Soraseo once told me that Shinkokan officials were always on time, because wasting it was seen as a most egregious offense.
Hence I began to wonder what was going on as Soraseo and I waited alongside the quartermaster in a serene waiting hall. The paintings of tranquil nature scenes and the flower arrangements on the walls stood in stark contrast with the rest of this iron-forged city; as did the silence. The room occupied a spot in a nine-tiered pagoda serving as a headquarters for the Shinkokan armed forces, with windows giving us an eerily beautiful view of the city covered in mist. I could have sworn that the latter was growing thicker with each passing day.
I wondered how much time we had left, but I already knew the answer to that: not enough.
I exchanged a glance with Soraseo as we sat on small cushions around a low table. From her expression, her teacher’s lateness was highly unusual. Our teas had gone cold in their cups.
“I deeply apologize,” the quartermaster said, his hand wiping sweat off his brow. “Lord Oboro must be facing an unforeseen emergency.”
“No offense taken,” I replied. I had my own suspicions as to what occupied Lord Oboro’s attention.
Mirokald had made his way to Mount Kazandu, as he promised he would. He reported a great deal of demonic activity around the mountain alongside large movements of runestones and soldiers into tunnels leading into its stony depths. He was confident the crown’s forging ritual hadn’t started yet, but the site was too well-protected for him to attack or infiltrate on his own without support.
The hall’s door slid open before I could mull over that question any further. A middle-aged man with graying hair and eyes walked inside with two soldiers at his back; I assumed him to be Lord Oboro. His white robes marked him as a member of the highest nobility, although he carried himself with a kind of austere detachment I would expect from a retired warrior, his annoyed expression betraying his frustration.
This meeting was already off to a terrible start.
“My apologies for forcing you to wait,” Lord Oboro said as he gave us a curt, rigid bow and sat in front of us from across the table. “A troubling matter required my immediate attention.”
“No harm taken, Lord Oboro,” I replied. “I’d already assumed a great issue occupied your mind. I more than remember your impeccable sense of punctuality from our days on the frontline.”
“I struggle to believe you. I never forget a face, and I do not remember ever seeing yours, nor that of…” Lord Oboro squinted at Soraseo. “Companion…”
Soraseo held her teacher’s gaze, and while her face and eyes had changed, I could immediately tell that he somehow recognized her. Something about her body language betrayed her true identity perhaps, or they had exchanged a secret signal I didn’t pick up on. Whatever the case, a tense silence followed which none dared to interrupt.
The quartermaster straightened up on his cushion, sweat falling off his forehead. I myself watched the scene without a word. I could almost see the gears turning inside this Oboro’s head as he considered turning Soraseo over to her brother, then reconsidered. He seemed to reach a decision after a moment, and I held my breath as he turned to look at his aides.
“Leave me alone with these foreigners,” Lord Oboro ordered his guards and the quartermaster. “All of you. I shall not stand any interruptions.”
The quartermaster and soldiers did not question the order and bolted off into the hall, leaving the three of us alone. Lord Oboro and Soraseo both stared at the door for a moment to confirm no one was eavesdropping, then returned to staring at each other. I could almost taste the tension in the air.
My friend joined her hands and bowed slightly. “It is good to see you again, my teacher.”
“I cannot say the same,” the man replied bluntly. “What trickery is this, princess? Why do you stand in my presence wearing such an elaborate disguise?”
Soraseo removed the headband covering her forehead without hesitation, revealing her mark. Lord Oboro’s eyes widened in shock and surprise upon seeing the symbol of the Monk glowing on his former student’s skin, his face turning to me next. Unlike my fellow Hero, I did not unveil my own class in response. I didn’t trust this man with any information except with what was strictly necessary.
“So it is true…” Lord Oboro muttered to himself while stroking his bear. “His Majesty’s spies sent reports that his daughter had gained the Monk Class. I could scarcely believe it myself.”
“Neither did I, my teacher,” Soraseo replied humbly. “I come to you as a Hero, not a princess of the Shinkoku.”
“I see. I assume your companion must be the Merchant then? Reports said that the two of you traveled together.”
“Who can say?” I replied without confirming or denying his allegations. It was better to leave him wondering. “I suspect you have an idea of why we come to you today, Lord Oboro.”
“Yes, I can assume. Your brother listens to Chief Magistrate Kaolin, who has filled his head with tales of his sister plotting to have him assassinated.” He narrowed his eyes at Soraseo. “Is this correct, Princess?”
“Of course not,” Soraseo replied with cold anger. “I have no desire to spill Doggotaro’s blood.”
Lord Oboro scoffed. “Your mother probably thought the same, and yet she rots in a grave.
“Her mother forgave her, Lord Oboro,” I replied icily before presenting him with my soundstone on Soraseo’s behalf. I immediately activated it. “These are the empress’ words, straight from the Deadgate.”
The sound of the late empress’ voice caused Soraseo no end of melancholia, and drew a startled blink from Lord Oboro. He listened to the recording in silence until its end, then proceeded to grab the soundstone and examine it closely.
“A tall tale, and one that means little in our current circumstances,” Lord Oboro declared upon returning the soundstone to me. “Your brother and his regents would not forgive you even with this proof, Princess Mizukiya. They would call it a clever forgery and have you executed on the spot for violating the terms of your exile, if they were to bother with an excuse at all. Your brother has lived in fear of your return since your departure.”
Soraseo’s expression turned forlorn, but she steadied her back nonetheless. “I have good reason to believe that some of my brother’s advisors are demons in disguise, or allied with them. Evil is afoot in our country. The fog outside shows so.”
Lord Oboro stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Witchcrafter Fensaru told me that this misty ritual is meant to disperse Mount Kazandu’s gathered essence in order to avert an eruption. I never quite believed it,” he admitted. “The fate of all those poor women worries me too. The Chief Magistrate arrested hundreds of them, and they are to be transported to Mount Kazandu tomorrow.”
My fists clenched into fists as I dared to ask for details. “For what purpose?”
“All I know is that our new emperor must oversee a ceremony there, which bothers me greatly,” Lord Oboro replied. “Our people can tolerate many things, but such unexplained, arbitrary decisions will only foster chaos and turmoil.”
Soraseo clenched her jaw. She and I knew very well that demons wouldn’t gather hundreds of people at the mountain for innocent purposes. In all likelihood, they would serve as sacrifices. The threat the ritual presented to her brother also hardened her determination to end it all.
“Blood will spill, my teacher,” Soraseo implored. “A great calamity will soon be unleashed from Mount Kazandu. You must assist us in preventing it. My brother’s life may be at risk.”
Lord Oboro studied her for a moment, then slowly nodded to himself. “You would not risk returning here if necessity did bind you, Princess. What calamity do you think will befall us?”
“A Blight of colossal proportions,” I lied before Soraseo could answer. I had no desire to see an imperialist regime develop an interest in a potential Artifact. Elements among the Shinkoku Empire might be tempted to complete Daltia’s plan if only to secure her wicked crown for themselves. “One that would blanket your entire nation. The fog is merely the beginning.”
Lord Oboro looked at me with heavy skepticism. “Is that so?”
“That is what demons do, my teacher,” Soraseo declared, going along with the lie. It warmed my heart that she trusted me more than this man. “They spread evil that can never be cleansed, and our nation is built on so many sins.”
“True.” Lord Oboro considered his former student’s words before taking a long, deep breath. “Very well. I shall insist on attending the ceremony at Mount Kazandu, whatever its nature, and I will not be denied. You and your allies may hide among my guards.”
Soraseo smiled in relief, though I noticed it did not reach her eyes. “Thank you, my teacher,” she said with a bow of gratitude. “I shall prove worthy of your trust.”
“I give you a chance, not my trust,” Lord Oboro warned her. “Beware that should this story of yours be a trick, then I shall cut you down myself.”
That was still more help than we expected to receive. “We also require runestones, especially those infused with wind and fire essence for our ship,” I said. “We came here to trade them against furs, among other things.”
“A ship?” Lord Oboro scoffed. “If the name does not make it obvious enough, Mount Kazandu is a mountain. What good would a ship be?”
“Plenty,” I insisted. “All I can promise you is that our enemies will never see it coming.”
“You do ask for much without giving details in return, but I suppose it is the Merchant’s way,” Lord Oboro said sternly. He was sharp, I had to give him that. “Very well. I shall see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” I replied with gratitude. I was pleasantly surprised. After so much trouble, I appreciated recruiting a new and reasonable ally. “Your generosity shall be returned tenfold.”
I thought we had mostly finished when Soraseo cleared her throat. “Might I ask what caused your delay, my teacher?” she asked. “Any information may prove crucial.”
Lord Oboro marked a short pause, as if her mere question insulted his honor, before relenting after some consideration. “I have recently suffered from a most brazen robbery. A mask of adamantine confiscated from Seukaia was stolen this very morning.”
Soraseo’s eyes widened in recognition. “The one our army stole from the Firehand Sect?”
“The very same one,” her teacher confirmed with a scowl. “One of my own servants, who had served me loyally for over a decade, has stolen a relic from the reserve. I cannot explain what madness seized him, nor can my men locate this thief. It is as if he disappeared into thin air.”
“Or transformed into someone else,” I replied. A mask of adamantine… A worrying possibility soon wormed its way into my mind. “Was it soulforged adamantine?”
“I cannot say,” Lord Oboro replied with a frown. “What difference would it make?”
“A big one.” I quickly guessed the thief’s likely identity and the reason behind the robbery. “‘I have to reunite with my face…’”
What better symbol for a faceless monster than a mask which to hide behind? Belgoroth had his sword and Daltia her coins, but the first Rogue bound their existence to the face they had long discarded. I couldn’t fathom how many people passed that cursed item around without ever realizing its true significance.
The Shadow had regained access to their soulforged item.
----------------------------------------
Lord Oboro proved as good as his word. His men provided us with enough runestones to refuel the Colmar, and uniforms for a small group of us to infiltrate Mount Kazandu’s ritual. We couldn’t send many of us, as Daltia’s fiends would grow suspicious of too large a group, but a small task force could gain entry into the mountain. With Mirokald leading another team and a third striking from above with the airship, we could launch a three-pronged attack on the demons’ army, interrupt the ritual, and rescue the hostages.
Hopefully. Soraseo did voice certain concerns that we would have to address when considering our final line-up. My friends trusted me with the final say in how to organize the various teams; a position which I accepted dutifully.
It felt both endearing to have so many confident people looking up to my leadership, and crushing. The lives of my friends and the fate of the world might rest on my decisions today.
I held no illusion about the risks associated with our mission. Our clashes with Belgoroth had cost us the previous Cavalier, Colmar, and nearly led to all of our deaths; and while he had been monstrously strong, we were about to confront two of his Demon Ancestors colleagues.
Even with the best preparations, I expected casualties.
I would do everything in my power to ensure everyone walked out of this battle safely, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel any pressure. That was why I decided to take Eris on a final date tonight, both to take my mind off things and organize with our last remaining allies. From the look on her face, my lover probably felt the same way.
From what I’d heard, the Silken Brass was the most popular entertainment house in the Foreign District. I easily identified it from the layered brass plates on the roof which gave it its name. Popular singers, dancers, and conversationalists gathered there to entertain guests eager to play games of chance or simply relax. Its blend of class, money, and exoticism reminded me of Hermeline’s House of Gold where my journey as the Merchant first began.
“This is the place,” I said as I approached the entrance with Eris’ arm around mine. “I rented two seats for tonight’s show.”
“All for us?” Eris teased me, her heavy frown softening a bit. “What will your wife and son say upon hearing you’ve been frolicking around with your maid? You risk a divorce taking me out for dinner.”
“What kind of backstabbing merchant doesn’t have a mistress on the side?” I joked back. “Besides, they have their hands full with our other child.”
“Young Ravengarde?” Eris raised an eyebrow. “What mischief has our new golem been up to?”
“Beni caught him reading his study book,” I replied. “It seems to have grown curious.”
Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
“Interesting. I suppose teaching a golem will be a first in the history of mankind.”
“That’s the thing,” I replied. “I didn’t give Ravengarde that ability yet.”
The implications finally dawned upon Eris. “It developed that skill on its own?”
“Yes, it did.” It taught me a valuable lesson: that once consciousness began to emerge, an artificial creature immediately started acting outside its original parameters. A new mind yearned to expand, to explore new possibilities, to learn. “A detail that will come in handy for our counterplay.”
“Do not give me the details,” Eris said immediately. “I do not know yet how much my other self can perceive.”
“Is that what’s troubling you?” I asked. “You look more concerned than usual.”
“Does it show that much?” Eris looked up to the stars shining through the mist. “I have met with Selestine, both to confess myself and ask for her wisdom. She consulted with the Artifacts on my other self’s plan, and for the first time in many centuries, they all reached a common agreement.”
My heart skipped a beat. The last time the Artifacts agreed on anything, it resulted in our Classes’ creation.
“If we fail to prevent the crown’s forging for any reason… they will be forced to intervene,” Eris said with a forlorn look. “The threat of a Demon Ancestor using a fifth Artifact to alter reality itself is simply too great for them to ignore.”
“From your expression, I would assume this isn’t good news for us.”
“No, it is not. The Artifacts are forces of nature, great and terrible, ideals entrusted with safekeeping the Goddess’ creation. The lives of individuals mean little against the safety of the world for them.” Eris shook her head. “At best, they will destroy the crown and the Shinkoku Empire in the ensuing cataclysm. At worst, they will fail with the former and succeed with the latter.”
My jaw clenched. I already knew that Pangeal would be doomed should Daltia have her way, and while part of me appreciated that the Four Artifacts would at least try to step in should the worst come to pass, the threat of the Shinkoku Empire being wiped off the map didn’t reassure me in the slightest.
“You blame yourself,” I guessed. No wonder Eris looked so forlorn.
“Of course I do. This Artifact plan is something I conceptualized centuries ago. Every evil we have fought can be traced back to my mistakes.” Eris took a deep breath. “I have spent so many years running away from my sins, and now, I cannot do it anymore.”
I sensed her concern and remorse in the way she touched my arm, so I tightened my grip on it. I’d always perceived the deep sorrow which Eris hid behind her false smiles and teasing; a deep abyss of grief and torment dug over many centuries. The best I could do was offer her some comfort.
“I’ve been giving some thought to our marks, and I believe I have noticed a common thread,” I said. “What do you think our classes look for in someone? The thing we all have in common?”
Eris pondered my question for a while before answering. “Guilt,” she said softly. “I would say guilt.”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “Colmar, Mersie, Corty, Chronius, Soraseo… the marks always seem to pick people with the capacity for remorse, because it inspires them to change. Something which the first generation lacked, yourself excepted.”
I had no way to confirm my theory, but it sounded the most plausible to me. Lady Alexios told us that the first Fatebinder assisted the Artifacts in creating a new set of marks whose holders wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of our predecessors. The ability to feel guilt and the desire to atone, to have the will to change, was the one thing the likes of Belgoroth lacked. They saw faults in everyone except themselves.
Rubenzo’s crusade against corrupt nobility struck me as a quest inspired by something in his past, as did Mirokald’s desire to improve his homeland the same way I felt a duty to help mine. All of us had at least faced an incident that convinced us to fight for the weak without exception.
“Is that meant to comfort me?” Eris replied. “Feeling bad for evil deeds does not make them go away, handsome.”
“No,” I conceded. “But the Wanderer’s mark wouldn’t have chosen you if you didn’t have the opportunity to turn things around.”
Eris smiled sadly. “Do you truly believe that, Robin?”
“Yes,” I replied without hesitation.
“Then you believe in me more than I believe in myself.” She leaned her head against my shoulder until I sensed her warmth through my clothes. “Thank you still. I appreciate your kind words.”
She didn’t entirely believe me, but I could tell my words had helped a little.
We walked into the Silken Brass and were soon guided by a young woman in a flowered dress—a courtesan in training, I would assume—into a theater room. Rows of sitting cushions and tables were set in front of an ornate and elevated stage. The smell of fresh lacquer rose from the polished wooden floor, while incense burned in the corners.
The room was almost entirely full when we arrived, with each table occupied by rowdy men and women from the Fire Islands. A few of them were located in separate alcoves that afforded a measure of privacy. I noticed a balding, elderly man in one of them beckoning us to join him and his own date, an elegant woman with long silver hair, a crimson sailor’s black tunic, and a golden necklace around her neck. She had a wild beauty about her, though her fierce red eyes appraised Eris and me with the wariness of a lion on the hunt. I sensed that feeling of familiarity that marked her as a Hero, at which point her expression softened slightly.
“Come here, strangers!” the balding man said with a very familiar voice. “We have a few places here!”
I had to give it to Rubenzo, he had nothing to envy about his predecessor when it came to disguising himself. The woman next to him had to be the infamous Neferoa, a notorious pirate queen and the current Bard.
“Thank you, kind stranger,” I said upon following through with his proposal. Eris and I sat around the table to join the two. I immediately noticed that this alcove shielded us from the noise of the crowd. A quick use of my essence sight confirmed that the walls hosted specific wards in them meant to filter out sounds that didn’t come from the stage itself. “I hope you had a pleasant journey to this beautiful country.”
“We had to cut down a few bandits on our way to the capital, but it was still a calmer trip than yours from what I gathered,” Rubenzo replied before grabbing a cup of alcohol. “Help yourself, mate.”
“Fair warning, their drinks are shit,” Neferoa said, her voice a bit deeper than I would have expected from, well, a Bard. “You’d need a hundred to get drunk on them. And you’re laying on the accent too thick, Rube.”
“Truly?” Rubenzo replied, his voice growing slightly higher pitched. “To be scolded by the Bard is the highest of honors for an actor.”
“You’re awfully confident in organizing this meeting in a public place,” I noted. “I assume everyone here works for you, spectators and staff included?”
“Quite sharp, Merchant,” Neferoa said with confidence. “I’ve got friends in every port.”
“Including the Shinkoku,” I said while tasting our drink. It was some sort of alcoholic beverage, but as Neferoa warned, I could hardly feel its taste on my tongue. “Let me guess, you’ve been cultivating foreign allies against Irem here long before you gained your mark?”
“One cannot change the world on their own.” Neferoa’s eyes darted from Rubenzo to me. “Unlike the likes of the Knight, the three of us need friends to win our battles.”
That was true, I supposed. The Rogue, Bard, and Merchant Classes all required the assistance of others to truly shine; whether willingly or not.
“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you in any case,” I told Neferoa before exposing my mark and offering my hand to shake. “Your exploits have reached as far as the Riverland Federation.”
“So have yours, Robin Waybright,” Neferoa retorted upon accepting the handshake with a firm grip. She grabbed her collar and unveiled a golden harp mark boasting the Erebian number for six. “Word is that your lot bested the Lord of Wrath himself.”
“The Knight owns the lion’s share of that one,” I replied. “Can you show me your power? Try me?”
“Daring, aren’t we?” A flicker of amusement passed in the Bard’s eyes. “Give me your cup.”
Her words entered my skull through my ears like worms and dug their way deep into my mind. All my thoughts and questions vanished in an instant, replaced with an overwhelming urge to listen, to obey. Its effect reminded me of Cortaner’s power, but broader, stronger.
Yet having already braved many Blights and the Inquisitor’s power, I managed to anchor myself for a moment. My hand gripped the cup with all of my strength, every inch of my being struggling against an invisible force. My very arm rebelled against the brain guiding it in a way that strained my muscles and filled me with an overwhelming sensation of sickness.
But all of the willpower in the world couldn’t compare to a divine power. When my mind cleared of Neferoa’s command, my cup had found its way to her hand.
It wasn’t alone either. Rubenzo and Eris alike had surrendered their own beverages, but the people in the next alcove hadn’t moved an inch. The soundproofing essence wards had protected them. This implied that the Bard’s power could affect anyone who heard her voice unless she specified the target.
“Impressive,” I said. This might just work… “Is that why you felt secure enough to organize this meeting?”
“Any order I give must be carried out, including orders for spies and assassins to reveal their true identities,” Neferoa explained with a smirk as she sipped from my own cup in a blatant power move. She must have interrogated everyone in this room to ensure neither the Shadow nor any Knots’ members would be among them. “I must say, Robin, you resisted longer than anybody else I’ve encountered. I can see why Eris fell so hard for you.”
“He does have a certain charm,” Eris replied upon recovering her drink.
“Did I mishear?” Rubenzo gasped and put a hand on his chest. “Did he even beat my record?”
“You’re second-best,” Neferoa confirmed before sipping from his cup and returning it empty. “Better luck next time.”
“I won’t settle for a supporting role,” Rubenzo swore. “Please, mistress, order me around until I gain the will to resist you!”
Eris smiled mischievously. “Are the two of you rehearsing in private yet?”
“Not yet, gal, but give it time,” Neferoa replied with a wink. “Still missing our quality time since you went exclusive, by the way.”
“Sorry, my clauses are airtight,” I joked back. “What of your power? Would it have failed if we spoke different tongues?”
“Seeking an advantage already? You truly live up to your Class.” Neferoa shook her head. “Would you reveal a weakness about your power in exchange for that information?”
“Of course,” I replied without hesitation. “We are on the same team.”
“I’m not so sure.” Neferoa scowled in disdain. “One of my Vassal Classes is fighting for Irem. Our marks bind us to fight demons, but they cannot erase old loyalties.”
“Then let me give you a show of trust,” I declared boldly. “My power requires a target’s consent and I cannot sell what I do not own, though they do not need to understand what they agree to.”
“Interesting…” Neferoa appraised me for a moment, as if considering whether or not to follow through with her end of the bargain, before relenting. “Your intuition was correct, Merchant. My power requires the target to understand my order. A common language is required and the more precise the order, the better. Vague instructions are too easy to fulfill.”
So the message would have to be recorded in Shinkokan… if the power carried through the voice itself and not the speaker, that was…
Rubenzo guessed my plan first. “You’re thinking of using the soundstones, aren’t you? The idea crossed my mind too.”
“Rube told me about them,” Neferoa said. “I admit I’m interested. If those devices can carry the sound of my voice, then it opens up new and exciting opportunities.”
I nodded gravely. “I only have a limited supply available, but we could place them in critical spots with Eris’ help.”
“Oh? Am I playing courier again?” Eris leaned on my side. “What do you have in mind, handsome?”
“We’ll need to test out the soundstone theory first, but it could prove to be our ace in the hole against the Devil of Greed,” I replied, albeit with some reservation. “I have faith in my idea, though it’ll carry a great deal of risks.”
“All your luminous ideas do, handsome, and yet we stand here because of them,” Eris reassured me.
“What of my esteemed and elusive predecessor?” Rubenzo asked. “Any leads on their whereabouts and intentions? Our dear Archer has been fuming since he learned about his daughter’s fate. It took all of my charm to convince him to stay put until we figured out a plan of action.”
A good call. I strongly suspected the Shadow partly targeted Erika to use her as a hostage against Chronius once the time came.
“We have unfortunately few leads on the Shadow,” I said. “And grave news to report."
I proceeded to recount the mask’s theft to my allies while Rubenzo’s troupe took their place on the stage. They had quickly adapted to Shinkokan theater’s customs, wearing masks and painted faces to play spirits and demons. I quickly recognized Mersie playing a young maid among them. She seemed to enjoy the role, even smiling once our gazes crossed. I wondered if she even recognized me in spite of my borrowed face.
I guessed some people could simply see the hidden soul behind our masks.
Rubenzo took the news much better than expected, his face morphing into a triumphant expression. “Marvelous. Simply marvelous!”
“Marvelous?” I repeated, his carefree joy taking me aback. “Our enemy has recovered the source of their immortality, and they could be anywhere or anyone.”
“Robin, Robin, don’t you see? This is the Shadow of Envy.” Rubenzo grinned wickedly. “We Rogues? We Rogues are hoarders. Now that they have recovered their lost soul, my illustrious predecessor won’t relinquish it, ever. They’ll keep it on themselves at all times.”
Neferoa chuckled. “A worthy prize to steal. I’m almost tempted to join in the hunt myself.”
“It won’t do any good,” I pointed out. “Our marks won’t let us affect souls, and the Shadow’s own spirit is bound to their mask.”
“I would not steal that one in a million years,” Rubenzo reassured me, but only for the time it took him to explain his insane idea. “It is the connection which I seek, the conduit to all the world’s jealousy and envy.”
My eyes widened in shock. “That’s suicide.”
“It worked with the Lord of Wrath, did it not?” Rubenzo countered.
“Yes, because Roland’s power granted him ownership of Belgoroth’s sword and let me seal it in a breakable object,” I replied. “As far as my power is concerned, you do not own anything that you steal. The moment you try to sell the connection to me, it will immediately return to its original proprietary.”
“See, my friend, that’s where I think you’re wrong,” Rubenzo countered. “Indulge me for a while. Will you buy from me the magnificent ruby dagger in my drawer upstairs for a copper?”
I frowned in skepticism. Had he found another loophole in how our powers interacted? “Very well.”
To my utter surprise, I felt my mark reacting to the trade. My purse grew lighter, and I found myself staring at a splendid dagger of carved ruby sitting on the table. I looked at it in astonishment, my mind furiously trying to understand what happened.
Eris proved more direct. “How did you achieve this, Ruby?”
“Simple,” Rubenzo replied, with Eris’ wordplay drawing a smirk from him. “I killed the previous owner in an unfair duel.”
My heart skipped a beat as the implications hit me in the face. “Nobody left to claim the fenced goods…” I muttered. So deceptively simple. “That could work…”
“I’m not sure I follow,” Neferoa said.
“If I stole something from a person who dies afterwards, ownership reverts to me since there’s no one left alive to contest my claim,” Rubenzo explained. “If the essence connection is what grants our foe their immortality and we slay them before they can recover their lost goods...”
Eris’ jaw clenched. “Ruby, do you understand that if we follow through with your plan, all of mankind’s worth of jealousy, envy, and resentment will flow directly through you?”
“Soulforged objects can handle that strain because they are near-indestructible, but you’re still human,” I warned Rubenzo. “Channeling that much negative essence may kill you within minutes, if not seconds. Not to mention the risk that your mark will kill you before it risks being corrupted.”
“Then we’ll have to act fast.” Rubenzo didn’t look frightened in the slightest. “What can I say, my friend? Risk big, win big. We won’t prevail without putting our lives on the line. If it worked against the Lord of Wrath, why should my illustrious ancestor be immune?”
“It could work,” I conceded. Albeit we killed Belgoroth before we split the wrath from his sword. “However, stripping the Shadow of their immortality will only make them vulnerable for a time. If our allies can’t kill them in time, then the flow of essence will return to them and restore their immortality. You will also need to make physical contact, and since the Shadow can kill with a touch, if you fail to take them by surprise or botch the timing–”
“Botch the timing? Me?” Rubenzo laughed in my face. “I run a theater troupe, my dear! Sticking to the script and landing the timing is an art form to me!”
“Shamshir will be easier to kill than Belgoroth at least,” Eris muttered under her breath. “Much frailer.”
“Frailer?” I asked. What a strange turn of phrase. “What makes you say that?”
“Think about it, handsome.” Eris snapped her fingers. “Belgoroth easily survived a huge fall and fought without concern for his safety because his wounds healed in an instant, and yet–”
“And yet the Shadow felt the need to use a jumping bag rather than simply fall,” I finished at the same time she did. What a brilliant observation. “Their form of immortality either does not allow them to recover from damage quickly, or comes at a cost they aren’t willing to pay if they can help it.”
If Rubenzo could strip the Shadow of their immortality long enough for us to kill them, then he could trade the essence connection to me the same way Roland sold me all the wrath in the world. We could then seal it in a harmless item and put an end to the Demon Ancestor.
If. The same plan had cost us Colmar’s life when we pulled it against Belgoroth, and his colleague would likely fight to the bitter end.
“You are taking this far too cheerfully,” I warned Rubenzo. “A Demon Ancestor is no small-time fiend. Any mistake we make will result in our deaths.”
“And I have already rehearsed my last words!” Rubenzo scoffed and crossed his legs. “Did you mistake me for the Knight, my friend? I do not fight Lady Death, I mock her.”
“Would you rather that I give a grave speech about the dire danger we’re in?” Neferoa replied with a shrug. “The truth is, Merchant, is that we’ve all faced our share of horrors to reach this moment.”
“None of them will match the Demon Ancestors,” I pointed out. The memory of Belgoroth’s overwhelming power still haunted me.
“Our marks wouldn’t have chosen us if we weren’t ready to cross that bridge,” Neferoa pointed out; something to which I had no answer. “Once the time comes, we’ll stand our ground.”
“And wouldn’t it be poetic for the newest Rogue to defeat the first?” Rubenzo asked without expecting an answer. “The way I see it, a play has to come full circle to reach a satisfying conclusion, the same way our new Knight put an end to his infamous predecessor. If my life is the price to pay, then I will gladly wager it.”
Full circle… The more I pondered my friend’s words, the more I saw the wisdom in them. Daltia had created the Demon Ancestors by abusing the Merchant’s power, and it was that very same ability that made Belgoroth’s defeat possible. The same tools that brought the world to the brink of destruction could be used to save it.
I exchanged a glance with Eris, and immediately knew that the same thought had crossed both of our minds.
We would put an end to the first Merchant’s legacy, one way or another.
“How do I factor into that grand plan of yours?” Neferoa wondered. “If you indeed want to conclude this play, then I expect a leading role.”
“If you are on an official visit, then the Knots already have you under surveillance and will act immediately the moment you leave the city,” I countered. “It is your voice we need more than your presence.”
Neferoa scoffed in amusement. “How far must it carry before you are satisfied, Merchant?”
“If I have my way…” I smiled ear to ear. “Everywhere.”