“I knew the girl would have a knack for healing magic. Fixed you in no time at all!“ Nakir boasted, patting Ceres’s head. The injuries they all had suffered were lessened by Ceres, who had been trained on healing magic by Nakir in his stead. While they weren’t at the best of their abilities, it had helped considerably than if they had to make due without it. Most grateful of all was Grovalt, who had sustained heavy wounds from their fight earlier. While they were closed and healing, he still felt a tearing sensation and discomfort whenever he moved his body.
“Thanks, Ceres. Truly. And… I’m sorry that I couldn’t do anything. If you want someone to blame, it should be me. Magic of that caliber, especially to do with blood… I had never seen anything like that before. I was out of my element, so to speak.“
“Don’t blame yourself, mister Grovalt. She’s my sister. She’s my responsibility. The only one to blame is me.“ Ceres’s eyes were still red from crying. Though she was torn apart from the loss of her sister again, her steely determination still shone through her eyes. Her will to save her sister had not faulted in the slightest.
“When you stood up to that woman, it reminded me of-“ Grovalt stopped, then continued as if his tongue had slipped. “It reminded me of someone I once knew. It gave me the fighting spirit I needed at that moment. That’s why I want to help you.“
“Help me?“
Grovalt gave a light chuckle, slightly embarrassed. “Yeah. I want to come along with you, if that’s alright. At least until my debt to you is fulfilled.“
“Me as well,“ Raum said in his fluttery, soft voice. “If you’ll still have me, I would like to help both you and that lonesome sorceress. I don’t think it's right to leave such cruel fates to chance.“
They all sighed at the thought of the Black Sorceress. Could they really hope to stand up to such a foe, and was it a realistic idea that they could turn her mind from her dark goal?
“This is all heartwarming and all, but we’ve gotta sort some stuff out, folks. Especially the living situation. This space is getting a bit cramped~“ Maxra had wandered into the room, her arms behind her back nonchalantly. Her elegant features were no longer hidden behind her black mask, and it drew the attention of Grovalt and Nakir for half a second. “Actually, here’s some tea for you all. It ain’t often I get to make this much for so many.“
Cups of tea were distributed to everyone in the tight, crowded room. Nevermore had never been livelier. They each took a sip and delighted, apart from Ceres and Grovalt. They both looked at each other with a sour look on their faces.
“What’s the matter, you two? Don’t like my tea or somethin’?“ Maxra’s eyes seemed to glow a sinister hue for a split second.
“No, no. I’ve just never been a fan of tea, is all. What about you, Ceres?“
“Never had it before, but this tastes like sea water.“
Maxra eyed Ceres up and down with a face that was growing angrier and angrier with each passing second. “I see how it is. Just because you ain’t human doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass, missy.“
Not human. It had just occurred to Ceres that, technically, she wasn’t fully human anymore. Would her sister find it odd? Would she be scared of her new appearance? She gazed down at her arm, covered with black scales.
“Hey! Stop ignoring me.“ Maxra had gone from anger to pouting in a split second. The men all looked at each other with puzzled expressions while Ceres continued ignoring her.
“That’s enough, Maxra. I know we’re not the friendliest sort, but could you try to be polite at least?“ Zenzi now entered the room. It was quickly becoming more and more apparent that Nevermore was not built with six people in mind. Zenzi herself looked extremely tired. Her usual cutthroat demeanor was still present on her face, but she was a bit hunched over and her eyes seemed droopy. It was perhaps due to the large strain put upon a user of teleportation magic, which Zenzi had used to quickly bring the group back to Aza without drawing suspicion. The effects of exhaustion from magic, especially teleportation magic, drastically increased the wider the range and the larger the number of targets.
“Is this really the group Master asked us to find, Zen? The dragon I understand, but the hybrid brat and this weird quiet guy too?“
“The weird quiet guy is Raum, and Master had specifically sent him to aid the two a couple days ago.“
Raum took no offense to their rudeness. Whether it was because he wasn’t listening to them or he just didn’t care was unknown to everyone but him.
“Though, if they refuse the offer we are to present to them in the coming moments, I do not see an issue with disposing of them as you see fit.“ Zenzi brushed her dark hair away from her one visible eye, but for a brief moment Grovalt had thought he had seen something strange about the left side of her face. As it was now covered with her messy, ink-black hair, he couldn’t confirm his suspicions.
Nakir’s silly face he had while sipping tea had turned into a far more serious one. His arm instinctively went in front of Ceres to protect her, but he bumped hands with Grovalt who had done the same. They both looked at each other with confusion.
“Calm down, you two. I said if you refuse. We haven’t even told you our Master’s offer yet.“
Nakir had suddenly realized something after mulling over the two scary women’s talks. “By Master, you mean Archizend, yes? The cat?“
Zenzi gave Nakir a wicked smile. Her pale skin and piercing eye shook him in a way not dissimilar to how Archizend did. “Well, I suppose you figured it out. Yes, we serve Archizend the Cat, ruler of the Warped Woods. It is by his orders that we have gathered all of you here, in Nevermore. It was also by his will that you confronted Imeldra the Vampiress in her manor outside of Aza. I hope this clears it all up for you.“
“Actually, it doesn’t.“ Grovalt spoke up.
“That’s too bad. If you have any more complaints, I’ll be happy to make you remove your own spine.“
Grovalt suddenly became awfully quiet, and even started to take some more sips from the tea he hated when Maxra flashed the same sadistic grin.
“Now, as you’ve all made it perfectly clear, you wish to challenge the Black Sorceress directly. Am I right? Well, I know I’m right, but I’d like you all to confirm it.“ Zenzi’s prideful inquisition made everyone but Maxra roll their eyes and nod their head. “It just so happens that Master has the same wish. In fact, not only does he wish for the fall of the tyrant herself, but of the Imperium in its entirety.“
The shock that a statement as ridiculous as that didn’t come, and instead, due to disbelief, the men scoffed.
“That’s impossible. The Imperium has legions of mages more apt than all of us. Except maybe Nakir.“ Grovalt shook his head in dismay.
“That’s why,“ Zenzi continued, “we're going to need to do two things. One: Recruit temporary members for our cause. I’m certain of many folks in Aza who would help us achieve this goal, be it for money, the cause, or both. Two: We’ll need to train you all, especially Ceres.“ Zenzi walked across the room and knelt down to look into Ceres’s face. Ceres had been sitting with the rest of them on Maxra and Zenzi’s dusty furniture situated at one end of the room.
Nakir seemed to be in deep thought, with one hand rubbing his chin in a pensive fashion. After a while, he opened his fierce eyes with a bold smile on his face. “I have to agree with the small woman. If we seek to down the Black Sorceress in her keep, there is no doubt we will need the skills and the manpower to raid such an oppressive fortress.“
Zenzi nodded approvingly, then scowled at the remark. Before she could voice her anger, though, Maxra butted in. “Great~ I’m glad we’re all on the same page. First, we’ll search the real sketchy parts of the city. I know a couple guys who’d be great-“
“No, Maxra.“ Zenzi shot her down. “Do you really want the entire Imperium on red alert from the get-go? Those fools would get us killed in no time. Our numbers or expertise wouldn’t matter at all at that point.“
Ceres put down her nearly-full cup of tea and faced the bickering duo. “What does Archizend want with the Sorceress, anyway? He didn’t seem like the type to care about any humans, let alone anyone in Aza.“
Zenzi sat down and stared vacantly at Ceres’s face again. “I’m afraid we can’t tell you that, as our Master has kept us in the dark about such a thing as well. If there is anything about him that pains me, it is that tricky nature of his. It seems he delights in our uncertainty.“
“So,“ Grovalt stood up and said, “who do we ask first, then?“ Sensing Ceres’s wariness of the two since the reveal that they were working with the cat that had caused her so much mental anguish, he decided that he would try to take the lead for once.
Zenzi’s eyes narrowed at the sudden change in attitude from Grovalt, but she decided not to dwell on it. “There is already a small group that has been planning a coup of sorts for some time now. Me and Maxra will go talk with them, while you all can go to this address.“ Zenzi handed Grovalt a small slip of paper with barely legible handwriting scrawled onto its surface.
“Gotcha.“
After about half an hour of walking through the ever-dusky city streets, the pale man, the humanoid dragon, the hybrid, and the man wearing goggles around his neck came to a very familiar-looking establishment. At least, to Grovalt it was very familiar. It was the very same bar he would frequent often before he got tangled up in this mess, and the very same bar that had kickstarted the whole thing. He sighed once they reached the front door. “Should’ve known, really. Guess I never really paid attention to the address…“ He spoke quietly to himself, and so the others didn’t really catch what he was saying.
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“Hold on.“ Nakir had interrupted the awkward silence that had been building between them. “Ceres can’t go in there. She isn’t of age yet.“ He patted Ceres’s head again, and Ceres’s eyes narrowed into a mixture of annoyance and confusion.
“You really think that matters right now? Seriously? Besides… she looks old enough. The guy in there’s my buddy, too, so I don’t think he’d-“
“No.“ Nakir stood firm. Passersby in trench coats and leather clothing walked by his statuesque pose.
Why is this guy, this dragon, acting like Ceres’s father!? Grovalt’s head was spinning. “It’s not like we’re here to get her drunk or something! You know why we’re here, so why are you making this such a big deal?“
“I do not wish for my precious Ceres to enter such a place of debauchery and degeneracy.“ Nakir’s stance had not faltered one bit.
Grovalt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. However, looking at Ceres’s cutely confused face and wispy verdant hair, he started to understand where he was coming from. “Fine. There’s a bakery over there. Just get her something while me and Raum take care of this.“ Grovalt threw a small metallic coin Nakir’s way, and Nakir caught it in both hands like a kid catching a ball.
“Excellent. I knew you’d see reason. Come, Ceres. Let us indulge in what these humans call ‘pastries’.“ With that, Ceres and Nakir began walking in stride towards the nearby bakery with giddy smiles on their faces.
Grovalt sighed. “I don’t think I totally understand those two just yet.“ Raum gave a small laugh as the two young men finally entered the bar.
The air inside was even more oppressive than the foggy atmosphere of the city. Although Grovalt had grown accustomed to it, he never felt at ease when he walked into the place. Not now, and not ever before. The barman stood to the left as he had been days ago. He held a shot glass in one hand and polished it with a white cloth in the other. To the right were several tables, with one in the back occupied by four large men playing cards and drinking. One of them, larger than the others, wore a black suit that seemed to be padded with armor plating. His physique showed that he took pride in his work, especially his upper body and forearms, which looked as if they could crush a human skull between them. He had a refined, lightly shaved black beard and his eyes made it seem as though he had never slept in his entire life. His skin was a palish color, not unlike Grovalt’s. The others at the table wore similar clothes and had similar builds, but were much less visually striking.
“Hey, Grovalt. The usual?“ The barman’s face seemed to lighten up at the sight of him, and a faint grin started to grace his expression.
The large man playing cards looked up at the mention of Grovalt’s name. His face went from a sleepless dull one to one of grim focus. Even when Grovalt noticed his glare, he didn’t look away.
“Grovalt, sir?“ The barman asked again, breaking the silence.
“Ah, sorry about that. Nothing for me, thanks. On a job.“
The barman nodded his head, then realized what he meant by that. He didn’t know Grovalt’s history with the large man, but he knew Grovalt well. He had been making him drinks since he’d come to Aza for work, and knew every one of his expressions. The one he was making now sent a shiver down his spine. He eyed the situation for a bit before continuing to clean the glasses lined up on the bar in front of him.
“Grovalt.“ The man spoke plainly with a gruff, hoarse voice. It sounded as if he had lived his entire life with smoke in his lungs. He made a motion with one of his hands, and two of the men at the table stood up and left the bar in a hurry. “Take a seat. Your friend too.“
Raum and Grovalt slowly walked across the bar and sat down. Before them, cards in his huge hands, was Darriel Blackthorn. His brooding eminence seemed like it would swallow them whole. The dimness of the bar only accentuated the abrasive tension the man exuded.
“I have to say, Darriel. You were the last merc I thought would want to work with people like the Ravens.“
“Blackthorn. I don’t think I’ve got to explain why I don’t want you calling me by my first name anymore. You disappointed me, Grovalt. That stunt you pulled in the wastes… it wasn’t befitting of a mercenary. Especially not a veteran.“
Grovalt bit the insides of his mouth. He was restless. “Can we not dredge up the past? That stuff doesn’t matter anymore. Not right now.“
“I hate to admit it, but you’re right. No point in talking about it now.“ Darriel put his cards face down on the table and leaned back in his chair. He retrieved a scroll tied up with a red ribbon from behind him and unrolled it for the two men in front of him to see. It was a map of some kind.
“What is this?“ Raum asked.
“Our ticket in. The Imperium may be impossible to breach from the outside without being hounded by a hundred mages, but,“ Darriel pointed his strong pointer finger at a section of the paper, “the underground’s a lot softer. As long as we go through this passage under the Academy, we’re as good as inside.“
“How do you even know about this?“ Grovalt’s whirled emotions inside his chest were suppressed by his burning curiosity.
“I’ve got an informant or two. See, Grovalt, the more jobs you do without a hitch, the more people you meet. The life of a merc isn’t easy, but it definitely beats working for an idiot like Graves.“ Darriel had picked up his fan of cards again and began shuffling it into the larger deck.
Grovalt’s heart felt like it had been stomped into a red mist. Memories of his workings with the Rumhounds, and his eventual departure from their parasitic lifestyle, weighed heavily on him. It had been rock bottom. In a life that wasn’t that great to begin with, rock bottom was a place he never wanted to go to or think about again. Though, when he thought of their leader being held in that monstrous building, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt.
“I didn’t forget what you said to me, Darriel. Back then, when I was lost in that storm I had created for myself, you said that I need to find my own truth.“
Darriel’s lifeless eyes seemed to twinkle in some way, but even Grovalt couldn’t begin to fathom the thoughts of the man he once called a friend. “And?“
“I think I’ve found that truth. It’s similar to back then, but this time I have help. I’m not alone in that storm. Even if I don’t know them all too well yet, I’m…“ Grovalt’s voice faded out. He stared at the deck of cards sitting in the middle of the table.
“Let’s meet with the others. Follow me.“ Darriel still spoke in a flat monotone voice as he left the bar, though this time it wasn’t quite as cold.
Waving goodbye to the barman, Grovalt and Raum followed Darriel and his men outside. The rush of noise from the bustling streets came all at once, and with it, the cold silence back in the bar was already a fading memory.
“They should be waiting at a nearby bakery. Come on.“ Darriel crossed the street, his hands firmly in his pockets.
A nearby bakery, huh?
As they reached their destination, Grovalt eyed the display before them. A dozen or so workers in uniform were busy making delicious pastries in the warm kitchen. Outside that small window of warmth, it had begun raining. Light drops of water fell to the ground and joined together in puddles. The beautiful red stained glass and lights that gave Aza its signature grimness added a touch of melancholy to the otherwise dreamlike city street. Grovalt had heard of street-side shops like this before, but most of them were farther in the center of town. He usually stuck to the depressing backstreets when he was drinking or doing odd jobs. It gave the city he saw as the crux of his pain a lighter disposition.
Glancing wayward, the group saw a tall handsome man holding an umbrella, a young girl with verdant shoulder-length hair, and two people Grovalt did not recognize. One was a girl that looked slightly older than Ceres with long, blonde hair and a bubbly smile. She wore a long, gray coat and had a fairly large hammer on her back. It almost looked bigger than she was. The other person was a man about the same age. He had short, black hair and wore simple clothes of the same color. In a sheathe to his side was a fairly thick, metal blade, almost like a machete.
“Hey, Darriel! Over here!“ The girl shouted cheerfully towards them, making a waving gesture with her right hand.
Darriel glanced left and right, making sure that no passersby were alerted by the sudden shouting. “That girl, I swear…“ He muttered to himself. The group joined Ceres, Nakir, and the two friendly-looking people. Darriel, realizing no one was doing the honors, stepped forward and introduced his colleagues.
“Nice to meetcha all! I’m Lumi, and this is Rook. Say hi Rook!“
The young man put on a forced smile and replied with a wave.
“Oh, come on! Say hi to them.“
Rook sighed. “Okay. Hi.“
“Geez. You’re never gonna make it as a merc with an attitude like that. Mercenary work is all about charisma! Well, and killing. But mostly charisma!“ Lumi stretched out her arms in a showy manner as if she was acting in a school play.
“These are the ones helping us with the Imp- I mean, the job? They don’t look very strong.“ Grovalt looked at them with a lack of faith.
“Hey, take that back! We’ve been on a ton of jobs before.“ Lumi protested.
“Like what?“
“Well,“ Rook answered, “we settled a matter north of the city that involved a wrathcursed individual. Luckily, we were able to kill them before they made it to Aza.“
“Wrathcursed…“ Grovalt pondered aloud.
Wrathcurse was an affliction known around this area of the world for eons. It was a strange curse woven by high magic long ago, perhaps since the planet’s creation. It made people go into a frenzy, using all of their physical and magical strength to destroy anything in their path before succumbing to their physical or mental damage. It had no known cause, other than that it had something to do with the person’s mental state beforehand. Other than crime, many jobs taken up by mercs in Aza were to destroy these aberrations of humanity before they could take anyone with them.
“It was a close call,“ Lumi spoke up, her cheery tone slightly deflated. “It’s scary to think that could happen to anyone.“
“I see. You mean breakdowns.“ Raum had adopted an upright posture, his arms folded. “We used to call them breakdowns in Sirithis.“
Grovalt and Darriel turned to look at Raum with eyes aflame. Though Grovalt saw Raum as a friend, his mention of him being from Sirithis triggered something instinctual that transcended any friendship he felt toward him.
“Sirithis? Raum, are you Sirithisian?“ Grovalt interrogated him, his face stern.
“Ah, that’s odd. It seems a memory has found its way back to me. Yes… yes I once lived in a city named Sirithis. It was in a desert, and-“
“I should’ve known. Your tan skin, your clothes… it all makes sense now.“
Raum was in too much of a daze, seemingly lost in his newfound memories to realize Grovalt and Darriel’s spiteful glares. Except, they weren’t aimed at Raum as an individual. They simply feared his people. Years ago, they had fought tens of hundreds of Sirithisians during the Relic War. It was a war between the conjoined armies of Altruin and Frostmaw against the desert city of Sirithis.
“Is something the matter?“ Raum asked with his calm voice. His demeanor helped put the two worried men at ease somewhat.
“Anyway!“ Lumi chimed, cleaving the awkwardness of the situation in twine. “Me and Rook should be more than capable of helping you all. With my brains and his brawn, nothing can catch us off guard!“
“That should be the other way around,“ Rook challenged, and everyone laughed while Lumi pouted in anger.
Ceres and Nakir, who had been suspiciously silent the whole time, were busy stuffing their faces with treats from the bakery. The soft rain had begun to stop, and they had seen this as an opportune time to dig in.
With a disappointed look on his face, Grovalt turned to talk to everyone. “We should all go find Zenzi. It looks like we’re ready to make a concrete plan.“
The others all nodded in agreement, then began walking back through the city.