting streams. Nyx hissed in irritation, his claws tightening around the man¡¯s throat. ''''Deadmeat no matter what.''''
He pressed on, the voices asking their final two questions in unison.
"Why are you here? What is your purpose?"
For a split second, Nyx indulged a vain hopeful extravagance¡ª''''Maybe this one will simply spell the answers out instead of making me work for it¡ at least for once.'''' But the hope shattered instantly. The drool sliding out of the man¡¯s mouth turned acidic, burning through the rags he wore and sizzling against the cobblestones. Worse still, the acid dripped onto Nyx¡¯s shadows, burning through his ethereal form with a sharp, stinging pain.
''''Oh, you fucker.''''
A growl reverberated through the alley as Nyx reacted swiftly. The shadows around the man¡¯s head shifted, forming black hands that gripped his nose and clamped his jaw shut, cutting off the acidic flow. ''''No more drooling for you.'''' In his irritation, Nyx scooped up some of the leftover burning fluid, feeling the sting but ignoring it as he moved the acid toward the man¡¯s ears. ''''You heard the questions, you don¡¯t need ears anymore. I''m sure your friends here can follow up.''''
He forced the man''s head to tilt slightly, and without hesitation, he pressed the burning fluid into his ear canal. But as he did so, something odd happened. The man wasn¡¯t reacting as a living being should.
His body didn¡¯t convulse with panic or thrash in desperate attempts to breathe. There was no cold sweat, no skin flushing, no color change. Just minor, meaningless movements.
Nyx felt his talons dig in deeper, fascinated and disgusted at once. ''''No reaction?'''' The man¡¯s body twisted, but in a way that seemed more like an act than true suffocation. He kept trying to breathe but never seemed to actually need to. Still, Nyx followed through, closing the man¡¯s nose and mouth, choking him to what should have been the brink of unconsciousness before letting go.
What happened next stupefied even Nyx.
He pressed the acid into the man¡¯s ear, expecting resistance or at least pain, but the shadows kept going. Deeper. And deeper. Nyx''s dark hands slid through the ear canal, his ¡®fingers¡¯ touching one another inside the man¡¯s head. ''''What the¡ª?''''
Suddenly, he felt something else¡ªthick, slick tubes, unnatural to the touch. Eyestalks. Nyx¡¯s shadowy hands wrapped around them instinctively, giving them a slight tug. The man¡¯s eyeballs retracted, rolling inward as if being pulled into his skull. His hollow eyes stared back at Nyx, black voids where once there had been pupils.
''''The fuck?'''' Nyx¡¯s mind echoed with the same words of bafflement Silas occasionally spoke when something strange happened.
As soon as the eyes were gone, the real thrashing began. The man¡¯s body came alive, his torso and pelvis jerking wildly, twisting and bucking in violent convulsions. The limbs, though, remained oddly inert, dragging uselessly along the wall and ground as the rest of him spasmed.
Nyx withdrew his hands, half in disgust, half in worse disgust. This wasn¡¯t a man, not by any normal definition.
Plants melted, turned to mush. They always did when he touched them, seeping into the earth like they were nothing. Food had been good then, fresh, strong, the taste rich. Meat tasty, melts nice. But the more he ate, the bigger he grew. Big now. Food bland.
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And then the two meals came. One naked, one full of hair. The one with whiskers¡ªit was haughty, like it didn¡¯t care. The naked one, though, he hurt me. Hurt bad.
The pain bit deep, a new kind of sting, not like fire, not like rot. It pierced, drove him down. But something changed. Master become, life better. The hurt stopped, and after that, the naked one was no longer an enemy. He fed him, gave him meat, made him stronger. And the whiskers... that thing annoyed him. Always hopping, always looking at him with those eyes, like it owned everything.
But Master likes when I melt things he doesn''t like. The food came, and it was good. Not as sweet as it used to be, but good enough. Master liked when he got rid of things, things that annoyed him. Master feed, me happy. The days of pain were forgotten, and life was simple. Follow the Master, eat what he didn¡¯t need, melt what made him angry.
Then came the time Master hurt. Didn''t like that. Master hated a lot of things, a lot of food. And when Master got hurt, his mood worsened. Hates list, long and ugly. But whiskers jumped on him. Made Master calm.
Master would sleep then, sometimes for a long time. Master sleep, whiskers sad. That thing, with its twitching nose, always sitting near, always watching while Master slept.
Sometimes it tried to act like the Master. When it thought no one was watching, it would order him, point its tiny paws. Whiskers wants to be Master while Master sleep, but no. Not Master. It never gave him food like Master did.
He slept near Master, waiting for the next meal. The scent of rot was in the air sometimes, but Master always had a way of calming him, telling him to rest, to eat. But then one morning, Master didn¡¯t wake. Wake up, whiskers in charge now. It told him what to do. Its orders were weak, nothing like Master¡¯s. No like.
Time passed. The homes changed, the walls grew legs, and it told him to stay in home. Simple. But no food. Where was Master? It had been so long, and he hadn¡¯t fed.
Where is Master? Whiskers only told him what to do, never gave him meat. It played at being Master, but it wasn¡¯t. It could never be. He searched for the real Master, slinking through the dark, waiting for a command that never came.
The days stretched into years. His belly ached. His body weakened. So hungry. So hungry. The walls moved, the orders stayed the same, but there was no food. The taste of anything was long gone, the sensation of meat forgotten. He melted the things the rabbit told him to, but they were hollow, tasteless. His mind drifted, searching through the haze of hunger.
Master?
No answer.
Master?
Nothing.
WHERE MASTER?
Whiskers say master be back soon.
Smell of morning. Faint, distant. Must do as said. Always as said. Master be back soon. Whiskers promised. Master be back soon.
The new home feels wrong. The walls are hard, too tight. Legs make, me no like. Better to crawl. So much easier that way, but whiskers say must use legs. Always legs. So, left leg, right leg, stumble forward. Too slow. Useless. Better to crawl. But no. Whiskers insist.
Do as said. Master come soon.
The routine. Always the routine. Follow the alleys, like before. Drop Ehrengy for whiskers. Master come soon. The others shuffle, too. They all do as said, moving like shadows in the streets. Master come back.
But the home feels strange today. The air, heavy. Thick. Neck itch. Can¡¯t help it. Lift hand, scratch.
WHAT?!
Something¡¯s wrong. Pull. The house¡ªthe body¡ªtwists, jerks to the side, hitting the wall. Legs wrong. Everything feels wrong. Night? It comes too quickly. Voices fill the space, bouncing off the walls, demanding things. Questions. Me no answer. House disposable. Whiskers will make another.
The voices, though. They keep coming. Annoying voices. Spit at them, but it doesn¡¯t stop. It never stops.
Night move? It¡¯s not normal. The darkness is alive, crawling, pressing in from every corner. Night come inside house?!
ACK EYES HURT! Pain, sharp, blinding. The night isn¡¯t just darkness. It presses against the eyes, digs into the skull. NIGHT NEEDS TO MELT.
The hunger gnaws, deeper now. The need to eat, to consume, rages inside. So hungry. So hungry. The legs twitch, trying to move but failing. Weak. Always weak. The walls seem to tighten. The space shrinks around him, suffocating.
The hunger takes over, pushing the real body into spasms. MELT. But there¡¯s nothing to melt. SO HUNGRY.
The walls crush in, mocking. WHERE MASTER?
The night presses harder, suffocating, until finally¡ªBURST.
The body rips apart, the thin shell of the ''home'' splintering. Flesh tears, skin shreds. Burst. Burst. BURST.
Out. Free. It bursts through the collapsing form, slick and writhing, the cold air hitting its flesh as it flops onto the cobblestones, wet and glistening.
''''A fucking slug?'''' Nyx''s thoughts pulsed through the shadowy tendrils that surrounded the grotesque creature. He tightened his form around the slug as it flailed and writhed in the alley, acidic slime splattering everywhere.
The shell it had burst from had once looked human enough, but now, as Nyx inspected it, the truth was clear. A hollow chamber sat at the center, devoid of true organs. Tubes connected the limbs to the core, the apparatus that allowed the slug to puppeteer the human form, to simulate a heartbeat, to breathe.
The slug itself was unfamiliar to Nyx. He had seen beasts, spirits, and creatures twisted by the world¡¯s darkest corners, but this was something different.
Its slime burned through Nyx¡¯s shadows, sizzling like meat over open flame, but the pain barely registered. His eyes, or what passed for them in this form, locked onto the brand between the slug¡¯s eyestalks. He committed it to memory, assuming the symbol might matter later.
The slug was growing larger, bulging grotesquely with each passing second. ''''It¡¯ll stretch me too thin if I don¡¯t act.'''' The creature¡¯s lower body had transformed into a monstrous mouth, lined with serrated teeth, gnashing at the air as it thrashed. ''''That¡¯s disgusting'''', Nyx thought. ''''Well, I¡¯ve had worse.''''
The alley was silent, the outside world oblivious to the battle happening in the shadows. The slug twisted harder, desperate to escape, its body now oversized and unrecognizable. Rows of teeth gnashed wildly, snapping at Nyx¡¯s tightening grasp. He could feel the thing pushing against him, struggling for freedom, its thoughts slipping into the void.
But then, something shifted. The slug¡¯s frenzied thrashing slowed as the end of it approached. Nyx felt it pause, a tremor of weakness coursing through the creature. The confusion in its primitive mind sharpened into a single, mournful thought, a last desperate grasp at something that no longer existed.
''''Where... Master?''''
The thought was fragile, filled with yearning, but there was no answer. No connection to anything or anyone. Only cold emptiness. ''''Master? Why no come back?'''' A final pang of loss rippled through the beast as Nyx¡¯s shadows constricted tighter.
''''Whiskers lied.''''
And with that, the creature gave its last shudder, collapsing into itself, consumed entirely by Nyx¡¯s enveloping shadows.
Chapter 51: Catching Up
Silas watched Zinnia¡¯s body twitch violently on the cold prison bed, each jerk sending ripples of tension through her limbs. Sweat poured from her, soaking the thin fabric beneath her.
His poison was doing its work, destroying the heart and unraveling her nerves thread by thread. The slow, painful death designed for those who crossed him was being accelerated¡ªunnaturally. Silas¡¯s brow furrowed, not in concern for her suffering, but because the timing was off.
She shouldn¡¯t be like this yet. He had calculated the dose with precision. Another two, perhaps three days before she¡¯d need the antidote. He blinked once, dismissing the idea of error on his part. His craft was infallible.
''''No¡ something else¡ something interacted with it.'''' His mind raced, considering the possibilities. The poison could react unpredictably when combined with foreign agents. Something she encountered must have sped up the process. Silas''s gaze turned clinical, dissecting the scene.
He would need samples. The truth always revealed itself through flesh.
His hand hovered near Zinnia''s arm as she convulsed again, her fingers clawing at the air, mouth frothing at the corners. The sight intrigued him, the life inside her fighting desperately against the inevitable.
A voice from outside shattered the room''s stillness. "Hey! Mister Ji! Is! She! Going! To! Be! Alright?"
Silas¡¯s eye twitched. He turned his head slightly toward the source but remained silent, focusing instead on his tools. He reached for the syringe, intending to draw blood before moving to the more delicate work. He could already hear the answers he sought in the rhythm of her strained breathing.
"Perhaps," he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for the idiot outside to hear. "I will do what I can. Her survival is up to her."
''''Though if something is interacting with the toxin... the antidote may be useless.''''
The voice came again, louder. "I couldn''t hear you! But I think it''ll be fine! I''ll be here if you need me!"
The edge of Silas¡¯s blade hovered near her flesh, but his fingers twitched in annoyance. ''''What a nuisance.'''' His calm returned like a slow breath through the nose. "An idiot," he muttered softly, his voice no more than a whisper to himself.
Zinnia''s convulsions worsened, her body seizing up. Silas gave a slight tilt of his head, watching the spasms.
He would proceed, take the samples he desired, administer the antidote and something to dull the body. But whether she will survive another hour? ''''Whatever happens¡ happens.'''' he concluded.
Several hours passed, the stillness of evening settling into the prison. Zinnia¡¯s eyelids fluttered as she awoke. Her throat was dry, each breath scraping painfully as she swallowed, her tongue swollen against the roof of her mouth.
She pushed herself up with trembling arms, muscles aching with a soreness that made her body feel foreign. Her chest felt tight, every breath coming in short, strained bursts. The pain pulled her fully from sleep, shaking off the last remnants of unconsciousness.
She rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. Her back throbbed as if someone had slammed her into a wall, the soreness radiating through her spine. Her gaze drifted around the room.
It was stark, with bare walls and a cold floor. Nothing to give away where she was, save for the bars in the corner and the stillness of the cell. Then her eyes landed on Silas.
He stood with his back to her, a long glass tube in his hand, liquid swirling within it. The bottom of the mixture was black, the middle yellow, and at the top, a paper-thin layer of blue shimmered. He extracted only the blue part with a pipette, his focus unwavering as he worked.
¡°You¡¯re alive,¡± he said without turning around. ¡°Congratulations.¡±
Zinnia¡¯s head swam, everything foggy, but her irritation bubbled to the surface. Her hands fumbled as she weakly flipped him off, though he didn¡¯t notice. Her tongue felt heavy, and she struggled to speak. ¡°Your imsumrence neawrly killed mee mid infiftration,¡± she slurred, her words barely coherent. Her mouth felt wrong, and as she ran her tongue along her teeth, she realized why. Her front teeth were missing.
Silas continued his work without so much as a glance. ¡°You bit my hand while I was taking a sample of your saliva,¡± he said. ¡°An unexpected side effect of your situation. It made your teeth brittle.¡±
''''Bullshit,'''' she thought, then hesitated. ''''Or maybe not¡ fuck.''''
Zinnia groaned, the pain in her body making it difficult to think straight, but she needed answers. ¡°Why didth you do thhis?¡± she managed, her voice unsteady.
Silas finally turned to her, shrugging as though the matter were of no consequence. He shook the pipette slightly, showing her the blue liquid. ¡°Not me,¡± he said. ¡°This. You inhaled this substance. Whatever it is, it produced a rather violent reaction with my toxin, triggering the final stages ahead of schedule.¡±
A shiver ran through her as she processed his words. The toxin.
''''Wait¡ if he took it out of me, then maybe¡''''''. A spark of hope ignited in her mind, but it was quickly snuffed out as Silas interrupted her thoughts.
¡°I¡¯ve not removed it,¡± he said, turning back to his instruments. ¡°I merely gave you a dose of the antidote and extracted what caused the interference. Whether you lived or not, was a matter of luck. Again, congratulations.¡±
Her lips curled into a weak sneer, but she stuck her tongue out at him. Silas, however, spoke with a flat expression, ¡°I¡¯m not insulting you. Luck is a far better ally to have than an enemy.¡±
Zinnia managed a mocking half-smile. ¡°Ghee~ The Goddess smiledh upon meh.¡±
Silas¡¯s face darkened, and his smile dropped. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t go that far.¡±
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She winced as she adjusted her position, her mind racing despite the fatigue clouding her thoughts. She began to tell him what had happened before she ended up needing his help¡ªhow she had planned to deal with Henkel, how things had gone wrong. She explained the strange shapes he drew, the ones he burned. She had barely finished when Silas tilted his head slightly, considering her words.
¡°Useful information,¡± he said finally. ¡°Do use more caution next time. Especially when breaking and entering.¡±
Before she could respond, he tossed a small red pill toward her. ¡°For your teeth.¡±
Zinnia caught it and swallowed it dry, hoping for relief, but she felt nothing. She stared at Silas in confusion.
¡°That was your new poison,¡± he said nonchalantly.
Zinnia clenched her fists, anger surging through her as she glared at him. ¡°Whath the fuck ith wrong with you?¡± she growled, her words still mangled by the missing teeth.
Silas raised a brow, amused by her frustration. ¡°I thought we¡¯d moved past this. Do you always take something without questioning what it is?¡±
She tried to move, to rise from the bed, but her body refused to respond. Her muscles were too weak, every limb feeling like it was weighed down with iron. ''''What did I do to deserve this asshole?'''' she wondered, but then flashes of her past came to mind¡ªfaces of those she¡¯d stolen from, deceived, manipulated, left to die. ''''Well, except for those things...''''
With a heavy sigh, she gave up trying to move. ¡°More cauthion?¡± she muttered, her exhaustion creeping into her words. ¡°Canh you preparre fo everything?¡±
Silas didn¡¯t even look at her. ¡°I can¡¯t. Fool¡¯s errand, really,¡± he said, matter-of-fact. ¡°But telling someone to be more careful after nearly dying causes a satisfying amount of irritation.¡±
Zinnia rolled her eyes. ¡°Are youh a childh?¡±
Silas chuckled softly. ¡°No. I simply lack the need to pretend I don''t find something amusing¡ well amusing.¡±
He turned and, with a single motion, dripped the blue liquid from the pipette onto into his mouth.
Zinnia¡¯s eyes widened in alarm. ¡°Whath the¡ª¡±
Nyx hung upside down from a clothesline, his talons digging into the damp fabric of a dirty sheet. He let out a deep, rumbling burp that reverberated through his small, shadowy form.
''''Just because you live in a slum doesn¡¯t mean you have to half-ass washing sheets. You just end up with them smelling full ass,'''' he grumbled to himself.
The last few hours had been spent capturing unfortunate souls who wandered into quiet corners of the slums. Each one had given him a different surprise, leaving him questioning the very nature of these slum dwellers. ''''What are those things made out of?'''' he thought, his beady eyes narrowing in frustration. ''''Don¡¯t taste like meat, that¡¯s for sure.''''
His mind drifted back to his second encounter¡ªa decrepit reeking beggar woman. He¡¯d expected nothing more than stringy old bones, but the moment he consumed her, something massive stirred inside her.
It looked like a Vestial Bear, of all things.
Then there was the muscled laborer¡ªNyx had almost spat him out when he turned into some grotesque version of a Red Starfish.
And the ¡®blind¡¯ brat? That one had been the worst yet, morphing into a lizard covered in eyes. ''''None of it makes sense. What are these freaks?'''' Nyx¡¯s stomach gave an uncomfortable twist, another burp forcing its way up.
''''Ugh, that is not going to come out right.'''' He shifted his talons, his irritation growing. ''''Fucking exotic food. Gonna need something for indigestion.''''
But something more troubling had caught his attention. The slum dwellers had become jumpy, their once mindless routine now interrupted by an air of unease. They didn¡¯t know exactly what was happening, but their instincts told them something was very wrong. Nyx could see it in the way they moved, the darting glances, the hurried steps. ''''They don¡¯t know I¡¯ve been hunting, but they can feel hunted.''''
Just as he was about to take flight and find another target, a commotion stirred nearby. Raised voices, the shuffle of hurried feet. His sharp hearing perked up, curiosity pulling him toward the source. ''''Hmm? Let¡¯s see what¡¯s happening.''''
With a single flap of his wings, he was off.
Zinnia stared in utter disbelief, her eyes wide as Silas swirled the blue liquid in his mouth, his expression calm and unbothered. He swished it around thoughtfully before swallowing with a quiet gulp. "Tastes like an old leather shoe. Weak acid. Energy profile homogenous. Not Alchemic."
Her mouth hung open, more from shock than anything else. She could barely process what she had just witnessed. Silas raised an eyebrow at her, seemingly amused by her dumbfounded expression.
"How did you think alchemical discovery happens?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of condescension.
Zinnia, still missing her front teeth, managed to mutter through her swollen lips, ¡°Somethin¡¯ cleanher! Groshh! Did you just eath wath you ''shampled'' from meh?¡±
Silas crossed his arms, his tone as dry as ever. ¡°That would be idiotic. I first extracted and refined the common factor affecting my toxin within your flesh and flui¡ª¡±
"Shat uph!" Zinnia interrupted, spitting out her words in frustration. "Justh tell meh what it was."
Silas ignored her outburst, continuing as though she hadn¡¯t spoken. ¡°¡ªds. After which, I used a very basic method of separation, concentrating the substances I knew until their weight increased to the point where they were heavier than the targeted unknown factor. The natural discrepancy in density allowed for a perfectly clear separation, which I could then just scoop up.¡±
Zinnia rolled her eyes in an exaggerated motion, groaning at the lecture. Silas, seemingly oblivious to her reaction, continued to explain with a clinical tone. ¡°Whatever it is, it¡¯s traveling quickly into my bloodstream and attempting to diffuse into my nerves and meridians. The small amounts that have made their way are heading toward my brain.¡±
As he spoke, Zinnia noticed something faintly glowing beneath his robes, near the hem of his pants underneath. She squinted, unsure of what she was seeing.
Silas paused, his voice quieter as if speaking more to himself than to her. ¡°This isn¡¯t the product of mixing ingredients and energy together. It induces a lucid, sleep-like state, making one susceptible to suggestion.¡±
Zinnia opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but before she could form the words, Silas flicked a pill into her mouth with alarming precision. She gagged slightly but swallowed reflexively. Almost instantly, her teeth regrew, although her fangs elongated a lot more than her previous set, the familiar sensation of her mouth returning to normal washed over her.
She blinked in surprise, running her tongue over her newly restored teeth. After a long moment of silence, she muttered grudgingly, ¡°Thank you.¡±
Silas didn¡¯t acknowledge her gratitude, already moving on. ¡°Deal with your hero outside, then return to the inn and draw the symbols you saw.¡±
Zinnia blinked, confusion clouding her thoughts. ¡°The shirtless guy?¡± she asked, recalling the young man who had brought her in. ''''What the fuck is he waiting for? Actually, why the fuck did he help me in the first place?''''
Silas¡¯s gaze sharpened as he turned toward her. ¡°Where is the tin I gave you?¡±
Zinnia patted her pockets, suddenly realizing the tin was missing. She searched frantically before blurting out, ¡°Uhhh... I don¡¯t know?¡±
Silas¡¯s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as the air in the cell grew colder. His voice dropped to a dangerously soft tone. ¡°If those things catch a spark and cause an unwarranted incident for no reason¡ I will flay you alive. Thrice.¡±
Zinnia¡¯s stomach sank as she scrambled to her feet, muttering under her breath as she prepared to confront the shirtless idiot outside.
A gloved hand placed a tophat gently onto the desk, the motion smooth. The figure in the tailored coat spoke, their voice deep yet inviting. "I¡¯d like to rent a room, if one is available."
The staff member behind the counter smiled warmly. "Of course! For how many nights?"
"Just the one will suffice." The figure reached into their coat and pulled out a small tin, placing it on the desk with a soft clink. "I happened upon this in your establishment. Perhaps another guest misplaced it?"
The staff member glanced at the tin, then nodded thoughtfully. "Ah, I see. We¡¯ll leave it here overnight. If no one claims it by tomorrow, we¡¯ll discard it."
The figure chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in their tone. "If I¡¯ve returned something important, do let them know where to find me. Perhaps it¡¯s the beginning of a fateful meeting, no?"
The staff member chuckled in return. "Of course, esteemed guest. Welcome to the Siren''s Rest Inn"
Chapter 52: Encircled
The slums of Sichal always had a way of drawing out the worst in people. As evening settled in, shadows slithered between the crooked buildings, while the usual cacophony of life dulled to a murmur.
Gabri and Imael had taken to the side streets, their dark cloaks billowing as they moved like wraiths, keeping their distance from the three Travelling Orchid aspirants. These naive youths¡ªbarely on the cusp of cultivation¡ªhad been hired by the brothers under the ever-watchful eye of the Director.
Convincing the Director hadn¡¯t been easy. The man was as sharp as a dagger. He had made it clear¡ªany harm befalling his aspirants, and the brothers would pay for it with more than just coin, no matter how much he liked them. But Gabri and Imael had needed bait, and this was the best bait they could find.
The three aspirants, one girl and two boys, played their parts perfectly. They wandered through the narrow streets, their wide, curious eyes darting nervously at the slum dwellers who passed them. They were playing the roles of children lost in a dangerous place, looking far too vulnerable for anyone¡¯s good. It was an act, of course¡ªbut a convincing one.
"Should¡¯ve drawn in someone by now," Gabri muttered, keeping his eyes on the trio from the shadows.
Imael, his sharper mind always one step ahead, let out a soft hum of agreement. "The slums don¡¯t usually stay this quiet for long. Either someone¡¯s afraid of them for some reason, or something else is going on."
They waited. Another minute passed, then two. Nothing. The slum dwellers seemed tense, their eyes darting as they moved quickly about their business.
Something felt off.
The youngest of the boys, impatient and eager to make something happen, approached a food stall as it was closing up. Gabri¡¯s sharp ears picked up the interaction immediately. The boy puffed out his chest, acting high and mighty, while the other youth, his voice trembling with mock concern, tried to calm him down. The girl stood off to the side, watching with a smile that was just a little too eager for trouble.
"They¡¯re about to rile someone up," Imael muttered, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword. His brother shared the same thought, giving a curt nod.
The food stall owner, an older man with skin like cracked leather, slammed his fists on the counter, shouting at the youths. From a distance, Gabri and Imael watched as slum dwellers began to gather around the commotion, their faces grim and their eyes sharp. Usually, this would be the point where the trouble started¡ªwhere some unfortunate fool would step forward, eager to make a mark on these seemingly naive outsiders.
But something was wrong. The crowd didn¡¯t rush in. No one tried to throw a punch or grab the girl. Instead, the people began to form a tight circle around the youths, their expressions shifting from anger to something far more unsettling. Gabri could feel the tension rising in his chest.
"Imael," he said, his voice low.
Imael¡¯s eyes narrowed, the slightest twitch in his jaw betraying his own rising unease. "I see it."
The brothers moved in unison, throwing off their cloaks and leaping over the heads of the crowd with ease. Imael landed between the food seller and the aspirants, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, while Gabri positioned himself between the growing crowd and the three youths.
"Brother Gabri! Brother Imael!" the aspirants cried, their voices just loud enough to carry over the murmurs of the crowd. They played their parts perfectly, their terror and relief all part of the act. But Gabri¡¯s instincts were screaming at him that something wasn¡¯t right.
The slum dwellers¡¯ eyes had gone vacant. Faces that had once been full of aggression were now slack, their gazes glassy and unfocused. It was as though a switch had been flipped, and suddenly, they were no longer angry¡ªthey were waiting.
"Something¡¯s wrong," Gabri whispered, his voice barely audible.
Imael didn¡¯t respond immediately, his own eyes scanning the crowd. The slum dwellers were no longer just standing idly by. They were moving. Slowly, deliberately, they began to block off escape routes, closing in tighter. Gabri¡¯s heart quickened as he realized they were being surrounded.
"Imael," he said again, more urgently this time.
Imael¡¯s head snapped toward his brother, the realization dawning in his eyes. The brothers pressed near back-to-back, forcing the aspirants into the center of their protective circle. The banter and planned show of bravado had been dropped entirely, replaced by the cold desire of survival.
"Stay close," Imael ordered the youths, his hand wrapping around the hilt of his sword.
The stall owner, the one who had been so irate moments ago, opened his mouth wide, unnaturally wide, his jaw stretching far beyond what should have been possible. Gabri¡¯s stomach twisted in disgust as he watched the man¡¯s mouth move, the skin around his face stretching and contorting in grotesque fashion.
At the same time, Gabri felt a cold, slimy sensation crawl across the back of his head. His hand shot to his sword, drawing it in one swift motion and slashing through the air. The force of his strike sent a gust of wind through the alley, ruffling the clothes of those around him and slamming nearby shutters closed.
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He spun around just in time to catch a glimpse of a woman standing among the aspirants, her long, forked tongue licking the air as she grinned up at him with unnaturally wide eyes. She had managed to slither into the tight space among the youth between the brothers.
"Get ready!" Gabri barked.
The slum dwellers surged forward. They didn¡¯t scream. They didn¡¯t shout. They moved like a single entity, their movements bestial and unnatural. Imael¡¯s sword flashed, cutting down the first of them with a precision born of countless battles, but the crowd kept coming. What''s more, his sword drew almost no blood from the slash.
"Shit," Imael cursed under his breath, his sword slicing through another attacker, yet again his sword was dry. "They¡¯re not right."
The three aspirants, who had secretly been so confident and composed moments before, were now wide-eyed with genuine fear. They clung to each other, their earlier bravado crumbling as the slum dwellers closed in around them.
"We need to move," Gabri said, his voice low and urgent. His instincts screamed at him to get out¡ªto escape the trap that was rapidly closing in on them.
But as he and Imael fought off another wave of attackers, it became clear that this was no simple brawl. The slum dwellers weren¡¯t just mindless brutes¡ªthey were organized, they knew proper combat. And whoever was pulling the strings behind them wasn¡¯t going to let them go easily. Especially after finding this information out.
As Gabri struck down another attacker, his eyes flicked to the edges of the street. More slum dwellers were emerging from the shadows, their vacant eyes locked onto the brothers.
"We¡¯re being boxed in," Imael said through gritted teeth, his sword flashing as he held the line.
They had planned to set a trap, yet instead they walked into one.
Nyx perched above the chaos, his dark eyes alight with amusement as the scene unfolded beneath him.
He had arrived just as the three aspirants had begun stirring up trouble with the stall owner, their act so stereotypical that Nyx couldn¡¯t help but snicker to himself. As the stall owner¡¯s rage boiled over and the slum dwellers began circling, Nyx had already marked the strange beasts lurking inside the human shells.
His feathers ruffled slightly as he considered the events of the day. He had spent hours hunting and feasting on these very creatures, lurking in the shadows and pulling them apart with ruthless brutality.
It wasn¡¯t a surprise that the beasts had begun to stir, sensing a predator in their midst. Even now, their tension was palpable, and Nyx had to wonder if his proximity had set them on edge, confusing them into thinking these kids were the ones butchering their own.
Nyx mused, his beak clicking softly in thought. "Instincts sensing me?"
From his perch, Nyx watched as Gabri and Imael jumped into the fray, swords flashing. A ripple of interest stirred in Nyx as he observed them. The brothers fit the description Miranda had given him during their little chat.
As they fought, Nyx¡¯s mind turned, gears clicking into place. He could simply stay hidden, let the brothers fight and perhaps die. But that would be inefficient for his current plans.
Passivity didn¡¯t sit well with him.
While Gabri and Imael fought for their lives, unknowingly taking on the wrath meant for him, Nyx considered his course of action. Miranda¡¯s boys could be useful¡ªat least until they found what Silas needed. Once the herbs were secured, their usefulness would run out.
Just then, a shriek tore through the air. One of the male aspirants¡¯ head was ripped clean off, his body collapsing like a broken puppet. Nyx¡¯s eyes flickered, his attention shifting.
A claw slashed across Imael¡¯s face, drawing a line of blood. The beasts had dropped their act¡ªblatantly so.
¡°Hmm~,¡± Nyx mused, scratching his chin with a wing. ¡°I must have hit a nerve.¡±
He tilted his head, watching as the brothers fought desperately, the crowd closing in around them. Nyx slipped into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness like smoke. Moving through the crowd, he crept up behind one of the meatbags, pulling it into a narrow alley. His shadowy tendrils coiled around the creature, snapping its body in half with a sickening crack. The beast within was forced out, revealing a grotesque, goat-like creature, its skin slick with slime.
The alley erupted in chaos. As the goat monster¡¯s head quickly rolled from its shoulders, blood spraying across the walls. Many of the slum dwellers turned their attention toward the alley, drawn by the carnage. Gabri heard a soft, whisper by his ear, mimicking his mother''s voice.
"Run, boy," Nyx¡¯s voice floated on the air like a breeze. "I¡¯ll give you a chance."
Another alley grabbed the crowd¡¯s attention. This time, a bisected python lay in the street, its massive form torn apart, scales shredded as though some monstrous talon had ripped through it. The brothers didn¡¯t hesitate. Grabbing the remaining aspirants, Gabri and Imael sprinted toward the nearest gate, their footsteps echoing off the crumbling walls of the slums.
Nyx moved between the buildings, his form blending seamlessly with the shadows.
He watched the brothers escape. "Your mommy will have to pay up for this," he thought, a dark chuckle bubbling in his throat. His wings ruffled in anticipation¡ªhe¡¯d extract his price, just as he always did.
As Nyx prepared to slip deeper into the shadows, something caught his attention¡ªa presence he hadn¡¯t noticed before. Perched atop a dilapidated house, a Misfortunate Owl stared down at him, its wide, unsettling eyes unblinking. The bird was still, but its gaze pierced through the darkness, following every movement Nyx made, even within his shadow form. Nyx froze, his feathers bristling slightly.
"Interesting..." Nyx thought, narrowing his eyes. The owl wasn¡¯t just watching. Through its gaze, someone else was seeing¡ªsomeone else was aware of his presence.
Nyx didn¡¯t like being watched.
On the balcony, an old man leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face as he moved his piece. "Checkmate," he announced triumphantly, his voice tinged with playful arrogance.
His opponent, a white-haired granny with sharp eyes, grumbled, her fingers hovering over the board. "Ungentlemanly as ever, you old goat," she muttered.
He cackled, the sound deep and rumbling. "You only liked me because I wasn''t a gentleman," he teased.
She chuckled along with him, shaking her head. The balcony they shared was covered in yellow flowers, closing slightly under the chill of night. They had a view most in Sichal could only dream of. The roof of the grand theater stretched out in the distance, families strolled through the streets below, and the gaudy town square fountain was easily visible.
The old man began resetting the game board as the granny shuffled off to make tea. He sighed contentedly, glancing out over the city. "A blessed life..." he murmured, his eyes roving over the rooftops. "Not bad for an old bookkeeper."
He took in a deep breath of the night air, but his gaze halted when it reached the Siren¡¯s Rest Inn. "They sure made it prett¡ª"
A deafening boom shattered the tranquility. The top floor of the Inn¡¯s right wing erupted in a fiery explosion, the blast tearing through the air. The old man shot up, eyes wide. "ROVINIUS! WHAT TH¡ª"
But before he could finish, a heavy thud from inside the house made his blood run cold. His heart raced. "Her heart!" he thought, panic flooding his chest as he bolted inside, ignoring the growing blaze outside.
Chapter 53: Certainly
The evening air outside Sichal¡¯s prison clung to Zinnia like a damp cloak, the last remnants of daylight gone, the sky turned into hues of deep blues and purples.
She paused at the large metal entrance, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shake off the memory of her conversation with Silas.
Her face twisted into a grimace. ¡°At least he wasn¡¯t in a bullying mood~¡± she thought, attempting to console herself, though the thought of what he could be planning sent an involuntary shudder through her spine. Those were becoming rather common now.
He¡¯d mentioned he would meet her at the inn soon, after finishing up his contingency.
Her gaze fell across the street, where a figure stood shivering. Shirtless, the young man who had saved her earlier shifted from foot to foot, muttering a nonsensical tune to himself in an effort to stay warm.
The sight managed to ease some of her irritation; she almost smiled as he performed his odd little jig, oblivious to the onlookers who gave him strange, confused glances. Some snickered, shaking their heads at the ridiculousness of the scene, while others seemed on the verge of outright laughter.
Zinnia approached silently, stepping up next to him unnoticed until she poked him in the ribs. The man nearly jumped out of his skin, spinning around with wide eyes before quickly regaining his composure. ¡°Well! Look at you!¡± he said with exaggerated enthusiasm, flashing her a grin that was meant to be dashing. ¡°That Ji fellow really stole ya back from Hiran.¡±
A faint glimmer of snot, courtesy of the night¡¯s chill, glistened at his nostril, completely ruining the effect. Zinnia raised an eyebrow, lips pressed together in disbelief at his theatrical stance. ¡°Has it not occurred to you that you could¡¯ve, I don¡¯t know, gotten a shirt instead of freezing out here?¡±
The young man blinked, his smile never faltering. ¡°Not once!¡± he declared with an air of righteous certainty.
Zinnia exhaled sharply through her nose, feeling her frustration ebb away, replaced by the suspicion that this man might actually be an idiot.
He dropped his grand pose, crossing his arms over his chest to keep warm, his grin softening into something more genuine. ¡°I just wanted to make sure I did a good job, you know? First time rescuing someone, figured I¡¯d better stick around and make sure you¡¯re okay before I got cozy.¡±
Zinnia¡¯s expression softened in return. ¡°You did great. Alive and well, as you can see. Now, what do you want?¡± She leaned in, waiting for the inevitable ask.
He scratched his chin, squinting up at the darkening sky as if the answer might be written there. ¡°Well,¡± he began, speaking so quickly his words blurred together, ¡°I want a shirt ¡¯cause I¡¯m so cold I could cut rocks with my nipples, I wanna ride a dragon, I want to be the richest man this side of the Great Sea, I want to raid a Dwarven brewery, I want to¡ª¡±
Zinnia waved a hand, cutting him off before he could continue his absurd list. ¡°I meant, what do you want from me, not your life goals.¡±
He shrugged, laughing as though it were the most natural misunderstanding. ¡°Oh, right! Don¡¯t worry about it. It¡¯s fine.¡±
¡°Fine?¡± Zinnia repeated, eyeing him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. ¡°You stood out here for hours, shirtless, waiting for me, and it¡¯s just ¡®fine¡¯?¡±
He gave an exaggerated nod. ¡°Yep! It¡¯s fine.¡±
Zinnia crossed her arms, curiosity creeping into her voice. ¡°Then why bother saving me?¡±
He raised a finger, about to respond, but then lowered it just as quickly, shrugging again. ¡°Felt like the decent thing to do. Oh, and by the way, name¡¯s Robbi. You know where I work if that¡¯s your kind of thing. Feel free to visit me sometime!¡± He winked, clearly not caring how ridiculous he looked with his nose red from the cold.
She gave him a once-over, noting how disarmingly handsome he was despite the lack of muscle and the goofy demeanor. But the thought of Silas and his mood swings lurked at the back of her mind, tempering her amusement and making her consider whether she would get in trouble if she wasn''t available when he wanted her to do some grunt work. ¡°Decent thing to do, huh? Alright, Robbi. You can call me Zin. I¡¯ll get you something for the trouble soon. Sound good?¡±
Robbi wagged a finger at her, clicking his tongue. ¡°Now, now. In my line of work, if we started holding onto promises, there¡¯d be a lot less fun for the ladies and gents that need it. But hey, I¡¯d appreciate it if you could swing by my boss tomorrow and clear up why I was shivering outside instead of keeping clients warm.¡± He sneezed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
Zinnia rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a sigh. ¡°I¡¯ll get you a shirt. Go home, hero. I¡¯ll see if my ¡®boss¡¯ gives me time off tomorrow.¡±
He gave her a bright, boyish smile although he was more than likely reaching his thirtieth summer soon. ¡°Thanks!¡±
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Together, they began walking toward a clothier still open down the street, the cool night air making Robbi shiver even more. After a few moments, he glanced at her, his curiosity finally catching up. ¡°So, how¡¯d you end up in that state anyway?¡±
Zinnia stopped in her tracks, an incredulous sigh escaping her lips. ¡°Now you remember to ask that?¡±
Robbi scratched his head, sheepishly shrugging. ¡°Figured I¡¯d wait till it wasn¡¯t life and death.¡±
She shook her head again, then answered, voice dry with sarcasm. ¡°A nasty man poisoned me over a date gone bad a few weeks back, and ¡®Senior Ji¡¯ is the only one who knows how to cure it.¡±
¡°Sounds rough,¡± Robbi muttered, his earlier cheer dimmed by the seriousness of her reply. He sniffed the air, casting her a sidelong glance. ¡°But hey, you made it, right?¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± Zinnia said quietly. ¡°I made it.¡±
The cold water splashed against Silas¡¯s hands, bloodstains swirling in the basin before vanishing down the drain.
He stood in the prison lavatory, the light casting sharp shadows across his face.
Silas scrubbed until the skin felt raw, though the stains had long since faded. "That''s done now," he thought, his fingers flexing under the flow of water. "Time to see what Selen managed to learn. Perhaps I might get lucky for once." A bitter scoff escaped him, and a dark shadow fell over his face. His lips twisted into a brief, disturbing grin as he muttered, ¡°Luck¡¡±
Silas dried his hands, his eyes catching his reflection in the tarnished mirror for a fleeting moment. The man staring back at him looked calm, composed¡ªbut there was always something lurking beneath. He exited the lavatory, nodding toward the guards stationed at the entrance.
They stiffened under his gaze, acknowledging him without question. He strode through the prison¡¯s corridors, the smell of sweat and despair clinging to the air.
Stepping into the cool night, Silas inhaled deeply, the scent of the city¡ªsmoke, food, and the faintest hint of the forest¡ªfilled his lungs. As he walked through the streets, his thoughts drifted. ¡°Hiding in the shadows is good for finding and getting what you want. But infamy... infamy is better for keeping it.¡± His fingers grazed the fabric of his satchel, feeling the weight of the concoctions, treasures and tools hidden within. ¡°A lesson worth more than many others.¡±
The streets of Sichal stretched out before him, alive with the hum of mortal lives. The gentle glow of lanterns illuminated clusters of people¡ªfamilies gathered for evening meals, friends sharing drinks outside taverns, lovers strolling in the cooling air. Laughter echoed from a nearby building, and the smell of baked bread wafted through the air, mingling with the savory scents of stews and roasted meats. Silas¡¯s gaze swept over it all with a detached interest.
¡°A cultivator¡¯s life,¡± he mused, ¡°is so different from theirs. So far removed from the simple pleasures they cherish.¡± His thoughts wandered further, reflecting on the strange harmony between the cultivators and mortals.
¡°The lesser freely mingle with their superiors. The superiors don¡¯t fully eclipse their lessers. And sometimes... the lessers can even rise to become superiors themselves, while the mighty fall to join the ranks of the ordinary. A world that feels so old, yet also so new. So ever-changing, yet so still. The old becomes the new, the new becomes the old... and yet, no one notices.¡±
His contemplation was interrupted as a ball rolled down a narrow alleyway, coming to rest at his feet. A group of children playing nearby called out to him, their innocent faces lighting up as they waved for him to return the ball.
He bent down, picking it up and throwing it in front of himself. With a flick of his foot, he sent the ball into an elegant arc over the heads of the passersby. The children cheered, their voices echoing down the alley.
¡°Awesome!¡± ¡°Thank you!¡± ¡°Nice shot!¡±
Silas waved briefly before continuing on his way, his thoughts once again shifting to more pressing matters. ¡°Tomorrow, I need to establish contact with this Director,¡± he thought, eyes narrowing. ¡°Find out what I can about that ''Hidden Realm'' from the Artificer''s Guild... and then, figure out who is the person from the Echo.¡± His mind buzzed with the tasks ahead, each one a piece of the puzzle he was assembling, though their true shape still eluded him.
As the Siren¡¯s Rest Inn came into view, Silas slowed his pace. The glow of its lights spilled out onto the street. He scanned the entrance briefly before stepping inside, the faint scent of incense greeting him. The noise of the interior washed over him¡ªa blend of clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and the occasional laugh. But Silas¡¯s eyes immediately fell on something that pulled his attention: his metal tin was sitting on the reception desk.
His expression neutral, he approached the receptionist inquiring why it was there. The employee perked up at his arrival. ¡°Welcome back, Senior Ji!¡± the man said brightly, straightening up. ¡°A new guest checked in earlier and said they found this here. We couldn¡¯t confirm who it belonged to, so we decided to hold it and wait for someone to claim it.¡±
Silas smiled, though there was little emotion behind it. ¡°Thank you for your diligence. May I ask, is the guest still here?¡±
The receptionist nodded eagerly. ¡°Yes, sir! They mentioned that if anyone came looking for the container, we should let them know where to find them.¡± His voice took on an excited tone as he began recounting the story of the man with the tophat, babbling about fated encounters and strange sayings.
But Silas had already stopped listening, his mind racing through the implications. ¡°This is the best intimidation they can muster?¡± he thought, disappointed. His fingers dipped into his satchel, retrieving a small perfume bottle. As the receptionist continued, Silas gave the bottle¡¯s squeeze bulb a light press, releasing a pleasant-smelling mist over the tin. The mist formed a thin, glass-like layer around the container, encapsulating it completely.
The receptionist paused mid-sentence, his eyes widening in awe as he watched the strange sheen settle over the tin. Silas flipped it over, sealing the underside before returning it to his satchel.
¡°Well,¡± Silas said, his tone calm and measured, ¡°I shall certainly meet with this individual. But first, I must attend to a few more matters in my room.¡± He pulled a crisp 100 Reshal note from his coat and handed it to the receptionist.
The young man blinked in surprise, stammering a thank you as Silas nodded and made his way toward the stairs. The note was more than generous.
The receptionist glanced down at the bill, a mixture of appreciation and unease settling over him. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something strange, something beyond his understanding, was about to unfold within the walls of the inn.
Chapter 54: Boom
The room was a chaos of ink-splattered parchments, strewn across every available surface. The suffocating atmosphere pressed in from all sides, thickened by the stagnant air, with the windows shut tightly, trapping the room¡¯s heat. The lack of ventilation gave the space an oppressive, almost unbearable heaviness.
At the center of it all, Selen sat slumped in a wooden chair, her body sagging like a rag doll. Her chest heaved as she hyperventilated shallow breaths, beads of sweat trickling down her temples and neck.
She leaned back over the chair¡¯s backrest, her arms hanging limp at her sides, fingers twitching as if drained of all strength. Hot, moist breaths escaped her mouth and nostrils, each one curling into the air like steam rising from a boiling kettle. Her body burned from within, her skin flushed with a feverish intensity. Her mind raced.
''''He is baaaad~. I¡¯m tired.''''
''''I¡¯ll tell him to eat his own shoe.''''
''''I want another bath.''''
''''I¡¯ve learned so much of this language that my head wants to go boom~''''
She struggled to catch her breath, lost in the whirlwind of her own exhaustion, completely oblivious to the soft click of the door behind her as it swung open. Silas stepped into the room, his gaze sweeping over the disarray. His eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of surprise at the sight. [Headstart] had certainly left its mark on her.
His attention shifted to Selen, slumped and struggling, her breath still coming in labored gasps. Her skin, once pale, now flushed a deep red, and the tips of her fingers had taken on an unnatural hue of purple and blue.
''''Did the potion burst her capillaries, or was it physical trauma by her own hand?'''' Silas pondered the thought briefly before dismissing it. With a casual nudge of his foot, he began pushing the scattered parchments into a pile. Selen remained oblivious to his presence.
¡°The stench of the room is quite something,¡± he muttered to himself, eyes briefly darting to the closed window. He strode over, wrenching it open, letting the crisp, cool air flood the room.
The sudden rush of fresh air jolted Selen from her stupor. Her swollen eyes shot open, and a shiver ran down her spine as the temperature shift hit her like a bucket of ice water.
She leaned her head back even further, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of who had entered. Her bloodshot eyes caught the top of Silas¡¯s head, and through her labored breaths, she spoke fluently in Livish.
¡°Eat a shoe.¡±
Then, with a defeated sigh, she slumped back into her chair, sinking into a more comfortable position.
Behind her, Silas¡¯s lips twitched into a rare, genuine smile. The corners of his mouth pulled slightly upward. He¡¯d gotten the result he¡¯d hoped for.
Without a word, he crossed the room to the washroom, rummaging through the basin until he produced a cold, damp cloth. Returning to where Selen sat, still unaware of his movements, he unceremoniously slapped the cloth onto her face, his hand firm and unrelenting.
Selen jolted upright, a scream ripping from her throat as the icy cloth made contact with her overheated skin. She blinked rapidly, her hands instinctively reaching for her face as she gasped in shock. Silas loomed behind her, his expression unchanged as he watched her reaction.
¡°You¡¯ve done excellently,¡± he said, his voice low but clear. ¡°Cool yourself down quickly. You¡¯ll have to leave here shortly.¡±
Selen''s first instinct was to lash out, anger bubbling up from the depths of her fatigue. But then, as his words filtered through her mind, she realized with mild surprise that she understood him perfectly. The language she had struggled to grasp now came to her with startling ease.
Selen rolled up her sleeves, her fingers shaking as she reached the washroom.
The faucet rattled before releasing a stream of cold water that splashed loudly against the basin. The moment after Silas had thrown the damp cloth on her, she¡¯d realized just how blistering her skin had become. Her body felt like it was burning from the inside out, and every breath came out ragged and shallow.
She grabbed another cloth, soaking it under the faucet, then pressed it against her face, relishing the brief relief. But it wasn¡¯t enough. The heat clung to her, spreading across her torso and down her legs. She yanked up her shirt and wiped her scalding skin, rinsing the cloth after every wipe.
Each time, the cool cloth grew hot immediately, forcing her to wring it out and soak it again, as she desperately tried to cool herself down.
Meanwhile, Silas had begun setting up another Alchemy station in the room. His movements were smooth as he arranged an assortment of tools and ingredients on the table. He retrieved a blue stone mortar and pestle from his satchel, selecting a handful of dried herbs. With firm pressure, he ground the herbs into a fine powder, releasing a strong, earthy scent that soon overpowered the room.
Once satisfied, he poured the crushed herbs into a ceramic bowl, adding a small measure of black salt. The mixture hissed slightly, a reaction triggered by the contact, as he stirred it into a coarse blend.
From his satchel, Silas produced a tiny vial of thick, golden oil, removing the stopper with a careful twist. He let a single drop fall into the bowl, watching as it spread evenly across the surface of the mixture, turning it into a more malleable form.
The burner beside him flared to life, a soft flame dancing beneath a small clay pot. Silas transferred the mixture into the pot, setting the lid on top as the contents inside began to bubble and sizzle. The pungent smell of herbs and burnt minerals filled the air, creating a heady atmosphere as the mixture cooked.
He watched closely, his gaze unblinking as the pot emitted a faint glow, the signal that the blend had reached its final stage. He extinguished the flame and allowed the contents to cool for a few minutes. Once the glow faded, he removed the lid, revealing a thick, clay-like substance with streaks of green and gray.
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Silas smirked, pleased with the result.
He took a small glass pin from his satchel, its surface smooth and translucent, and pressed it deep into the soft mass. As the pin embedded itself within, the residual Energy from the mixture surged within the glass, connecting the two.
The [Miner¡¯s Sun] was complete.
As he inspected his creation, Selen emerged from the washroom, her skin still glistening with moisture, her breath coming more evenly now. She eyed the strange object in his hands, curiosity sparking in her tired eyes.
¡°What is that?¡± she asked, her voice still rough from earlier.
Silas glanced at her, a slight unnerving grin tugging at his lips. ¡°A meeting gift,¡± he replied lightly. ¡°For a new acquaintance.¡± His tone was casual, but his eyes held a sinister shine. ¡°And I must say, your speech is impressive.¡±
Before she could react, Silas stepped closer, his hand gripping her shoulder with a touch that made her stiffen in discomfort. He guided her to the window, his presence overwhelming as he pointed across the street.
¡°Over there,¡± he instructed, his voice dripping with charm that felt almost dangerous. ¡°I need you to wait at that spot. Stay there until I come for you, no matter what you see.¡±
Selen frowned, her thoughts swirling with questions. ¡°What¡¯s going to happen?¡± she asked, her instincts urging her to push back. But the way Silas spoke, the charm laced in every word, held her in place. His presence had taken on a predatory grace, like something lethal wrapped in beauty.
He pulled a dark cloak from his satchel, the heavy fabric swishing as he flung it over her shoulders. The weight of the cloak settled around her, and before she could react, Silas drew the hood over her head, obscuring her face. She blinked in surprise, feeling both sheltered and trapped beneath the garment.
¡°Remember,¡± he said, his voice a velvet command. ¡°Stay until I appear. No matter what.¡±
Confusion flickered across her face, but she nodded, unable to shake the feeling that he was the only one who could help her make sense of everything. Despite the unsettling tension in the air, she found herself trusting him, even if her instincts told her to run.
Silas gestured toward the door, his manner shifting into something perhaps gentlemanly. He escorted her to the exit, holding the door open with a flourish, his eyes never leaving her. As she stepped outside, the door slammed shut behind her with a resounding bang.
She jumped, startled again, before muttering under her breath.
¡°Weirdo¡¡±
Selen arrived at the designated spot, still uncertain about Silas¡¯s intentions. She glanced up toward their window at the Siren¡¯s Rest Inn. There, she caught sight of him waving at her, a smile stretched across his face, his eyes closed in an unsettling show of contentment. He disappeared from view as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Selen with a familiar expression of disbelief.
¡°Weirdo¡¡± she muttered under her breath again, shaking her head slightly.
Inside the room, Silas stretched, rolling his right shoulder before shaking out his arm. A few rotations of his wrist followed, as if he were warming up for something. He had cleaned up his setup from moments earlier, erasing every possibly trace that could hint at what was created. The room now looked as sterile as when they had first entered.
Silas was in an oddly cheerful mood, a slow, low tune coming up in his throat. He whistled softly, the sound echoing through the room as he made his way to the door. The faint smile on his face didn¡¯t waver as he exited and started down the hallway, heading toward the room where the receptionist had indicated the "kind" stranger was staying.
As he passed through the halls, a young woman with auburn hair, slightly pointed ears and dark grey skin perked up. She turned her head towards Silas, her eyes bright with recognition. ¡°Viraxian Lament? That¡¯s such a nice song!¡± she said, her voice warm with enthusiasm.
Silas paused mid-step, turning to face her with a soft chuckle. ¡°I agree wholeheartedly,¡± he replied. ¡°Though, don¡¯t you think the lyrics are a bit unfair?¡±
The woman tilted her head in thought. ¡°Well, it sings about the fall of a Great Elven House, doesn¡¯t it? It has to be unfair to the killer, right?¡±
Silas grinned. ¡°Perhaps so,¡± he mused. ¡°Are you an employee or a guest here?¡±
¡°Oh, I¡¯m a courier for the Magicraft Guild,¡± she answered quickly. ¡°Had a delivery for another guest.¡±
Feeling particularly generous from meeting a fellow fan of the song, Silas reached into his robes and revealed his Special Inspector badge. ¡°What a fortunate encounter,¡± he said smoothly, slipping the badge back into place.
¡°Would you do me a favor? I require a small jar of Amerithium shavings. I¡¯m currently fulfilling a request for Lord Magistrate Lachlan of Rhysling, and I¡¯ll need the shavings for several serums that could prove necessary for my investigation.¡±
The woman¡¯s eyes widened with recognition as she quickly nodded. ¡°How soon do you need them, Lord Inspector?¡±
¡°Ji will do fine,¡± Silas corrected with a smile. ¡°If you can run as fast as you can to retrieve them now, I¡¯ll let you forward any price you wish to the Magistra-.¡±
He hadn¡¯t even finished his sentence before the courier vanished, no doubt sprinting at top speed to carry out the order. Silas chuckled softly to himself, resuming his slow, steady whistle as he continued down the hallway, the song growing ever more melancholic.
He reached the door of his target, the low whistle fading as he placed his hand on the knob.
Inside the room, the mysterious man sat at a small table, pouring two cups of tea. His top hat and cloak had been removed, revealing a stocky frame. His eyes, if one looked closely, flickered between shades of red and orange, the colors shifting and swirling in his irises like embers in a fire.
The man heard the approach of the whistling tune and sighed, already anticipating the arrival of trouble. ¡°Quite a free-spirited one,¡± he muttered to himself, lifting one of the tea cups. ¡°Now let¡¯s see if we can come to an agreement, Mr. Ji.¡±
As the door creaked open, the man closed his eyes and turned around, trying to project an air of mystery. With a grand, wide gesture of his arms, he called out, ¡°Welcome, Seni¡ª¡± But his voice cut off, his eyes snapping open mid-sentence, an expression of pure shock crossing his face.
Standing in the doorway, Silas''s face contorted into a snarl filled with loathing, his hand already in motion. Without saying a word, he hurled something directly at the man, before leaping away from the door. Time seemed to slow as the object flew through the air.
The man¡¯s reflexes kicked in, his body moving with lightning speed as he stretched out a hand to catch it.
The moment the object made contact with his palm, there was a sickening crack of glass. Before the man could register what was happening, the sound of shattering filled his ears, followed by the deafening boom of a cataclysmic explosion.
The blast ripped through the room with such ferocity that the very air seemed to ignite. A wave of heat, intense enough to sear flesh from bone, consumed the space, followed by a monstrous shockwave that tore through the walls like they were paper. The force of the detonation hurled furniture into the air, splintering wood and shredding fabric in an instant.
The man, standing at the epicenter of the blast, didn¡¯t even have time to scream. The fireball that enveloped him reduced him to nothing but a silhouette, his form vanishing in a split second beneath the consuming flames. The shockwave obliterated his body, leaving only a pair of feet standing awkwardly amidst the destruction, blackened stumps of charred bone jutting out from where his legs had once been.
The room was transformed into a hellish inferno, flames licking up the walls hungry for more, devouring everything in sight. The ceiling collapsed under the pressure of the explosion, caving in with a deafening roar.
Glass shattered outward, raining down onto the streets below, where panicked screams echoed as the fire spread. A large chunk of the inn crumbled, the once-beautiful building reduced to a smoldering ruin in seconds.
Outside, the chaos unfolded in an instant. People scrambled to flee the burning wreckage, their faces pale with terror as they screamed for help, the thick stench of smoke and scorched wood filling the air.
The once-calm night was shattered by the sight of the flaming inn.
Chapter 55: Correct Choice
The Siren¡¯s Rest was no more. The inn, once a calm haven for travelers, lay in utter ruin.
Flames gnawed at the fractured beams and shattered walls, sending tendrils of thick, black smoke spiraling into the sky. The heat radiated outward, baking the streets below, while passersby stumbled back, eyes wide with horror.
The blast had ripped through the structure like a beast unleashed, a vicious force that left nothing untouched.
The wreckage told the story. Where the explosion had originated, the inn''s floor had buckled under the immense pressure, giving way as a beam¡ªstill splintered and jagged¡ªplummeted downward.
The poor receptionist, who had unwittingly sealed his fate by guiding Silas to the mystery man''s room, found himself directly in the path of that collapsing structure. He didn¡¯t even have time to cry out.
The beam came down with a sickening crunch, pinning his torso to the ground. His legs twitched, kicking feebly, as half of his body lay flattened beneath the weight.
His face, pale and frozen in shock, twisted into an agonized grimace that would be his last expression. A flicker of life still pulsed in his eyes, but it wouldn¡¯t last long. A single 100 Reshal bill, peaking out of his back pocket, caught a stray ember. It ignited slowly, curling into ash just as the last breath left the man¡¯s lips, and he became nothing more than another casualty of the chaos.
In the adjacent rooms, where the blast had originated, the fate of the guests was no better. The explosion had been merciless. Bodies lay twisted and broken, the walls smeared with blood and debris. The force had been enough to rip limbs from torsos, to shatter bones like glass. A once peaceful night in Sichal had turned into an inferno of death, and the unfortunate souls caught within had no time to react.
Not everyone was defenseless. Down the hallway, far from the heart of the blast, a young Air Elementalist named Tyne had been jolted awake by the sound of the explosion. Though she was on the inn¡¯s far end, the shockwave hit her hard. She felt her eardrums burst with a sickening pop, the warm trickle of blood running down the sides of her neck. Her vision blurred, and for a few disorienting seconds, she could feel nothing but the roar of her own heartbeat.
But Tyne was a survivor. Shaking off the daze, she realized the inn was already filling with toxic smoke. The acrid stench burned her throat, making it hard to think, but she forced herself to focus and rush out to help.
Drawing on her Elemental Arts, she raised her hands and began to push at the air around her. The smoke, thick and choking, swirled and dissipated as she created a vacuum within the gaping hole in the inn¡¯s structure. The air rushed out, dragging the poisonous cloud with it.
Cries of anguish echoed down the corridors. Tyne could see the shadows of movement¡ªother guests, clinging to life, trapped under the wreckage. Their screams mingled with a single, collective thought, reverberating through the survivors'' minds: ''''Why did this happen? Why me?''''
Outside, the devastation had spread beyond the inn. The shockwave had slammed into the street, throwing mortals to the ground with the sheer force of it.
Some had perished instantly, their bodies crushed by the concussive blast or pummeled by flying debris. Others lay pinned under rubble, calling out weakly for help, while a crowd began to gather, staring in disbelief at the flaming wreckage that was once the Siren¡¯s Rest.
Two first-step cultivators, a Monk and a Fighter, quickly joined the growing chaos. With their Qi and Energy enhanced bodies, they dove into the fray, lifting beams and broken stone with ease. Their movements were swift, as they worked to free the trapped mortals from the rubble.
Around them, those still standing whispered in horror, ¡°What happened?¡± But no one had an answer.
Inside, Tyne continued her efforts. Her Arts kept the smoke at bay, but the fire was spreading too quickly, licking at the walls, threatening to consume the entire structure. Gritting her teeth, she moved toward the largest pile of rubble near her, hoping to contain the flames by suffocating the air around it. As she did, a sudden movement caught her eye¡ªa hand, punching through the debris, covered in a gleaming black metallic sheen.
Her heart jumped as she saw the figure emerge from the wreckage. A man, his robe torn, his skin shimmering like polished iron, stepped out carrying two unconscious girls in his arms. The children were unnervingly peaceful, their faces serene despite the destruction around them.
Silas. His raspy voice, now clearing into something warm, called out, ¡°There is one other in the room behind me, their elder brother. Please assist me in helping the victims caught in this attempt on my life.¡±
Tyne couldn¡¯t hear him¡ªnot fully. Her eardrums hadn¡¯t yet healed, and the constant ringing in her head made everything sound distant and muffled. But she could feel the vibrations of his words in the air, the way they pressed against her skin, the urgency in his tone unmistakable. She nodded, her desire to help taking over, as she redirected her focus to the pile he indicated.
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While she worked to draw the smoke away from the rubble, Silas leaped through the giant hole in the inn¡¯s side and down to the street below. With a grace that belied the chaos, he laid the children down in a safe spot, away from the growing inferno. Without pausing, he turned and headed back up toward the wreckage, his eyes scanning the destruction for more survivors.
The inferno roared on, as outside the inn, the crowds continued to gather, watching in stunned silence as the building collapsed further in on itself.
Selen stood across the street from the Siren¡¯s Rest Inn, her arms crossed as she watched the destruction unfold.
The explosion had been sudden, sending debris into the air, and the inn itself had collapsed into a burning husk. Thick smoke billowed upward, obscuring parts of the sky, while flames hungrily consumed the remnants of the structure. From where she stood, she could see people scrambling, others lying motionless on the ground¡ªvictims of the blast. The cries of survivors, mixed with the crackling of fire, filled the air.
Her eyes flicked over the scene briefly, taking in the chaos. It was clear who the culprit was. Silas. There was no doubt. He had been inside moments before, and now the place was a ruin. Without even considering the context, he was probably in the wrong.
And even with context, whatever justification he might conjure, it was hard to imagine it making this carnage acceptable. He was ''''bad'''', she thought, her mind analytical.
Despite the brutality, despite the lives lost, Selen found herself more detached than one might expect. It was surprising to her¡ªyet not unsettling. The destruction perhaps should have disturbed her more, but her thoughts remained sharp, focused on what this meant for her. She was, after all, an outsider in this, a spectator to Silas''s violent machinations.
She weighed her position carefully. Silas seemed extremely interested in her¡ªthere was no denying that.
His strange enthusiasm for her understanding of Korr''av-el had been obvious. That meant he wouldn¡¯t make things difficult for her, at least not intentionally. He needed her cooperation, or so it seemed. But the ease with which he killed¡ªthe lives snuffed out as easily as cutting down a crop¡ªdid not bode well if his interest ever shifted or soured. If things turned hostile, she could end up as collateral damage, just like the patrons of the Siren¡¯s Rest.
Her thoughts drifted back to their brief interaction by the window. That strange, disturbed feeling he had exuded for just a moment stuck with her. It was fleeting, but unsettling. There was more to him than the controlled, authoritative figure he projected. Whatever it was, she didn¡¯t care to dig deeper at this moment. She could speak the strange language he had taught her now, which lessened her reliance on him. ''''I could just run away now while he¡¯s busy.''''
It was tempting. If she slipped away now, while he was occupied, she could escape this entire mess. But she didn¡¯t know enough about him¡ªdidn¡¯t know how far his abilities extended. Perhaps he could track her, or maybe he had loyal followers who would hunt her down. Or perhaps he was just a dangerous madman who gave her too much credit, valuing her far more than she was worth.
Selen glanced at the ruined inn again and took a step back, her mind turning over her options.
But the moment she moved, something inside her flared to life, an instinct, sharp and visceral. Her entire body screamed in warning¡ªanother step would bring disaster. She froze, her hand instinctively rising into a familiar triangle gesture just above her abdomen.
''''So¡ It¡¯s still here,'''' she thought, a quiet realization washing over her. This natural ability of hers, the one that warned of incorrect choices, had not left her. It hadn¡¯t been present in her dreams, but now that she was awake, it returned in full force. She had walked the right path so far, that was why she hadn¡¯t felt the instinct¡¯s sting. But leaving Silas? That was the wrong choice.
She lowered her hands and took a slow breath, choosing to trust her instincts.
For now, she would stay.
Her eyes shifted back toward the wreckage of the inn. Four groups had formed outside the building. The first group consisted of observers, standing by and watching in shock, too paralyzed to act.
The second group moved with purpose, trying to help the injured, pulling survivors from the wreckage.
The third group¡ªthe dead¡ªlay scattered, their bodies crumpled in the street, motionless.
The final group consisted of the injured, their groans and cries of pain rising into the smoke-filled air.
Amidst the chaos, she spotted Silas. He stood topless, his body covered in a strange black metallic sheen, as if his skin itself had transformed into an aspect of the night. His eyes scanned the devastation with an eerie calmness. He knelt beside a newly deceased victim, gently closing their eyes, his expression unreadable.
A crowd had begun to gather around him. Selen couldn¡¯t hear every word he spoke from this distance, but she could tell he had captured their attention.
His voice, carrying authority, seemed to pull the people in. At first, there were murmurs of confusion, then disbelief. The murmurs turned into whispers, and soon whispers became yells. Silas was deliberately stoking their emotions, pushing the crowd into a frenzy.
She watched as he held something in his hand, flashing it for all to see. Whatever it was, it had an immediate effect, silencing the crowd¡¯s growing unrest. She strained her ears, catching snippets of his speech: ¡°My fault... assassination attempt... corruption... heresy...¡±
The crowd seemed to waver between fear and confusion, but Silas pressed on, weaving a tale that cast him as their savior¡ªa man sent to cleanse this town of its evils. He spoke with conviction, making promises of justice, and when he raised his voice one final time, a chant broke out: ¡°Senior Ji! Senior Ji! Senior Ji!¡±
Selen¡¯s eyes narrowed, watching as the people chanted this name. He had won them over, turned the narrative to his advantage.
He was using the explosion, the deaths, as part of his ruse, spinning a story that painted him as the hero. She could feel the energy in the crowd shift, their fear transforming into hope as they clung to his words.
From where she stood, she could only catch a few more phrases¡ª¡°I will help,¡± ¡°Special Inspector,¡± ¡°Vow.¡± The crowd surged forward, rallying behind him, their trust won by his deception.
Selen crossed her arms again, watching the scene unfold. Silas was dangerous¡ªmore so than she had initially thought¡ªbut there was something almost admirable in how effectively he manipulated the crowd.
He had turned a catastrophe of his own making into an opportunity, shifting blame, redirecting anger, and securing his position. Whatever his endgame was, it was clear now that she had a part to play in it.
Her instinct had been right. For now, staying was the smart move.
She would wait. And watch.
Chapter 56: The Director Moves
A room hidden from all was thick with warmth, a humid, sticky heat that clung to everything. It felt alive in the most unnatural way, like the air itself was exhaling.
Inside, darkness ruled. But it wasn''t the kind that brought relief. It was oppressive, suffocating, made worse by the unsettling sounds that permeated the space. Clicking, like nails scraping on bone, gnashing from unseen mouths, and the constant gurgling flow of a viscous liquid that moved through the room in pulses. There were no visible windows or doors, no clear way in or out. The place felt sealed, insulated from anything resembling normalcy.
From the ceiling hung strands of a thick, white slime. They drooped in sloppy, wet threads, swaying slightly as if the very air itself breathed with a twisted rhythm.
The walls glistened, damp with the same substance. And yet, amidst this nightmarish landscape, there was a single, haunting source of light¡ªa candle made of a quartz-like material. It sat, seemingly untouched by the filth around it, glowing with a soft, white flame at its tip. There was no wick, yet the flame burned steadily, casting an eerie glow over the center of the room.
Below the candle lay an object, swaddled in filthy linen that might once have passed for gauze. The fabric was marred with strange markings¡ªfootprints from beasts, jagged tears from claws or fangs. Some parts of it were shredded, almost gnawed upon. The section closest to the candle was drenched in crimson, soaked as though it had absorbed the blood of countless creatures, a wriggling, pulsating mass that refused to dry.
Suddenly, from the ceiling, a figure descended. It landed soundlessly in the pool of light, its grotesque form revealed by the pale glow of the candle. The creature was massive, an arachnid with giant, hairy fangs that scraped against one another with a low grinding sound. Above the fangs, multiple eyes spun in their sockets, rolling in every direction. One of the eyes was ruptured, leaking a stream of thick, blue blood that carefully avoided dripping onto the linen below.
A leg, long and covered in jagged, chitinous spikes, lowered from the creature¡¯s body, moving with surprising delicacy. It reached out and tapped the blood-soaked linen with a gentle touch, as if testing its safety.
The moment the leg made contact, a furious scream, sharp and piercing, erupted from the darkness. The spider-creature turned its remaining eyes toward the sound. Another figure emerged from the shadows and stepped into the candle¡¯s glow.
It was shorter than a Human, but taller than any Dwarf, its body covered in short, white fur that stuck to its skin in patches. One long ear extended from the back of its skull, with a disfiguring scar where another ear should have been. Its small, black eyes were dripping with blood, and blood poured from its nose, ears, and mouth as well. The creature''s whiskers twitched uncontrollably, and its cleft lip exposed long, yellowed teeth that clicked together, spitting blood with each gnash.
The arachnid¡¯s fangs rubbed together quickly, producing a soft, motherly hum that filled the space with an unsettling calm. ¡°A Crow-shaped Beast has appeared in the kin-pen. It has been consuming the horde. Destroyed a sight-sharer kin.¡±
The rabbit-like creature, twitching and gnashing, spat blood with each rapid word. ¡°The human that arrived¡ªhe¡¯s meddling with Sichal''s affairs. Blew up the Second Shell.¡±
The spider¡¯s fangs twitched in response. ¡°How did he surprise you during your interaction?¡±
¡°No interaction,¡± the rabbit replied in a high-pitched, rapid squeak. ¡°Threw a bomb before I could say or do anything.¡±
The spider paused for a moment, the clicking of its fangs slowing as it processed the information. ¡°A dangerous one. The Third Shell and Prime Shell are all we have left now for anchors.¡±
The rabbit¡¯s irritation showed through the twitch of its nose and the gnashing of its teeth. ¡°We will restore the bond before they deteriorate.¡±
The spider¡¯s voice, though soft, carried a weight of warning. ¡°The horde¡¯s Energy will concentrate into us with fewer kin now. Our minds grow less sharp with each passing day, Toy. If Master¡¯s gift is not returned soon, the incoming power will force us to Stampede. You are the only one left who can call upon the Change.¡±
The rabbit¡¯s ear drooped, its blood-slick whiskers twitching as it looked toward the blood-soaked linen beneath the candle. ¡°You say all that I know. The Shells will make do. Less than ten days until we can return everything to how it should be.¡±
The two creatures stood in silence, their forms casting twisted shadows in the eerie candlelight, a the linen wrapped object lay motionless.
Gabri and Imael burst through the "staff only" backdoor, their breathing ragged, each carrying one of the two aspirants they¡¯d managed to save. The backstage of the Sichal Theater was a whirlwind of chaotic activity.
Performers lounged in mismatched states of readiness, some idly rehearsing lines or steps, others indulging in substances that sent them into heady, euphoric states. A few hadn¡¯t even bothered with decorum, locked in brazen embraces for anyone to see. But every one of them snapped to attention as Gabri and Imael stormed in, their shouts for the Director cutting through the room like a blade.
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Whispers followed them, though no one dared speak aloud. It wasn¡¯t the state of the aspirants they were carrying that drew the most attention¡ªit was the fact that one was missing. In the performers¡¯ eyes, the brothers were as good as dead. The unspoken thought rippled through the room like wildfire: ''''Oh, they are fucked¡''''
Gabri¡¯s voice, still hoarse from the struggle in the slums, rang out again. ¡°Director!¡± he bellowed, desperation edging every syllable.
The cry traveled through the space, echoing into the theater¡¯s backstage until it reached one of the more gaudily decorated backrooms.
There, the Director, in all his mustached glory, appeared with a slow flourish. He stood in the doorway, a curved cane resting lazily in his grip, dressed in a garish orange vest and brown trousers, his presence both absurd and intimidating. His arrival seemed to suck the air out of the room, silencing even the faint whispers. He began to whistle a sprightly tune, the merry sound entirely mismatched with the tension now thickening the air.
As he stepped forward, something strange happened. The ground beneath him seemed to shrink, as the distance between himself and the brothers vanished into nothingness with each step, his movements even but covering far more space than was natural. His mustache twitched in rhythm with the tune, dancing playfully as his eyes darted around the room, eyebrows jumping with the song''s beats.
Gabri and Imael, frozen in place, found themselves unable to speak. It wasn¡¯t fear alone that stopped them¡ªthe Director was doing something to them.
His gaze flitted over their faces, and with a slow, over the top movement, he raised three fingers, nodding with exaggerated enthusiasm. Then, just as quickly, his expression shifted. Two fingers went up in his other hand, and his face transformed into a tragic frown, his mustache dipping into a makeshift goatee. His eyes swelled with tears, comically large, as if about to burst from his head.
¡°Boys,¡± the Director finally said, breaking the heavy silence, ¡°why are you making me do this now? We were getting along so swimmingly!¡±
Imael opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, the Director''s cane twirled in his hand, and with two sharp, precise flicks, he struck both brothers squarely on their elbows.
The pain was instant, and though their mouths opened in silent screams, no sound escaped. Their arms, nearly severed at the joints, began to spin wildly, grotesquely rotating as though their limbs were windmills. The Director watched with a sort of bemused indifference, letting their agony unfold in silence, their voices caught in the bubble of Energy he had woven around them.
The aspirants, who had been in a daze of shock, snapped back to reality as the scene unfolded. The girl, her face pale and streaked with dirt, suddenly screamed, ¡°THE PEOPLE IN THE SLUMS ARE MONSTERS!¡±
The Director paused, his mustache twitching mid-tune, his head cocking to the side in curious amusement. He continued flipping the brothers'' arms back and forth with his cane, but his eyes settled on the girl. ¡°Monsters, you say?¡± he murmured, his voice lilting with false curiosity. He wiggled his mustache again, urging her to continue.
¡°They¡ªthey were!¡± she stammered. ¡°They¡ªthey attacked us, and their bodies¡ª¡±
¡°Changed,¡± Imael gasped, still struggling to form words as his arms twisted unnaturally. ¡°They weren¡¯t normal!¡±
The Director¡¯s grin faltered for a brief moment, genuine interest crossing his face. His gaze darkened, and with one final flick of his cane, he stopped the brothers¡¯ limbs from spinning, leaving them on their knees, clutching what was left of their arms. Gabri was shaking, his face ashen, while Imael simply gasped, sweat pouring from his brow.
¡°Well, shit,¡± the Director said, his voice lilting with amusement. ¡°Who would¡¯ve thought? I guess you boys get off the hook.¡± His grin widened as he took in the brothers¡¯ broken bodies. ¡°Minya! Fix ¡¯em up. I have to see this shit for myself.¡±
A petite woman in a dark cloak appeared from the shadows, her eyes cold. She nodded once and began moving toward the brothers, already assessing the damage.
The Director chuckled, waving his hand dismissively as he headed toward the backstage exit. ¡°Be back in a few,¡± he called back over his shoulder. ¡°Keep the show running while I¡¯m out!¡±
A clearing just outside Sichal lay quiet, save for the rustling of trees swaying in the wind.
In the center of the stillness, a scene of pure savagery marred the otherwise serene surroundings. A grisly smear of blood and flesh was ground into the rocky outcrop, and wisps of tattered feathers floated lazily on the breeze.
Nyx, his dark form looming over the carnage, finished the last brutal act of his work, pulverizing the remaining fragments of the Misfortunate Owl¡¯s skull into the mush below.
He stared down at his handiwork with a lingering disdain. The audacity of the Owl and the person possessing it, catching sight of him lurking¡ªit grated on Nyx¡¯s pride.
He operated with precision, after all, priding himself on his mastery of shadow and stealth. To be spotted was an affront to his very existence. Whomever the Owl was connected to should have felt every excruciating tear, every bone break, and every grind of flesh. Yet something felt off.
Nyx clicked his beak, thinking. The Owl hadn¡¯t thrashed nearly as much as it should have during its final moments. There was no satisfying struggle, no real resistance to his onslaught.
Either the one controlling the Owl had severed the link before Nyx could deliver the full force of his punishment, or¡ªhe mused darkly¡ªthey had an unnervingly high tolerance for pain. A low, displeased sound escaped him. "Feels wrong¡ hmm." The lingering doubt gnawed at him, a vague sense of unease that something got one over on him creeped into his usually confident mind.
However, with a dismissive shrug of his feathers, Nyx reached into his sash, retrieving a small vial of familiar liquid. Without ceremony, he poured it over the grisly remains. The potion sizzled, erasing all evidence of the carnage in moments.
The air around him cleared of the metallic scent of blood, leaving nothing but a faint whiff of ash behind. Satisfied with the thoroughness of the cleanup, Nyx gave a lazy shake of his wings, his earlier feast still sitting comfortably in his belly.
"Guess I¡¯ll see what the things in those meatbags will do tonight after my little culling."
With a powerful flap, Nyx took flight, soaring high into the air as the clearing below faded into the distance. His keen eyes turned toward the slums once more, where the final events of the night were about to unfold.
He had no idea how close his intuition had come to the truth¡ªthe one tied to the Owl could not feel pain. Not an Arachnid.
Chapter 57: Trailing
The Director moved through the night-cloaked streets of Sichal, his orange vest and brown trousers catching the faint glow of streetlights, lending him a theatrical, absurd air.
A dark cloak draped over his shoulders, swaying with his steps, adding a flourish to his every move. His mustache twitched in rhythm with the sprightly tune he whistled, a melody that felt out of place in the stillness. He tapped his cane lazily against the cobblestones, each click echoing through the empty streets he walked.
To anyone else, the slums might have felt suffocating, a tangle of decay. To him, it was a stage.
The city¡¯s rhythm always pulsed around him, an intricate symphony only a Dancer of his caliber could perceive. The rustle of a rat, the distant murmur of a drunk, even the creak of a wooden sign¡ªthey all merged into a seamless melody.
As a third-step Dancer, he could sense this hidden music, choreographing his movements with effortless precision. Each step, each flourish of his cane, synchronized with the world¡¯s heartbeat, guided by an unseen orchestra.
Despite the recent chaos at the theater, his spirits were high. Tonight, the music was lively, its tempo brisk yet controlled.
There was something exhilarating about it, hinting at a thrilling performance to come. He had come to the slums seeking retribution, to hunt down the creatures that dared disrupt his plans¡ªthose who had killed one of his Aspirants and injured two others, including Miranda¡¯s sons. Not that he cared for them particularly, his nostalgia was reserved for Miranda, one of his best students.
Their injuries were more his doing than the slum dwellers¡¯. But this was about principle, about reminding those who thought themselves clever that every performance had a Director, and he would not tolerate discord on his stage.
He turned down a narrow alley, eyes gleaming with a predatory glint. The buildings here loomed closer, shadows stretching across the path like skeletal fingers. The air was thick and damp, heavy with the stench of rot and sweat, but to him, it was just another layer to the symphony¡ªa deep, rumbling bassline accentuating the sharper notes.
The Director¡¯s steps slowed as he ventured deeper, his cane tapping lightly. The music in his mind swelled, a powerful melody echoing the confidence in his stride. He had reached the pinnacle of his art¡ªthe third step.
A peak that no Dancer had ever surpassed, yet it felt far from a limit. If anything, it was freedom.
He was a one-man army, his power as precise and deadly as a blade, his rhythm unbroken, even in chaos. Who would dare stand against a third-step Dancer? Certainly not anyone in Sichal.
The residents knew what he was capable of. They had seen glimpses¡ªsubtle hints beneath his charm and easy smile. Over the years, he had lulled them into complacency, his menace softened with humor.
He was the Director of the Traveling Orchid, after all, a man who knew how to keep the world entertained. But complacency bred forgetfulness. Someone had dared to kill one of his Aspirants, disrupt his rhythm, injure those under his charge.
Unacceptable. He would remind them¡ªremind everyone¡ªof the respect due to his craft, his talent. He would reassert his presence, make them see he was not to be trifled with. Even if it set back his personal goals, even if it delayed his efforts to win over his son.
The thought made him pause, his mustache twitching with irritation. The boy was a problem, a stubborn piece that refused to fit into the dance he had choreographed.
His son would rather whore himself out than acknowledge him, treating the Director like just another faceless customer. The memories brought a tightness to his chest, a throb at his temple that nearly cracked his calm. He could still see the boy¡¯s smirk, the way he looked at him¡ªdefiant, immune to reason.
The Director¡¯s fingers clenched around his cane, his composure slipping for a moment. But then he exhaled, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He began tapping a gentle, soothing beat against his thigh, calming himself with the rhythm. Stubbornness like that could be useful.
It was a kind of resistance that could be shaped, directed, if only he could find the right way to bend it without breaking it.
His thoughts drifted back to a conversation they had a few months ago. Another attempt to convince the boy of their relation, to draw him in. The brat had the audacity to make a demand¡ªone that would have made anyone else laugh him out of the room. "Bring me something to preserve my youth," he had said, "keep me beautiful. That¡¯s what you can do for me, old man. Because this face¡ª" he had touched his cheek, tilting his head with that insufferable grin, "¡ªis my moneymaker."
The Director had indulged him. He procured two of the rarest herbs on the continent, just to prove a point, to show he could.
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It was absurd, and he knew it, but he did it anyway. Because the dance was not over, and sometimes, a performer had to improvise. Sometimes, you had to let the melody lead you to places you hadn¡¯t planned. At least, that was what he told himself.
A sudden caw broke the tune, sharp and jarring. The Director glanced up, catching sight of a crow perched atop a streetlamp. It ruffled its feathers, tilting its head as it watched him with glistening eyes. The Director¡¯s lips curled into a smile, a flicker of amusement passing over his face. Just another player in the night¡¯s performance, he thought, dismissing it.
With a flick of his wrist, he twirled the cane, letting it spin before catching it effortlessly. The smile on his lips widened, irritation melting away. He was back in control, his rhythm steady and unbroken.
The monsters would be dealt with, his son would come around eventually, and everything would fall into place. It was just a matter of time.
The Director resumed his stroll, the music in his head rising to a gentle crescendo, each step perfectly aligned with the melody only he could hear. The slums grew quieter as he ventured deeper, the sounds fading to a low, steady hum.
The music shifted, growing darker, more intense, the notes sharper, violent. The dissonance was close, a rough, discordant sound grating against the back of his mind.
He could feel it, the source of the disturbance, lurking just beyond his reach. His fingers tightened around the cane¡¯s handle, a thrill running down his spine.
¡°Monsters hiding as men,¡± he mused, his voice barely louder than a whisper, yet cutting through the night. ¡°What a delightful little game.¡±
He stepped forward, the darkness enveloping him, and the melody in his head swelled, rising to a fevered pitch. The world around him seemed to shift, shadows thickening, the air colder.
He felt the city bend to his will, drawing into the rhythm he was about to create. For a moment, everything was in perfect harmony, each note, each sound, falling into place.
Then, there it was again¡ªthe discord, sharp, grating, refusing to be silenced. His smile widened, a gleam of madness flickering in his eyes. Whatever dared defy him, he would bring it to heel, or he would crush it.
Tonight, the slums would dance to his tune, and he would ensure every step, every movement, was perfect.
Nyx glided silently over the slums of Sichal, wings slicing through the cool night air. Below, the city sprawled, a patchwork of shadows and flickering lights. He had debated whether to report back to Silas¡ªso much had happened, much of it unexpected.
But curiosity kept him aloft, urging him to continue his investigation. There would be time to share later, once he understood more.
He dipped lower, drifting above narrow alleys, over rooftops, retracing earlier paths. His sharp eyes scanned the rooms he¡¯d scouted before, and what he saw was... odd. The spaces he had emptied earlier were now close to deserted, yet routines remained.
Conversations continued, people laughed, despite missing companions. A woman set down plates for invisible diners, her face twisted in a silent scowl, as if expecting thanks that would never come. In a different building, a pantless man thrust into empty air, slapping down at missing flesh with his hands. Apparently, a lack of partner meant nothing to him.
Nyx perched on a clothesline between buildings, his talons gripping the wire. Hanging upside down, he scratched his chin thoughtfully. It felt unnatural, the way these people moved, like actors repeating lines even after the stage had been cleared. It suggested strict, rigid routines, as though they¡¯d been instructed to maintain motions, even with gaps in their numbers.
He mulled over the thought, imagining how it might be done. Simple commands: wake up, work, show no joy, follow the crowd. Keep to your tasks, avoid conversation, discourage attention.
Watching it unfold below, it felt absurd and disturbing, like a puppet show with missing strings. Whoever was behind this wanted the illusion to continue, even if it faltered.
Nyx watched the scenes around him, a tiny spark of amusement in his eye. There was a strange beauty in the deception, a precision that kept ticking away, regardless of how many pieces were missing. He found it intriguing, not troubling. The deeper he delved, the more he appreciated the complexity of this mechanical charade.
But then, a sharp sensation brought his focus back. His eyes snapped open, clear and alert. There was a presence nearby, a danger that demanded his attention.
With a swift motion, he flipped upright, wings spreading as he dropped onto a nearby lamppost. He dimmed his energy, blending into the shadows of the night.
He scanned the narrow street below, tracking the source of that warning. Then he saw him¡ªa man in a bright orange vest and brown trousers, strolling along, twirling a cane. The clothes clashed with the gloom, but his steps were light, deliberate.
To anyone else, he would look ridiculous, a harmless eccentric. Nyx knew better. He sensed the power beneath those easy movements, the subtle energy radiating from the man.
Nyx¡¯s eyes followed him, sharp and unyielding. This was a third-step cultivator, and that made him dangerous. The man moved with an unbroken rhythm, his cane spinning in precise arcs, each step tuned to an unseen beat. Rarely did Nyx see someone so confident, so in control, and it sharpened his curiosity.
Those who broke the limit of the second-step were rare and worth keeping track off.
Without much thinking, Nyx let out a sharp squawk. The man stopped mid-step, his cane halting, and looked up. For a moment, the street fell silent, and they locked eyes. Nyx didn¡¯t flinch, his gaze steady.
The man¡¯s lips curled into a slight smile, hinting at understanding. He studied Nyx a moment longer, then resumed walking, the cane spinning, rhythm unbroken. It was a casual, dismissive gesture, but Nyx caught the subtle shift, the acknowledgment of something seen, then set aside.
Nyx¡¯s feathers ruffled slightly as he watched the man continue. This wasn¡¯t just anyone. "Interesting," Nyx thought, satisfaction in his eyes.
Nyx pushed off the lamppost, gliding silently after him. He kept his distance, moving from rooftop to rooftop, wings barely stirring the air. Shadows weren¡¯t needed now, he would follow as a simple crow, unremarkable and unnoticed, yet ever watchful.
He had a reason to stay close, and not just out of curiosity. For he had realized, this man was their final target within Sichal, the one who held the ingredients Silas required.
As Nyx drifted above the darkened streets, his gaze fixed on the twirling cane below, a familiar thrill rose within him. Another game had begun, and he was ready to play.
Chapter 58: Damn it
The Director slipped through the splintered doorway of the dilapidated building, the air thick with decay, every breath laced with rot.
A flickering candle struggled against the dark, casting erratic shadows that danced across the crumbling walls. He scanned the room, the tip of his cane tapping out a steady, unyielding beat on the worn floorboards. Before him, a group of slum dwellers stood clustered, caught surprised by his appearance, their eyes blank, bodies slack, limbs jerking in subtle, unnatural twitches.
He advanced, and the shadows seemed to close in tighter, drawn by the rhythm of his movements. His lips curled into a serene smile, mustache twitching in time with the quiet, hypnotic tune playing in his head. ¡°Good evening,¡± he said, his voice carrying a warmth that felt unsettling in the heavy silence. ¡°I hope I¡¯m not interrupting.¡±
The slum dwellers remained frozen, their eyes unfocused, gazes drifting as if seeing nothing. The Director¡¯s cane clicked twice, the sound sharp, almost mocking in its clarity. ¡°I¡¯m here for answers, one of my lads was killed by a monster here¡± he said, smile widening, his eyes glinting with a touch of madness. ¡°And I¡¯d hate to think you¡¯d make me waste my time.¡±
One of the slum dwellers¡ªa gaunt, wiry man¡ªtwitched, head snapping up. His mouth gaped, stretching far wider than it should, a wet, choking gurgle rising from his throat. The Director¡¯s eyes lit up, his smile broadening as if he¡¯d just heard a delightful note.
¡°Ah, there we go,¡± he murmured, watching the man¡¯s skin ripple and bulge, something moving beneath like a creature trapped under thin ice.
He took another step, his cane tracing a lazy arc. ¡°Enough with the meatbags, yes?¡± he said, his voice rising, taunting. ¡°Why bother with this charade? I see you for what you are. Step into the spotlight, my friends!¡±
The slum dwellers convulsed at his words, bodies snapping taut as if electrified. Their faces twisted grotesquely, jaws creaking open, and then, with a wet, tearing sound, the room was filled with the grotesque spectacle of transformation. The wiry man¡¯s mouth split wide, a bristling creature clawing its way out, spines glistening like black needles. The Director¡¯s eyes gleamed, his smile softening, becoming tender. ¡°Don''t be shy now~¡± he whispered, head tilting as though welcoming a new partner to the dance floor.
The creature lunged, spines bristling, but the Director was already in motion. His cane slashed through the air, cutting the beast¡¯s attack short, and it crumpled, folding like a discarded puppet with the contents of it''s head decorating the rundown wall to the side.
The cane twirled back, resting against his shoulder, the movement fluid, unbroken¡ªa flourish that spoke of a well-rehearsed performance.
He stepped forward, eyes sweeping over the other slum dwellers, their faces slack, expressions vacuous, yet their bodies jerked and twitched, struggling against something deep within. ¡°Just one show off?¡± he said, a playful tone threading through his words. ¡°I was hoping for more.¡±
The room grew colder, the shadows pooling thick around him, slithering along the walls. The Director brought his cane down sharply, the crack echoing through the space, and the slum dwellers buckled, their forms distorting as more twisted creatures tore their way free¡ªspines bristling, claws clicking, eyes dark and hollow, filled with a faint, flickering hunger.
His smile never faltered. He moved with a grace that seemed at odds with the carnage around him, cane in hand like a conductor¡¯s baton, each swing a part of a dark, violent dance.
The room was his stage, and he commanded it, every flick of the wrist, every pivot, a brutal, elegant step in a dance of destruction. The creatures fell, one after the other, their movements stuttering as if they¡¯d been caught mid-step, destined to collapse.
One of the beasts, a slick, sinewy creature, sprang toward him, jaws snapping wide. The Director spun, his cane whirling in a sharp arc, the sound of impact loud and final. The beast crumpled, and he stepped over it without pause, his eyes bright. ¡°Pathetic,¡± he said, a note of cheerful contempt in his voice. ¡°All that rage, and nothing behind it! Try again!¡±
He glanced at another slum dweller¡ªa woman, her gaunt face slack, eyes wide but devoid of life, like a poorly crafted doll.
The Director¡¯s smile sharpened, and he approached, cane tapping out a soft, irregular rhythm as he moved closer. ¡°Why not tell me your secret little monster lady?¡± he said, his tone smooth, coaxing. ¡°It could let you off the hook~.¡±
The woman¡¯s skin pulsed, her jaw snapping open with a sickening crunch as another creature forced its way out, its form writhing, mouth frothing, eyes wild. The Director¡¯s cane lashed out before the thing could even find its footing, sending it crashing across the room, its shattered corpse embedding in the wall with a dull, wet thud.
The Director straightened, eyes gliding over the aftermath, taking in the scene with a prideful, jovial satisfaction. Bodies lay crumpled, half-formed monstrosities twitching, limbs contorted in unnatural angles. The remaining creatures circled him, their hollow eyes tracking his movements, hesitant, sensing the danger in the calm he exuded.
He exhaled, shadows gathering around him, pulsing to the rhythm of his breath. ¡°None of you shall have an encoure,¡± he said, voice low, steady, each word like a blade. ¡°A warm up like you lot¡ definitely cannot count as an opening act!¡±
He raised his cane, ready to end his ''warm up'', but froze, head tilting as he caught a distant rumble, low and rolling, vibrating through the walls. His smile wavered, eyes narrowing as he listened, the sound cutting through the rhythm in his head.
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The melody twisted, a discordant note weaving into it, but his smile returned, curious, eager. ¡°Well, well,¡± he murmured, stepping back, his eyes gleaming with a strange light. ¡°The night has found a new tune.¡± The cane came down and the living joined the dead.
He turned, stepping over the lifeless, twitching forms, leaving the room behind, the echoes of his unfinished dance lingering in the silence. The Director''s attention was grabbed, he noted to himself that he must return to finish his performance after seeing this ''sideshow''.
Nyx perched on the crumbling edge of a wall, feathers blending seamlessly with the night. He had been trailing the Director through the slums, slipping from ledge to gutter, always out of sight, yet close enough to catch every detail.
Now, through the cracks in the dilapidated building¡¯s walls, he could see everything¡ªthe brutal, twisted dance unfolding within.
The Director¡¯s voice drifted up to him, smooth and unsettling, as he coaxed the monsters out of their human shells. Nyx listened, head tilted, his beady eyes filled with a cold interest.
From his perch, he could see the slum dwellers¡¯ vacant faces, the way their bodies jerked and spasmed as the creatures beneath them struggled to emerge. It was a grotesque transformation, all the more chilling for how quiet and matter-of-fact the Director made it seem.
As the first beast tore its way free, Nyx¡¯s gaze followed the Director¡¯s movements, tracking each graceful arc of the cane, every fluid step. The man moved like he was on stage, his strikes crisp, his posture composed, the violence around him was nothing more than a carefully choreographed performance.
Nyx¡¯s beak clicked softly, a sign of appreciation, as he watched the Director weave through the chaos, each swing of the cane cutting down the creatures with effortless precision.
From his vantage point, Nyx could hear everything¡ªthe wet, tearing sounds of flesh splitting, the sharp crack of bone, the hiss of the creatures as they lunged and snapped. But what stood out was the Director¡¯s calm, gentle tone, the way he spoke to the monsters, inviting them to dance with him.
It was a rather comedic contrast to the carnage he was inflicting, and it made the whole scene feel even more surreal.
Nyx shifted, edging closer, his talons gripping the edge of a broken window frame.
He had seen enough to know that the Director was dangerous, more than just a madman as is usually the case with those in the third-step of deviant cultivations.
However, there was a method to his madness, a sense of control that intrigued Nyx. The Director wasn¡¯t here to make idle threats, his ''interrogation'' was a sham, he was here to have fun¡ no¡ªhe was here to assert dominance, to rip away the masks the slum dwellers wore and expose the truth beneath.
Nyx could appreciate that kind of brutal honesty, even if it was delivered with an idiotic smile.
As another monster burst forth, a sinewy, scaled thing with needle-sharp teeth, Nyx¡¯s eyes flicked to the Director. The man moved like a leaf drifting downstream, spinning to avoid the creature¡¯s attack, then bringing his cane down with a sharp, decisive motion. The beast crumpled, its skull shattered, and the Director stepped over it without a second glance, his smile as serene as ever.
Nyx¡¯s feathers ruffled slightly, a ripple of approval running through him. The Director was good¡ªbetter than he¡¯d expected. There was truly something artful about the way he moved, a grace that belied the savagery of his actions.
It was rare to see someone so composed in the midst of such chaos, and it made Nyx wonder what drove him, what could have created such a performer?
But as he watched, a distant sound reached him, faint at first, then growing¡ªa low, thunderous boom that rolled through the slums, rattling the loose window panes. Nyx¡¯s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he strained to catch the direction. The explosion was unmistakable, a flash of light reflecting off the clouds above, followed by the echoing roar that seemed to shake the entire district.
¡°Fuck,¡± Nyx thought, a curse slipping in as realization dawned. His gaze flicked to the distant plume of smoke, rising from the area where the Siren¡¯s Rest Inn stood. There was no mistaking it¡ªthat blast had come from the inn, and whatever was happening there had just become far more urgent than whatever mystery the Director was unraveling here.
Nyx''s decision was swift, instinctual. His talons released their grip on the window frame, and he pushed off, wings spreading wide as he took flight. The shadows clung to him for a moment, then fell away, leaving him a dark blur against the night sky.
He glanced back once, catching a final glimpse of the Director moving through the wreckage, his cane cutting down another creature with the same eerie grace. Nyx clicked his beak again, a quiet acknowledgment of a job well done, before turning away, his wings beating steadily as he angled toward the rising smoke.
He needed to get to the inn, to see what had happened, and to make sure that whatever problem had just erupted, it didn¡¯t negatively involve Silas.
The night air whipped past him as he soared, the distant glow of the blast flickering in his dark eyes. Nyx knew there would be answers waiting at the inn, and he wasn¡¯t about to let them slip through his claws. ''''This better not be him throwing a tantrum and forgetting to tell me about it¡'''' Nyx thought to himself.
Zinnia stood with Robbi outside the brothel he worked at, watching him tug at the new shirt she¡¯d bought him, still creased from where it had been folded. ¡°You know, Zin,¡± he said, a grin spreading across his face, ¡°I think I¡¯m going to have to destroy more shirts if it means getting replacements this nice. You¡¯ve got great taste.¡±
She rolled her eyes, stifling a smirk. ¡°Don¡¯t get used to it. I¡¯m not your personal tailor.¡±
Robbi clasped his hands together dramatically, as if pleading. ¡°But what if I mess it up again tomorrow? What if there is another lovely lady I must save tomorrow!? What if I lose more than just a shirt?! You¡¯d just leave me to face my boss in tatters? Heartless!¡±
¡°Keep pushing your luck, and you might end up with no clothes or legs at all right now,¡± she shot back, her voice dry but amused. ¡°Just make sure you show up for work, and I¡¯ll see about clearing your name tomorrow. Maybe.¡±
Robbi brightened, saluting her with a mock seriousness. ¡°That¡¯s all I need to hear. You¡¯re a good one, Zin.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t make me regret showing up,¡± she muttered, shaking her head as she turned away. She had already spent longer than she¡¯d planned with him, and the thought of Silas finding fault with that made her uneasy. She could almost picture him doing something twisted, like hanging her outside a window to teach her a lesson about wasting his time. Zinnia shuddered at the idea and quickened her pace, heading toward the Siren¡¯s Rest.
Just as she rounded the corner, a thunderous explosion rocked the night, the force of it sending her stumbling. She caught herself against a wall, her heart leaping into her throat as she looked up, eyes wide with panic. A column of smoke was rising, dark and ominous, from the direction of the inn.
¡°Damn it, crazy fucker¡¡± she hissed, her mind racing. What or rather who else could it be? Whatever had just happened, she was certain Silas was responsible. Without another thought, she broke into a run, feet pounding the pavement as she sprinted toward the source of the blast, desperate to find out what he had unleashed.
Chapter 59: Convergence
Zinnia pushed her way through the crowded streets, the acrid stench of smoke burning in her nostrils as she approached the Siren¡¯s Rest Inn. The explosion had left the building a mangled, smoldering wreck, its skeletal remains barely recognizable beneath the glow of the flickering fires. The air buzzed with panic and confusion, people shouting and scrambling amidst the debris. But louder than the chaos was the chant, echoing in unison from the gathered throng: "Ji! Ji! Ji!"
Zinnia''s heart sank, the sound grating on her nerves. ''''Oh, that fucker,'''' she thought, lips curling into a grimace. Her eyes scanned the mass of bodies, the shadowy figures moving erratically through the smoke. She caught sight of him almost immediately¡ªSilas, standing in the center of it all, his skin gleaming a strange, dark hue with a metallic sheen that was impossible to miss.
''''What did he do now?'''' she wondered, though she didn¡¯t expect an answer. Whatever Silas had ingested this time, she could only guess. Some bizarre potion, no doubt. She rolled her eyes, a bitter sense of relief washing over her. ''''At least he¡¯s alive. And that means I get to live too.''''
As she took in the scene, the scale of the destruction made her stomach turn. Splintered wood and broken stone lay scattered across the street, the remnants of the inn¡¯s facade twisted and warped. The fires cast a sickly, yellowish light, making the chaos look even more nightmarish. ''''That man has no boundaries'''', she thought, shaking her head. The explosion wasn¡¯t just reckless¡ªit was lunacy, a show of force with no care for who got caught in the blast.
Zinnia forced herself to focus, her eyes darting across the area. Then, through the haze, she saw a flash of silver¡ªSelen¡¯s hair, unmistakable even at this distance. Relief mixed with confusion as Zinnia adjusted her course, slipping through the drifting clouds of smoke. She kept her movements subtle, reestablishing the illusion she wore, making herself blend seamlessly into the crowd. She didn¡¯t want to draw attention, the last thing she needed was someone realizing she had ties to this mess.
As she neared Selen, a sudden shiver ran down her spine. For a brief moment, it felt like a thousand eyes were watching her, as if some unseen figure had locked onto her through the smoke. Her pulse quickened, and she nearly turned to check her surroundings, but she caught herself. No one¡¯s shouting ¡°heretic,¡± she reminded herself. ''''It¡¯s just your imagination.'''' She took a steadying breath and continued forward.
Zinnia tapped Selen lightly on the shoulder, and the silver-haired woman turned, her expression calm despite the chaos around them. Zinnia made a quick gesture with her fingers, indicating they should move somewhere less exposed, but Selen merely blinked, her face impassive. ¡°He told me to wait here,¡± she said, her words clear and untroubled, spoken in the tongue of the Empire.
Zinnia¡¯s eyes widened, and she blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. ¡°The fuck? You can talk now?¡±
¡°I could always talk,¡± Selen replied, her tone flat, as if she were correcting a simple misunderstanding. ¡°You just couldn¡¯t understand me.¡±
Zinnia¡¯s mouth opened, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back, opting to let the absurdity of the statement wash over her. ''''Technically and literally correct'''', she thought, a twinge of irritation cutting through her surprise. She didn¡¯t have the energy to argue semantics, not with the situation spiraling around them. Instead, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder, ensuring no one had noticed their exchange.
The chants continued to swell, louder and more frenzied. ¡°Ji! Ji! Ji!¡± It was like a wave, crashing over them, relentless and suffocating. Zinnia¡¯s jaw tightened. She turned back to Selen, trying to keep her voice low and steady. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be here. If he told you to stay, then fine, but I¡¯m not sticking around to see if he wants to blow up something else in a minute.¡±
But Selen¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°He said to wait,¡± she repeated, her voice cool, unyielding. ¡°So I will.¡±
Zinnia stared at her, caught between frustration and disbelief. Of course, she thought, ''''He tells you to stand in the middle of a mess, and you just do it.'''' For a moment, she considered grabbing Selen and dragging her out of there, but the look on Selen¡¯s face stopped her. It was like trying to move a statue¡ªthere was no hint of fear, no hesitation, just an eerie, unwavering calm.
''''Fine'''', Zinnia thought, clenching her fists. ''''Stay and wait for whatever comes next.'''' She knew Silas was still in control, still breathing, and that would have to be enough for now. But the sight of the crumbling inn, the twisted metal, and the flames licking at the night sky made her skin crawl.
She took one last glance at Selen, then turned away, slipping back into the smoke, her mind already spinning with questions. ''''What did Silas do? And why?'''' The thought of confronting him made her stomach twist.
As she moved away from the wreckage, the chants still echoed in her ears, haunting and relentless, following her into the night.
The Director stood at the periphery of the gathering, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched Silas, now the center of attention, weave his performance.
Silas''s voice carried through the smoky night, smooth and commanding, and the crowd hung on every word, eyes glazed with awe and reverence. But to the Director¡¯s discerning eye, it was all just theater¡ªa carefully choreographed act meant to enchant and mislead.
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''''He¡¯s spinning them a tale,'''' the Director mused, his smile widening. ''''A beautiful, intricate lie.'''' Silas moved like a maestro conducting an orchestra, gestures fluid, words precise. But it wasn¡¯t art¡ªthere was no grace, no true rhythm, just the natural guile of a born liar. The Director found it charming, in a way. ''''If I couldn¡¯t hear the music of deceit in his voice, I might have been fooled myself.''''
He tilted his head, watching Silas¡¯s movements with a keen interest, almost as if appraising a new dancer auditioning for a part. The explosion at the inn had been chaotic, violent, and completely unexpected¡ªan abrupt crescendo in the night¡¯s otherwise quiet rhythm. It didn¡¯t take much to deduce who was behind it. ''''It had to be this charming little devil.'''' The Director chuckled, letting the sound escape in a soft, low hum. ''''What a delightful mess he¡¯s made.''''
As he moved closer, slipping into the throng of onlookers, the Director kept his posture relaxed, his gaze darting over the crowd. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burning wreckage, but no one seemed to mind anymore. They were too entranced by Silas, chanting his alias, ¡°Ji! Ji! Ji!¡± over and over, their voices rising like the swell of a chorus. The Director¡¯s eyes flicked upward, watching the smoke twist and coil, obscuring the stars.
He stepped forward, easing into the flow of bodies, passing through the haze like a ghost. For a moment, his path intersected with a figure cutting through the crowd¡ªZinnia, though she was masked by a subtle illusion. The Director¡¯s gaze sharpened, catching a faint shimmer on the side of her head melding into the skin. ''''Ah, an illusionist,'''' he thought, raising an eyebrow, his mustache twitching as he stroked it thoughtfully. ''''Very curious''''.
With a Dancer¡¯s grace, he leapt lightly, a movement so smooth it seemed to defy gravity, avoiding a collision with a stumbling onlooker. When he landed, Zinnia had already vanished into the smoke, completely unaware that he had noticed her. The Director¡¯s smile deepened, filing away this new bit of information. ''''Interesting. She moves well.''''
He continued his descent into the throng, his own demeanor shifting seamlessly to match those around him.
His shoulders hunched, his steps less fluid, more shuffling, until he looked like just another lost soul, caught up in the fervor of the moment. The chant echoed around him, and he added his voice to it, ¡°Ji! Ji! Ji!¡± blending perfectly with the crowd¡¯s rising fervor.
But beneath the cheerful facade, his mind was working, dissecting the scene, plotting his next move. ''''I¡¯d very much like to make contact with this delightful little liar,'''' he thought, his eyes never leaving Silas.
Nyx hid among the smoldering rubble, the remains of the inn still crackling with embers that glowed faintly against the night. He nestled comfortably, his dark feathers blending effortlessly with the soot and shadows, an amused glint in his eyes as he took in the scene below.
He had been watching for a while now, and it was with no small measure of relief that he confirmed what he had suspected¡ªSilas was the one responsible for the explosion. ''''Far better than the alternatives,'''' Nyx thought, his beak curving into something close to a grin. Whatever had unfolded, it was still within the bounds of Silas''s control, and that was a comforting thought.
The remnants of the Siren¡¯s Rest Inn lay scattered, twisted beams jutting out like broken bones, and the air was thick with smoke.
Yet, through the haze, Nyx''s sharp eyes spotted the orange-suited man slipping through the crowd, his movements smooth and fast, a grand contrast to the chaotic movements around him. The Director¡¯s bright vest stood out even in the smoke, making him easy to track if one was looking for him.
He was mingling with the throng of onlookers, chanting alongside them with a wide smile plastered on his face, his lips moving in sync with the rhythm of ¡°Ji! Ji! Ji!¡±
''''Nutjob,'''' Nyx thought, clicking his beak softly in mild annoyance. There was no doubt about it¡ªthe Director was a slippery one, clever enough to blend in yet clearly up to something. But, it looked as if Silas was unaware of the man¡¯s presence, making Nyx feel concerned. He kept his eyes trained on the Director, noting how effortlessly the man moved, how his eyes darted, constantly assessing. ''''Slimy threat'''', Nyx mused, his mind cataloging the details.
Still, what mattered most was that Silas hadn¡¯t noticed the Director, confirming once more that the man was as elusive as he was dangerous.
That was information worth noting, and Nyx filed it away, his feathers ruffling slightly as he shifted his position, ensuring he remained concealed. He knew better than to reveal himself without reason, observation was often the key to understanding, and right now, there was much to learn.
Nyx and Silas shared a bond that went beyond the physical, a connection that allowed them to sense each other. It was a subtle, ever-present tug, a pull that guided them toward one another whenever one chose to initiate it, however it was at it''s strongest when they were close to one another.
Over the years, they had refined this bond into a private language, a rhythmic code that was uniquely theirs for emergencies when close range speech was not an option.
While Silas commanded the crowd, speaking with the ease of someone born to manipulate, Nyx decided it was time to make his presence known.
He sent a series of tugs through their connection¡ªshort, then long, alternating in a rhythm only the two of them understood. It was a signal they had developed over time, a code that spoke volumes in its simplicity.
Silas, in the middle of his speech, paused for the briefest moment. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but to Nyx, it was confirmation that the message had been received. He watched as Silas¡¯s eyes flickered, a momentary flash of irritation crossing his face before he smoothed it over with a smile, returning to his performance without missing a beat. Through their bond, Silas¡¯s thoughts echoed back to Nyx. ''''A third-step cultivator? And a sneaky one at that. Great.''''
Nyx¡¯s feathers fluffed out slightly, a sign of his amusement, and he let out a low, inaudible squawk. He sent another series of nudges, sharper ones, carrying a question that had been nagging at him since he arrived. ''''Why did you blow up the inn?''''
Silas¡¯s response was swift, the thought transmitted back through their bond with a casual, nonchalant tone. ''''Why not?''''
Nyx couldn¡¯t help but roll his eyes, his beak clicking softly in exasperation. ''''My tantrums are at least fun,'''' he thought, a mix of irritation and amusement lacing his internal voice. ''''We get some good times out of them. His tantrums are just like a toddler¡¯s.''''
Despite the jab, there was a fondness there, a familiarity that spoke of years spent navigating Silas¡¯s unpredictable moods. But Nyx knew better than to underestimate the man. Whatever had driven him to such an explosive display, there was a reason, even if it was buried under layers of Silas¡¯s whims and caprices.
Both master and familiar were blissfully unaware of how similar they were when something set off their tempers.
Chapter 60: An Invitation
The crowd around the smoldering remains of the Siren¡¯s Rest Inn slowly thinned. Their initial shock gave way to a mix of reflective fear and exhilaration. Concealed behind a veneer of benevolence and mystery, Silas watched as the citizens of Sichal themselves began to reshape his made up actions into a story of courage and heroism. While an underlying fear of Heretics lingered in their whispers, their praise for his timely intervention painted him as a true hero¡ªthe protector they had desperately needed. ¡°The things people will convince themselves into believing¡¡¯¡¯ he mused within his mind, ¡®¡¯¡a few well spoken words and night becomes day.¡¯¡¯
Nyx circled overhead, a dark shape tracing arcs against the night sky. Silas allowed himself a small smile, feeling the weight of eyes on him, the afterglow of the tale he¡¯d spun sinking into the people¡¯s minds.
He had shown them what they wanted to see the most after such an incident¡ªa figure shrouded in mystery, who moved with authority and finished what others dared not attempt, and all in service to them. Tonight, their imaginations would fan the flames of that story, and by morning, tales of him would be well and truly rooted in Sichal¡¯s gossip network.
But the momentary calm could only linger so long, there were other priorities. Taking on a third step cultivator is never a pleasant challenge. Better a silver tongue than brute force for this one, at least for now.
Nyx let out a low caw, swooping lower in his vigilant loop. Silas picked up on his companion¡¯s warning, eyes narrowing as he sifted through the remaining onlookers. And then he saw him¡ªa figure standing at the fringes of the dispersing crowd. The man was striking yet oddly unnoticeable until that moment, as though he had blended into the backdrop.
But now, with Silas¡¯s attention, the stranger stood out as vividly as if he were illuminated by torchlight.
Silas¡¯s mouth curled into a slight smile as their gazes met, each man reading the other with silent intensity. The stranger¡¯s expression shifted to one of appreciation, a slow, knowing grin that matched Silas¡¯s in kind. With a rehearsed theatrical grace, the man crossed the distance, fingers absently twisting the ends of his mustache. Silas straightened subtly, his amusement deepening as the stranger came close enough to initiate a conversation.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
¡°You know,¡± the man began, his voice a rich tenor that carried the refined edge of an entertainer, ¡°I think I could find you a place on stage. I happen to lead the Traveling Orchid, and I daresay there¡¯s a role or two you¡¯d simply kill in.¡± He gestured to the surrounding remains of the inn, his grin widening, as though savoring the aftershow.
Silas¡¯s eyebrows lifted, his smile laced with subtle interest. ¡°The Traveling Orchid, hmm?¡± he replied, folding his arms casually. ¡°I¡¯ve heard great tales of your troupe¡¯s creative endeavors. The Empire keeps me busy, but I wouldn¡¯t mind slipping away to catch one of your performances. Assuming I¡¯m invited first to see a show before taking a job.¡±
The Director¡¯s eyes sparkled as he caught Silas¡¯s meaning. He chuckled, his hand once again rising to stroke his mustache with evident delight. ¡°Poliana herself wanted to put in a request for a Special Investigator. Said she wanted a performance tailored just for him.¡± He snapped his fingers, his grin growing wider. ¡°Fate must be at work here, bringing us together tonight, unfortunate the circumstances may be. But I admit, I hadn¡¯t planned on indulging her request¡ªit wasn¡¯t exactly part of my arrangement.¡±
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a stage whisper, his words trailing like a caress, ¡°However, after seeing you myself, I wonder if we might stage a little private show of ¡¯The Rotten¡¯¡ let¡¯s say, in four days?¡±
Silas inclined his head, his gaze sharp. ¡°Poliana¡¯s schedule may be¡ compromised. She¡¯s under arrest for certain suspicions, unfortunately.¡±
The Director gasped, his hand fluttering to his chest in exaggerated horror. ¡°Arrested? My, my,¡± he whispered, his voice carrying an undercurrent of worry, ¡°is this¡ far reaching?¡± His fingers returned to his mustache, stroking it with a childish delight.
Silas¡¯s lips parted. ¡°A common affliction, I¡¯m afraid. Corruption tends to catch up with people sooner or later.¡±
The Director let out a low, rich chuckle. ¡°Ah, the Empire¡¯s trusted appointee is here to clear away the stains. I suppose my little troupe would do well to stay on the right side of the law, then.¡± He leaned back slightly, his posture easy yet brimming with a confidence that reminded Silas of a man well-versed in gamesmanship. ¡°So then,¡± he continued, ¡°we¡¯ll prepare a fitting tribute for Sichal¡¯s hero. A tale of rot and ruin for the Empire¡¯s finest. Four days from now, you¡¯ll have your invitation.¡±
He offered a shallow bow, one hand sweeping to his side, and Silas inclined his head in response.
Chapter 61
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