The cold wind blew over the plains of Targrass, down the impact crater, and across the roofs of Argilstead. Herbs shivered in their pots. Clothes fluttered like storm flags. And feeling these cool gusts against his skin, Vance regained faith and confidence in himself—the profound rift between the conscious and subconscious was finally bridged. He no longer believed that he had murdered Shannon or that he had become like little Timathor. When he reexamined the connection that Eleanor had to the Dullahans, the mysterious events of the past hours finally made sense in a way that freed him from self-doubt.
“Eleanor is behind it all,” he said, feeling bitter. “She lured enemies toward me and then saved my life to gain my trust. In the market, she asked me about how much time I had remaining. I had three days left, but she probably wanted more. She made me buy equipment with my remaining time so that she could use me later to beg for donations. She got my Flame of Revival up to seven days. Then she hired someone to drug me and fabricated the crime scene. In a few minutes, she’ll be here to arrest me. I die, and she gets the flame.”
Himilco laughed, “You’re letting your imagination run wild, aren’t you?”
“I don’t have any evidence, but you know there’s something fishy about what happened. That’s why you’re here without her.”
Himilco didn’t say anything in response.
“You try to keep things under control in the House of Turncoats, but you’re not the one in charge of keeping the peace. It’s the Dullahans. It’s Eleanor. And the fact that you’re chasing me around like this … it has serious implications.”
“Implications?”
“You suspect foul play. You think Eleanor is corrupt, and you don’t want her to get my Flame of Revival. But you don’t have any evidence against her, so you chose to sacrifice me. Instead of defending me, you chose to call me a criminal so that you could get the hours back. I know it when someone’s trying to guilt me into doing something. I know that feeling really well.”
“I have faith in Eleanor.”
“Do you?” Vance scoffed.
“I have faith in all the Headbound.”
“Except me. You think I’m stupid enough to kill Shannon in a closed room, without motive, without gains, without any planned escape. Look at me! I don’t even have my fucking shoes on!”
“I’m looking at you. But I’m not sure who or what you are.”
“What does that even mean?” Vance laughed out loud.
“It means that nothing you say can change my mind. You have nothing to prove your innocence. All you do is search for someone to blame. I gave you a chance to defend yourself and listened to your ramblings. But frankly, it was an utter waste of time. I can’t do this all day. Will you pick up the Targrass and give me your remaining hours?”
“No, Himilco, I won’t.”
“Then you leave me no choice.”
Without warning, Himilco raised his right arm high. A ring of heavenly light formed above it. It expanded laterally until it had become a large halo that was at least two meters in diameter. The dusky sky lit up as if the sun had reached its zenith, and the herbs turned toward the light like sunflowers. It wasn’t only an attack but also a testament to the overwhelming power and confident elegance of the elephant-mage. In the next moment, he moved his wrist and sent this blinding halo toward its flabbergasted target—a sun traveling across the sky and the herbs worshiping it from the ground.
Surprised by the scale of the attack, Vance couldn’t move his body for a few seconds. He couldn’t see his surroundings; he couldn’t even tell whether the halo was receding or approaching. But then the air around him began to heat up. Its temperature must’ve risen by at least ten degrees, and this foreboding sultriness alarmed him. In a hurry, he ran through the rows of herb pots and raced to a safe spot. Pottery shattered around him. The heat intensified. Sweat formed on his body. Then he made a dive for safety. He wasn’t sure whether he would make it, but his movements were indeed fast enough to escape the light. The halo continued past him and then disappeared with a sudden flash.
What was that Skill? Vance regained his sight and found himself between the third and fourth rows of herbs. I can’t stay here. I need to find a way indoors.
Himilco raised both of his arms and fired two halos at the same time. They traveled in parallel paths without overlap, and it was suddenly impossible for Vance to dodge. Before the light could blind him, he turned around and started running toward the edge of the roof. He wanted to jump down into an alleyway and to get into one of the buildings from there, but the two halos continued to accelerate until they caught up. The first continued past him on his left side and disappeared with a benign flash, but the second penetrated into his body.
The light emerged from inside his stomach, sending waves of heat up toward his neck. The halo continued to move until he was at its center. Then it stopped and forced him to stop. He couldn’t move his body anymore. His feet felt as if they had been pinned to the ground, and his arms had the weight of stone. The only thing he could do now was watch. He watched as the halo tightened and tightened around his body. It grew more suffocating, more constricting. Then it exploded with a flash of blinding light, making his Flame of Revival erupt from the amount of pain he felt.
He fell to his knees and checked his vitals.
HP 220/455 MP 860/860 Stamina 783/860
That took away almost half of my HP. Another hit, and I die.
He had learned the hard way that he couldn’t outrun the halos. He got up and looked behind him to see what his enemy was plotting next, but the elephant head was gone. Despite being at a clear advantage, Himilco had teleported to a different location, and this unexpected teleportation created a new challenge and posed several momentous questions: when would the next magical attack come, where would the next insufferable halo originate, and how long would it need to get to its target?
Vance couldn’t take a single step in any direction, because he knew that the moment he moved Himilco would strike. He gave up on seeking the alleyways, since it was difficult to reach the edge of the roof, but he still planned to escape indoors. There was one last route to safety—the semi-hidden roof hatch that he had seen earlier. It was located between the fourth and fifth rows of herbs, and it led straight down to the rest of the lunar-elven greenhouse or alchemy house or whatever this strange building was. There was no other option. It was either an escape through the hatch or a death by the halos.
I need to time this right.
Vance calmed himself down. He started turning slowly in place. His Mental Eye searched the roof garden for any signs of the elephant-mage, but the place seemed deserted. A moment passed in complete silence. Another was wasted in tense anticipation. Then a thought suddenly crossed his mind. The chimney! He tightened his grip on the spectral dagger and turned to look at the chimney that he had used to get to this roof. It rose three meters above the rest of the garden. And the elephant-mage was there at its top, balancing on the crown and looking down with amusement.
“Did you change your mind?” Himilco said. “I really don’t want to kill you by mistake. It would be a loss for both of us.”
Vance said nothing, and the silence was enough for Himilco to fire another round of blinding halos. This time, however, Vance welcomed the aggressive move. He turned toward the hatch at the moment the light was brightest. The halos themselves concealed him from Himilco. They blurred his movements, and he started running as fast as he could. The hatch wasn’t far away. Only seven wide steps separated him from it. Only six. Only five. There was a lot of time for him to force it open and even more for him to drop into the building. Only four. Only three. He slid for the last meter, banished his spectral dagger, and grabbed the handle that would open the hatch.
As he tried to pull it open, however, it suddenly closed on its own. Shit! He looked up and found Himilco standing in front of him. The elephant-mage had teleported again. He shut the hatch tight with his right foot and then stepped on Vance’s hand, taking sadistic pleasure in crushing all five fingers.
“How about now?” Himilco said. “Did you change your mind?”
Vance pulled his hand away in a hurry.
Equip Spectre.
Although his crushed fingers could hardly hold the dagger, he still went for a quick stab. It was all he could do. He wanted to force Himilco to teleport away; he wanted to recover control over the roof hatch before it was too late. But he overestimated the amount of time that he had. Himilco didn’t need to teleport or dodge. Before the spectral dagger could even complete half of its motion, the two halos that Himilco had fired earlier arrived at their destination, without much fanfare, without civilian cheers or military fanfaronade. The first halo passed by; the other wrapped itself around its defenseless target.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Vance tried his best to break free, but he couldn’t even move his limbs anymore. As heavy as stone boulders, they had become burdens on his forward-bending spine, and the unsparing halo tightened around him. Then came the final flare—the soundless explosion of light. His Flame of Revival erupted as if his soul was leaving his body, and he fell to his knees as if he had been struck by the mightiest thunderbolt. He thought that he was dead. For a brief moment, no one could convince him otherwise; but then the terrible pain refused to go away. Am I still alive?
He checked his vitals in a hurry.
HP 110/455 MP 860/860 Stamina 638/860
The halos don’t deal constant damage! I still have a chance!
He got up quickly, with renewed hope—a light brighter than the attacks of his enemy. Now he could drive Himilco away; now he could open the hatch and escape to relative safety. Determined to live, he suppressed his pain and started his counterattack. But there was no target in front of him to strike. Himilco was no longer standing on the hatch. Fucking mage! He teleported again! And in a moment of wretched hopelessness, without notice, without warning, with only the most anticlimactic abruptness, another halo hit Vance from behind and started to constrict him like a tireless anaconda. The explosive flash followed. He fell on his knees, but this time, he couldn’t find the strength to stand up.
Status Alert
Bane Added: Weight of the Heavens
You feel the weight of the cosmos upon your shoulders, and your arms and legs refuse to move for 5 minutes. The lengthy duration of this Bane has been determined by your relatively low level.
Kneeling on the ground, Vance checked his vitals.
HP 55/455 MP 860/860 Stamina 638/860
Every time I get hit, my remaining HP is halved … Not that it matters anymore.
“I’m surprised you survived the third hit,” Himilco said, standing four steps behind Vance. “Hollie didn’t deal any real damage, did she? I feel sorry for her.”
“I feel sorry for everyone at your whorehouse.”
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“My, my, oh my, a kitten is trying to roar,” Himilco smiled. “But I’ll have you know there’s no surviving a fourth Ring of Magus. Once you’re below 15% of your max HP, it turns deadly.”
“And what are you waiting for?” Vance said. “Just get it over with.”
“The seven days.”
“I’ll take them with me to the grave.”
“That’s a shame.”
“It’s the least I can do to repay your kindness.”
Himilco smiled one last time and prepared to execute Vance. The last Ring of Magus formed above him—the halo that would end it all—but as he launched it toward Vance, the roof hatch suddenly opened wide. From the deep darkness of a mushroom farm, with one last step on a wooden ladder, Eleanor jumped onto the roof. She pushed Vance out of the way, and as he fell on the ground, he saw her receive the heavenly damage that would have killed him. The Ring of Magus tightened around her body and vaporized half of her HP, but she remained strong on her feet, and her knees didn’t even bend or twitch. She was as sturdy as platinum, as unmoving as a mountain.
“What do you think you’re doing, Himilco?” she said defiantly.
“You know what I’m doing.” Himilco formed another Ring of Magus. “You promised me that no one will die.”
“What happened here has nothing to do with that desert.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?” The Ring of Magus continued to hover over his hand. “You brought him back with you from there, and look what he’s done. He tricked us all. He stole our time and killed one of us. I don’t need more evidence to guess what he is.”
“He’s not a Necronette, Himilco.”
“How do you know? Do you suddenly have proof?”
“I don’t,” Eleanor said.
“Then you shouldn’t be defending him. I assumed he was a normal Turncoat. I played along and chased him around and listened to his defense. Do you know what he said in the end? Nonsense about you conspiring against him. Out of all Turncoats, he chose the one who saved him to blame.”
“He’s confused. He was going through a Redspine High.”
“He said he used none of the patches I gave him.”
“We need to investigate to find out the truth.”
“And who will oversee the investigations? You?”
“No,” Eleanor said. “I will ask Solsnam to do the job. And if Vance is guilty, I will use my own Flame of Revival to give back all the time he took. I just want you to calm down, Himilco. Calm down and trust me. I want us to know what happened. And killing him here and now is not the right thing to do. We might end up burying the truth with him.”
“The truth is clear,” Himilco said. “He’s a Necronette, and he has to die.”
“If you kill him now, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you,” Eleanor said, with firmness and boldness. “Put away your magic, Himilco, or prepare to fight all the Dullahans!”
The threat resounded through Argilstead—its words carried by the wind and echoed by the walls of the buildings. A tense moment passed with excruciating slowness. Then the Ring of Magus finally disappeared, and Himilco lowered his arm with visible reluctance. It seemed that he had no intention to challenge the Dullahans. Vance was now their problem … or their prize.
***
When Eleanor opened the roof hatch, Vance didn’t feel that his savior had come or that he had been rescued by the woman of the hour. He only imagined a desert carcass with two hyenas fighting over it. And perhaps the second hyena was even worse than the first. She convinced Himilco not to kill me, and she can convince him later that she deserves the seven days. It was simply one of many possibilities, but he (also simply) couldn’t ignore it. In retrospect, her selfless kindness seemed artificial, and her friendliness excessive. And even if she asked for investigations, it could still be a ploy to secure her ultimate prize.
Nothing was more frustrating for Vance than to watch her chain his arms and legs with rusty manacles. He felt a great bitterness when she stuck patches of the Prisoner’s Potion to his arm, and the bitterness turned into revulsion when she told him, quite caringly, that the dose was low and that he wouldn’t lose any time if he was proven innocent. It was the word innocent or innocence that forced him to remember the plethora of evidence against him. And when it came out of Eleanor’s mouth, it sounded like a twisted taunt. But he controlled himself and did nothing rash. The duration of Weight of the Heavens came to an end, and she led him through the mushroom farm and out into the streets.
Crowds watched him from a distance and exchanged annoying whispers. He waited on the side of the road for the prison wagon that would transport him back to the House of Turncoats, and during this wait, he received the system message that clarified the effects of the Prisoner’s Potion. The low dose would force him to spend eight hours without Stamina and Mana. I can’t fight … It’s a battle of words now. Whatever happens, I can’t let them convict me. He promised himself that he would believe in his own innocence, that he wouldn’t let anyone shake this belief, and that he would defend himself to the last breath.
The prison wagon arrived after fifteen minutes. It was a normal vehicle with a cage behind the driver’s seat. Vance couldn’t help but notice the similarities between this cage and the ones that he had seen in the solar-elven armory, and it was a humiliating experience to climb inside it. Sitting behind the bars, he felt like the latest addition to the Monster Circus. Would the other Headbound start throwing him food? Would he be forced to fight another monster to please and entertain the crowds? He laughed wryly at the thought, but this laughter soon quieted down into pensive melancholy.
The wagon started to move, following the ruts in the ground. It was driven by a Dullahan Guard and pulled by a rhinoceros-like mount. It seemed that Vance was no longer Eleanor’s direct responsibility, and it felt better for him this way. He rested his back against the metal cage bars and looked up at the dusky sky. The nightmares, the daymares, the flights, the frights, the fights—everything had been exhausting, and it was only now that he got a chance to rest. Despite everything, despite the worries and uncertainties that clouded his future, he managed to give his body a brief break. It lasted for exactly ten minutes. Then he heard a bestial neigh.
With a start, he looked in front of him and found Agatha—the three-headed mount. Eleanor returned, and she was riding next to the wagon. What does she want now? Is she here to gloat?
After a few silent moments, she moved closer to him, as if she was trying to cross a deep rift or traverse a thick jungle, and said with her usual confidence and poise, “I know it doesn’t mean much, but I think you’re innocent.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Vance said.
Eleanor returned to silence. She continued to ride next to him until his anger subsided. Then she said, “It’s all right if you’re angry with me, but please don’t hate Himilco. He’s trying his best to protect everyone.”
“Which part of ‘shut the fuck up’ did you not understand?” Vance snapped.
“You have to listen to me,” Eleanor said. “Give me a chance.”
He didn’t say anything.
“I lied to you,” she said.
“You framed me!”
“I didn’t … Give me a chance to explain.”
Vance struck the cage bars with his manacles. His loud protest alerted the driver of the prison wagon, but Eleanor gestured that there was no issue.
“Listen, Vance … I lied when I said that Argilstead was safe.”
“No shit.”
“I also lied when I explained what it means to be a Turncoat.”
“What?” Vance was a little surprised.
“A Turncoat is a human Adventurer Slayer, that much is true. But we didn’t get this name because we betrayed Amirani’s humans. We got it for an entirely different reason … Do you remember the Witch of Decay?”
“She’s the one who sent the Skull Jaws to attack us.”
“Yes, and if we had died, she would’ve reanimated us to serve her. The Witch can’t fully reconstruct creatures like solar elves or highlanders, but she can reconstruct humans with chilling perfection. She turns us into a unique type of undead called Necronettes, and sends us to wreak havoc in Argilstead. That’s why the other Headbound call us Turncoats. Many horrendous incidents of the past involved these Necronettes. I only heard stories, but Himilco has lived through some of them.”
A Necronette … An undead servant of the Witch. Vance paused for a second to absorb what had been said. Then he retorted, “But why is Himilco calling me a Necronette? It could be you! It could be him! It could be anyone else!”
“I don’t know the exact conditions,” Eleanor said, calmly and humbly. “But you become a Necronette when your Flame of Revival goes out in the Witch’s Lands … in the lands of the undead.”
“Mine didn’t.”
“I believe you,” Eleanor said. “But you lack the proof.”
“What proof?”
“Normally, before you venture into the Witch’s Lands, you go to Himilco or one of his trusted deputies. They monitor your Flame of Revival using one of their abilities. They make sure it didn't go out in the desert, and the Dullahans don’t allow you into Argilstead unless Himilco gives his approval.”
“But I—”
“But you woke up in Rust Lake, where no one wakes up. Your bad luck sent you straight into the heart of the Witch’s Lands. And it’s not your fault. No one chooses where they end up after the Blood Pilgrimage.”
“How can I prove that I’m not a Necronette?”
“You can’t,” Eleanor said. “But I trust you.”
“Why? Why are you the only one who trusts me?”
Eleanor didn’t give an answer right away. She remained strangely silent, and with every second of silence, Vance grew more impatient. When he was about to lash out at her, however, she finally began, “When we first met, Vance, I was out on an important mission.”
“Retrieving the Necrohide.”
“Yes,” Eleanor said. “And I took a huge risk when I returned to save you from the Skull Jaws. I wasn’t supposed to do that. I rode past you because I thought you were a Necronette, but then I had this feeling. I told myself, ‘What if he’s a normal Turncoat? Isn’t it your duty as a future Dullahan Guard to save him?’ That’s why I turned back. Everyone in Argilstead speaks about trust, but when they’re put in a dilemma like this one, they forget their fancy speeches and put their lives first. I didn’t want to be like that.”
“You chose to trust me because of a feeling?” Vance almost laughed.
“No, it’s not just that. The Witch of Decay wanted her Necrohide back. If you were really a Necronette, you would’ve stabbed me in the back or thrown me off my mount. I waited for you to betray me, but you didn’t. That’s why I decided to let you into Argilstead, and that’s why I helped you gear up and regain your lost time … It’s also true that I wanted to keep an eye on you.”
“Which means that you didn’t fully trust me.”
“I did.”
“Why did you lie to me, then?” Vance said.
“The truth would’ve confused you and pushed you away.”
“Regardless, I had a right to know the truth.”
“I made a mistake, I know. But a lot was happening at the same time, and I had responsibilities to fulfill … I was planning to talk to you about Necronettes. I wanted to tell you everything before you leave. But when I got back, you were already going through a Redspine High. I ended up talking to Himilco instead.”
“How much does he know?”
“I told him everything after you went into the bedroom with Shannon. We argued for six hours straight … He said you were a ‘filthy Necronette,’ but if he had really been sure, you wouldn’t be alive now. Believe me, he was giving you a chance in his own way. That’s why he only used the Ring of Magus against you. He was delaying your death as much as he could, and I’m sure he would’ve been more lenient if you had agreed to give him the seven days back. I know his approach was wrong, but he did his best to believe in you.”
Vance calmed down and regained his composure. He absorbed everything that Eleanor had said. He couldn’t tell whether she was being honest, but he also couldn’t find any facts contradicting her words. Does this mean that I was wrong? Is she on my side? He pulled his chains and looked up at the sky. If he could read the thoughts of others, his life would be much simpler; if he could brainwash everyone into thinking the same way, in the footsteps of the priests, his life would be a walk in the park. But Himilco and Eleanor each had their own set of values that hadn’t formed in a predictable way. And it was much more difficult to understand the motives and goals of people like them.
After a few moments, Vance said, “What am I supposed to do now?”
“You should help us with our investigations,” Eleanor said. “Don’t think of us as your enemies. We want to find out the truth and nothing but the truth.”
“You want to find the real Necronette.”
“Or the real murderer. It could be that a normal Turncoat killed Shannon … for reasons we don’t know yet.”
“You’re asking your number one suspect for help,” Vance laughed, raising his manacles for Eleanor to see. “Do you even understand my situation?”
“I do.”
“Then why are you saying this nonsense?”
“Because, as I said, I believe in your innocence,” Eleanor asserted. “The real culprit wants us to fight among ourselves, and they framed you in particular to accomplish just that. But I know you more than anyone else in Argilstead. I’m the only one who can bring us together, and if we stay united, we will foil this plot and crack this case.”
“The only things you’re cracking are jokes, and really bad ones at that.”
“It’s my honest opinion.”
“How am I even supposed to ‘help’ with your investigations?” Vance said.
“That’s simple. Don’t mislead us. Prioritize the truth over everything.”
“Says the one who prioritized her promotion or appointment or whatever.”
“I made a mistake, and I’m trying to set things straight,” Eleanor said. “The situation is bad, and there’s no time for grudges. So please lend me a hand.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“I won’t let them harm you, Vance, but I need you to work with me.”
“I said I’ll think about it,” Vance repeated, bitterly but also diplomatically.
And Eleanor said nothing in response. She rode ahead, muttered something to the Dullahan in the driver’s seat, and then galloped away.
The prison wagon continued through the dirt roads, and Vance returned to his pensive silence. His thoughts alternated between the past and the future, but they were all accompanied with a sense of dread. His fate was in the hands of others, and he could never be fully comfortable with such a status quo; but there was nothing he could do about it. And after twenty minutes, he found himself back at the House of Turncoats. The prison wagon stopped in front of the arched entrance, which was now guarded by several Dullahans. He looked up at the stone sign that spelled the name of the place, and realized the hidden significance of that one word that he had taken for granted—Turncoats.
For thirty minutes, he had nothing to do but stare through the bars at that one word and ask himself: “Is Eleanor with me or against me? Am I being framed for my Flame of Revival? Or is this a conspiracy by the Witch of Decay and her undead Necronettes?” The questions repeated themselves in his mind for at least a hundred times until he heard another round of loud neighs. These bestial cries announced that his wait was over and that a new chapter was starting in his post-Shannon world. Eleanor returned with another rider. It was the one and only Destin McFate, fate incarnate, the Dullahan chosen to oversee the investigations, the solar elf who called himself Solsnam.