Jyulem Tyre squinted up at the pale yellow of the moon. Tonight would not be enjoyable. He wasn’t breaking any of his rules, but his mouth tasted like copper pennies.
And fucking obviously, with another meeting that put him in a bad mood, it was raining again.
He turned up his collar against the constant drizzle of Irkan’s autumn and walked down the darkened street. If he could have avoided it, he wouldn’t have agreed to this meeting. But although the Frontier area of the Candisk Republic was far from the seat of power, it wasn’t far enough that he could simply ignore an invitation from a fellow disciple of the Sunset Tiger.
Even if she was perhaps Jyulem’s least favorite person in the world.
The cobblestone streets of Irkan’s trade center had a few occasional cloaked travelers, who lowered their heads when they saw his uniform, and the occasional patrolling guards, who gave him a bow. But when he moved out from the more civilized area out onto the dirt pathways between wooden stalls, the population changed.
Groups of beastpeople watched Jyulem from alleys. The hunched figures of wizened old men in rags sat next to small fires and tossed dice. The soft sound of the rain muffled, but did not entirely cover, the bellows of laughter and violence from establishments of ill repute tucked away from the main thoroughfare.
The guard station, when Jyulem reached it, didn’t even have anyone watching the entrance. Jyulem pressed his lips together at the lack of military discipline but also understood this was exactly why Irkan had thrived under his rule. The main confines of his city were only protected by a low wooden wall. Even during the day, it was quite easy to scale and enter Irkan without passing through the gate.
Jyulem kept walking, out to one of the small satellite communities around Irkan. So long as they passed along chunks of tax revenue, he and his administration looked the other way from their activities.
He reached the Flutterbloom Inn, a sophisticated establishment out beyond the patrol area of Irkan’s guards, and simply stood in the rain for ten minutes. A chill seeped through his jacket and into his skin, yet still he didn’t proceed. Candlelight flickered in the window. Jyulem rubbed his thumb along his bushy eyebrows, squeezing out water.
It was petty and meant he once more had soaked socks, but this time, he would make the other party stew for a bit.
He shook his head after a time and went up to the door. It opened before he knocked, the servers waiting patiently for his approach. As he stepped into the room he stomped his foot to shake off the raindrops clinging to his body. A woman with a warm smile stepped up to him. “Shall I take your cloak sir?”
He grunted an affirmative and peeled the animal skin off of him. At least this location had a bit more class than the last.
He removed a shortsword and dagger strapped to his waist and left them on the front desk. Another attractive host bowed and then led him upstairs to an open room with several intimate tables along the wall. While technically the ground of the Candisk Republic, the Frontier’s distance from any of this continent’s triumvirate of powers meant patriotic distinctions faded out here. Especially outside of Irkan proper, individuals from the Sandsteppe Empire and Holy Magisterium moved freely
Many met and mingled at the tables around Jyulem. He kept his eyes down, even as others flinched at his presence. Rather than because he was the leader of Irkan and therefore the the nominal head of the entire Frontier, it was his relationship with a certain royal faction of the Candisk Republic that probably gave individuals pause.
Even his own countrymen regarded Jyulem with a mixture of curiosity and fear. The shift from monarchy to republic 20 years ago remained fresh in the public consciousness.
Some even considered his placement in Irkan a rather honorable form of exile.
In the table of honor against wide and beautifully stained double windows, Mercy Willowtam sat with her hands folded in front of her. The elderly woman was short of stature and her hair gleamed like polished silver. Her wrinkled skin crinkled further as she beamed at him. “Ah, little Tyre. What a pleasure to see you again. It’s a great honor that you have accepted my invitation; I can only assume you are quite busy, keeping this little corner of civilization from collapsing back into the wilderness.”
“Madam Bishop, the honor is truly mine,” Jyulem slumped in his seat. They had interacted far too many times to bother covering up his sarcasm.
“Ah? Oh, you must not have heard. I am a Bishop no longer.” Mercy’s eyes squeezed into chubby crescents. She raised a hand and wiggled her fingers. A fat signet ring dominated her left hand. “I was lucky enough to be selected as the Head Inquisitor of the Church of the Verdant Grove. May our foliage never wither.”
Jyulem straightened slightly and studied her. Mercy lied with every other word, but this was not a subject she would exaggerate. The signet appeared genuine, marked with an ornately woven tree sigil. His mind whirled. Becoming the Head Inquisitor made her the second most powerful individual in the Church of the Verdant Grove, one of the five powerful religions on the continent. Especially with the growing presence of that particular faction in the Frontier, it meant that she could cause a lot of trouble for him.
Although, nothing would be worse than her simpering a word of complaint to the Sunset Tiger… bah. Sighing, Jyulem just said. “What do you want?”
“To have a nice meal with an old friend!” Mercy chuckled. “My treat.”
“We have the same mentor. But I think we both can admit we aren’t friends.” Jyulem countered.
Mercy blinked slowly. “We have so much history! Were we not both present at the Hanging of the Royal Corpse? I had assumed such a historic event would mean we were bound for life. You… you would have been seventeen, yes? And at the side of Princess Matrice as a page. Ah, perhaps I just wanted the chance to reminisce. Tell me again-”
“Why do you keep bringing that farce up?” Jyulem gritted his teeth as he felt his neck flush. He had accepted this position in Irkan exactly to avoid the politicking she now stirred up.
Mercy pouted. “Such a serious individual. Have it your way. I simply wish for a little information. After all, the Church of the Golden Rays has been so active in the Frontier recently! Vyrnbrussen himself made the trip and lingered here for two weeks. And you know how much of a fan I am of the man’s piety… but as the new Head Inquisitor of the Verdant Grove, such unexpected actions make me leery. Hopefully, he applied no untoward pressure to those of other faiths.”
“We both know that my lips are sealed on this matter. If you wish, you can read the official report in the Adventurer’s Guild Headquarters in the capital. Why are you here, Mercy?” Jyulem pressed his hands against the table.
“Such a hot temper! So profoundly male.” Mercy shook her head. Some of the crinkles smoothed themselves out on her face. Her features became curiously slack. When her mask wasn’t in use, she seemed apathetic. Jyulem wondered why all of the powerful religious figures had the same deadness of eyes when they dropped pretenses. “I suppose I did wish to bring you a bit of gossip on the streets. They say… after succeeding in their advancement quest at Level 24, an individual obtained a rather interesting Class: Usurper.”
For a second, the animosity that Jyulem held fell away. He tried not to think about his own alternate Quest and its implications. “An Usurper? Truly? Where?”
“Of course, the bloody Sandsteppe Empire. And that silly Crowned Jackal refuses to do anything about it.” For a split second, Mercy expressed genuine displeasure. She sucked on her teeth. “You know how the beastpeople are. Probably that jackle-ass considers it a great honor to have a bomb growing beneath him. Chivalry and honor, and all that. Despite the fact that it is a Tier 3 Usurper.”
Jyulem licked his lips. “Already earning enough achievements to become a Usurper at Tier 3… we haven’t had one of those since Cedric the Fell.”
A man who would eventually reach Tier V… and claim the Class Godslayer. The principal investigator of the fall of the four Eastern countries… and the founding of the Holy Magisterium. Jyulem’s blood turned to ice. But even if this new individual only concerned themselves with mundane powers, if allowed to gather momentum, one of the three remaining countries might be toppled.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“A man who became a problem, yes.” Mercy looked at Jyulem. “By the way… how goes your efforts to advance to Tier IV? Still kicking around, refusing to ask for help with your quest? You could request time away from Irkan, you know. Adventure, or whatever it is that you need to do.”
Jyulem pursed his lips. Of all people, Mercy was the last person he wanted to be aware of his current Advancement Quest.
Mercy shrugged at his silence and continued. “Obviously, our Master will pretend not to have heard of the Usurper before they reach Tier 4. And even then, she will not move unless the Usurper is dumb enough to spit on her front door or slay one of her students. But we do not have the luxury of such high-mindedness. As such, the Churches agree that we should monitor the more remote Frontier, in case the Usurper comes here to gain support. I trust you will keep us abreast of any developments?”
Jyulem nodded. After enduring a little more of her prattle, he excused himself. He walked back to Irkan in a daze. Twice in a month, the Churches came to an agreement. This time, all five…
Looks like this long twenty years of peace… is finally coming to an end.
He checked his Advancement again.
Tier IV (Level 50) Advancement Quest: Rule and Protect a Sizeable Human Settlement (Over 50,000 lives) for 5 Years.
Time Remaining: 7 Months, 12 days, 1 hour, 53 minutes.
*****
Kamaedra Overmountain, second in command of the Frontier Adventurer's Guild, whistled. “Tell me what I’m looking at.
The two stood outside of an isolated, but rather charming, wooden cabin on one of the rolling foothills butting up the Spine of Hubris. Kamaedra typically didn’t bother with brutal mountain range that separated the direct route between three civilized powers and the Frontier, but she had been scouring for… strangeness since the churches became active in the area.
And this whole setting stunk of it.
The young man offered the Hatchet Slayer a stiff salute. His standard issue Candisk Republic armor was so shiny it had to be still steaming from the Assembly’s forges. “Ah, you better look for yourself, ma’am. I was just… just examining the perimeter. The inside... There aren’t words.”
“Were you sick?” The dwarf tilted her head to the side. From the flush that suffused what little she could see she guessed correctly. She offered him an encouraging nod. “There is no shame in it. A young woman saw the perp fleeing, correct? Go find her, give her some bread and water. I’ll want to talk to her when I finish here.”
The young guard gave another salute and then walked down the path to the nearby village. Kamaedra pivoted and gave the cottage another discerning glance. An unnatural stillness suffused the area, but otherwise, the scene could just be one of the owner having departed in a hurry. And taken all of the livestock with her. Based on the nearby paddock, goats had been raised here.
Kamaedra activated her favorite Skill and looked again.
Your Skill (Class) Slayer’s Dissecting Focus has grown to Level 72.
Instantly, Kaemadra couldn’t see a thing. Or rather, she saw too much. All energies and presences left a residue that lingered for long after they had gone. Her Skill gave her access to each luminous remnant.
She cut away most of the residues, smells and heat and the touch of smoke, metal, and wood. She stripped everything down to her favorite pairing: the physical realm and the tang of blood. Instantly, several beacons of crimson stood out, even outside the cottage. Crimson mist curled up like beacon fires, drawing her attention.
Kamaedra first moved to the left to the oldest mark. She pushed aside the branches of a nearby bush and revealed the small body of a rabbit and its litter of kits. All were dead, cut open and left to bleed out. Kamaedra narrowed her eyes. The wounds were peculiar. Rough on the mother, cleaner on the kits, as though the killer was learning its trade while performing the action.
Rapid Skill Level increases could explain some of this, but… the shift is too stark. Kamaedra frowned.
Her focus shifted to intent; definitely, the strikes had been meant to bleed out the bodies, but there were no signs that the deceased had been eaten. The kits were entirely whole, their soft flesh untouched.
The mother bunny was missing a paw, but-
Struck by a sudden thought, Kamaedra flicked out a hatchet and sliced through the rabbit’s soft flesh of the other forepaw. Then she manipulated the limb and checked the rabbit's claws against the wound on the kits.
Kamaedra sat back on her heels. Whatever this was… stole the leg of the mother to kill the kits?
She felt a chill run down her spine. Now, she definitely sensed she was on the right track. Her work examining all the reports that came through Adventurer’s Guild Headquarters seemed to finally have paid off. Tyre had clearly noticed her vigilance, and even more clearly didn’t approve, but Kamaedra wasn’t willing to let the churches operate freely, not on their turf.
But she knew her boss was curious too. And he would handle the caution, while she rushed out here to get the scoop. The detail that had caught her attention was the panicked mention of ritual sacrifice and devil worship. She had assumed it was a sign that the Church had more business in the area…
But the theft and use of a body part conjured images of that necromancer’s sewn-together abominations.
For now, she didn’t jump to any conclusions. She straightened and moved to the next-oldest blood taints, over by the goat paddock. Around the side of the house sat the feeding trough and there she found the bodies.
The dwarf grimaced. If the human killed inside looked anything like the twisted goat torsos, it was no wonder that the fresh-faced guard hadn’t been able to hold his stomach.
At least seven goats lay in a crumbled and sprawled mess. Rotting innards left out in the sun tainted the area with stink. Her lip twisting, Kaemadra moved to the bodies and checked the slash wounds on the goat’s stomachs: they matched the rabbit claw. There were also some occasional ruptures from blunt force trauma… which made more sense as she noticed that two goat forelegs were missing.
Kamaedra chewed on her lip; also missing was a goat head.
Beginning to see a disturbing pattern, she straightened, went to the rain barrel, washed her hands clean, and then approached the cottage door.
The owner had been a Hedge Witch, and a meticulous one too, because the door swung soundlessly open on well-oiled hinges. With her Skill, Kamaedra didn’t even need a moment to adjust to the relative shadow of the room. She could see the crime scene in all its splendor.
Sitting against the far wall, what remained of the Hedge Witch stared sightlessly forward with empty eye sockets. Flies buzzed lazily around the corpse, but what was so fascinating, or so disturbing, about the bloody display were the missing body parts.
Both eyeballs, tongue, right arm, and left hand. The edges of the wound were rough, revealing broken bones and torn flesh. Likely, once the woman was dead, the flesh had been carved away with a small blade, or claw, and then smashed and torn when the first implement proved inefficient.
Kamaedra’s gaze pivoted to the left. Broken glass jars littered the floor, spilling various herbs and ingredients onto the carpet. But also against the other wall was the strange display that had caused the initial report to be so panicked; a pitchfork’s central prong had been driven through the mouth and then up through the skull of the goat head, pining it to the wooden wall, even now.
They assumed it was related to some ritual, but… Kamaedra squinted at the blood spatters. From the age of the traces, she could barely discern the whole arc of blood hitting the ground; no arcane symbols or sinister circles had been written in blood. The blood had simply dribbled down. No, what happened was a monster capable of stealing and utilizing a rabbit’s paw and a goat’s head surprised the poor woman, but found out she had quick reflexes. She plucked up the pitchfork and struck at the head. She succeeded in striking the head.
But the monster kept coming… killed her and then plundered her body for spare parts.
Her gaze pivoted around, examining the rest of the cottage. To the right, beneath the window, she saw the last clue she needed: the three potted plants sitting there, although probably only left unwatered for a few days, had already begun to wither and die. She had been avoiding looking for one particular layer with her eyes, but shifted her activation of her Skill at that moment. And there, blooming in a horrible, sickly fire, were remnants of necrotic energy.
“Fuck.” Kamaedra swore. “An experiment escaped from that damned necromancer’s tower.”
She did another sweep of the surroundings, looking for necrotic traces, and found something very peculiar: there were no traces of necrotic energy leading to the house, but she could see a blazing trail departing. Apparently, whatever process this monster had gone through, taking the body parts from this woman had changed it.
Or perhaps it had passed through a Growth Threshold while killing her.
The Slayer raised her gaze and squinted. Its path at least led directly up the slope, into the Spine of Hubris, but still…
Kamaedra shook her head and walked down the path; that was a problem to chew on later. For now, she proceeded to the Village Head’s house, where the guard had taken the woman who discovered the body.
The Village Head gestured her into a comfortable sitting room, where a girl who couldn’t be a day over sixteen sat on a cushioned bearskin chair and stared sightlessly down into her tea. The guard straightened abruptly as she walked and made to leave, but Kamaedra crooked a finger in his direction; he should stay, if at least to toughen up his nerves.
The Hatchet Slayer thumped down into the seat opposite the girl, the weight of her leather and hatchets enough to shake the floor and stun the girl up from her reverie. The dwarf spoke with a soft tone. “I won’t take much of your time. You saw it, yes? When you discovered that Miss Toll had been killed. Do you remember what it looked like? Any clue will help.”
“I’ll never forget it,” The girl whispered. Her eyes fell back to her tea as she continued to speak. “It… it just had body parts sticking out of it. It wasn’t very big, maybe the size of a dog. But it had goat hooves, and eyeballs, a tail from maybe a squirrel… and a human arm that kept slapping the ground… But… but it was also so pretty.”
Tears began to run down the girl’s cheeks. “The main part of its body was like a slime. But the slime was… was the prettiest blue color I had ever seen. Almost sapphire.”