Jerome had to travel back the way he came. Heading north meant going back to the town of Nandene. And he wanted to meet up with Rihal as well — if he was still alive. He’d had to burn down the village from the air to stop the corpses from rotting and spreading diseases. He needed to report this. The terrorist, Lokta, was bound and defenseless in his arms. If he tried anything funny, Suzie would start consuming his blood until not a drop was left. He’d revitalize the Sprout with his earth mantra, and they’d try again.
Jerome didn’t miss the fact that the Sprout didn’t have a ranged attack skill, which was strange. With the amount of bone artifacts he saw in his captive’s storage bag, he expected he would try something to free himself but he didn’t.
It didn’t take him much time to get back to Nandene. The town was filled with people again and the market was back in full swing, filled with traders and buyers. He didn’t have the time to really look at the town before but now he saw that it was a bit larger than he estimated.
The houses were smaller compared to Farryn, as were the streets — way smaller. At the very center of the town a more modern structure stood tall, dwarfing all other buildings. The two story manor with its beautiful courtyard was sure to be that of the lord or mayor in charge of the town. He didn’t know what such a person would be titled.
Everything was normal except for the fifteen feet wide crater in the middle of the market. Well, and the fact that there were a lot of blondes here. The sea of corn-colored hair was a sight to behold — nothing like in Farryn where everyone had black hair. Jerome took a moment to take in the sight as he hovered in the air. He supposed it was because these people didn’t travel often. If they left their homes for distant lands they’d spread their genes far faster.
Jerome turned back to the matter at hand. He could see that there were no Spirit Realm artists waiting for him. He’d have to find his way back home himself. The question was, how far was home? Jerome sighed. He forgoed stealth and landed in the midst of the crowded market with huge flaps of his broad wings, blowing dust and pieces of junk from the street everywhere. That sure got the people to notice him.
The people scattered for the second time that day.
He could imagine how they saw him. A sacred artist, come to bring judgment on their little town out in the middle of nowhere. It really put a lot of perspective into things. He’d have to be careful in his dealings with mortals from now on.
Jerome shot forward and caught a man who was slow to respond to the sight of him. “The men who were fighting here at midday… Do you know where they went?” he demanded.
The man babbled incoherently as he wet himself right then and there. Jerome just shook his head in disappointment, letting him go. He had seen bell towers in the distance before he fled the fight scene, and even flew past one by the walls surrounding the town. He launched himself into the air and headed for one of them.
“Maybe you should have used the gate?” Lokta said, gesturing with his head back the way they came.
The bell tower he headed towards was surrounded by a barracks filled with guards, or perhaps they were mercenaries. The broken walls and buildings left unrepaired around the barracks was enough to tell him about the state of the town. Many of them wore mismatched armor, all in leather with missing parts. And their weapons looked like they’d seen better days. When he landed, they all had their weapons drawn and he could almost smell the fear and trepidation on them.
“I wish to know what happened to the two sacred artists who forth this morning in the market!”
A stifling quiet engulfed the area after Jerome spoke. None of the guards were willing to come forward and talk. They remained more than twenty paces away from him, with clubs and sharpened wooden sticks for spears in hand. The few who had metal weapons looked a bit more groomed than the rest. Jerome figured their commander should be among them so he turned to them.
One such person walked forward — albeit fearfully — and Jerome got the chance to scan the man. Blank; and a recent one at that. He looked too old to be Blank from Jerome’s perspective.
“Light embrace you, my lord,” the Blank said with a deep bow. His blonde hair was cut close to his skull and there were battle scars on his face.
“May the Light illuminate your path on your journey to the top,” Jerome replied, trying not to sound awkward. Seeing someone so much older than him — or much older than his current body — bow to him in deference was disconcerting.
He knew he looked nothing like a noble; his robe was covered in so much blood and torn everywhere that he looked like a beggar. But the guards were most likely able to sense the weight of his presence, enough to know that someone more powerful than they were was too much trouble — better to accord him respect. But said respect was a little too much for Jerome.
“I’d like to know about the sacred artists that fought here this morning,” he asked again.
“My lord. They left after their fight. No one saw them leave. Though, I suppose you could ask the mayor of the town. He would know more.”
The guard was shivering where he stood. Jerome knew for a fact that he must have suffered greatly at the hands of nobles for him to react this way. He wasn’t about to add to the man’s insecurities.
“Would you be kind enough to appoint someone to lead the way?”
A chorus of murmurings went through the crowd of guards. Jerome caught some of what they said and it seemed they were surprised he was speaking respectfully to one as lowly as their captain which was not what they had expected.
“Of course, my lord! I’ll take you there myself.” The captain straightened and walked Jerome to the manor he had seen in the center of the town.
“Are there no Sprouts and Spirit Realm experts in your ranks?” Jerome asked the guard as they walked toward the manor.
“Not at all, my lord,” the guard said, bowing deferentially. “We are a small town and very little essence flows here. We hunt magical beasts from time to time to grow stronger but… it’s a slow process.”
“As Drudges?” Jerome asked and the Blank flinched. “Meant no disrespect.”
“Not at all, my lord. It’s just… I’m already Blank.” He stole a glance at the person in Jerome’s arms who was missing both legs — one just below the knee and the other slightly above the ankle.
“I can see that. But the rest of your comrades are still Drudges. It’ll be far more dangerous for them than it’ll be for you. What kind of monsters do you hunt?”
The guard rubbed the back of his neck in shame. “Well, the little ones… we hunt mostly little critters, boars, if we find the young ones… the adults are…” He blew raspberries to communicate his frustration.
“The essence sure is thin here,” Jerome said to change the subject. Not even outside Farryn was the essence as thing as this. These people were truly living life on a dagger’s edge. He could just imagine not having the strength to even run away from a fight he couldn’t win. If psychos like Lokta stumbled upon this town, the same thing would happen again.
“Be on the lookout for people dressed like this one,” he said to the guard captain, gesturing to Lokta. “He massacred a whole village.”
“What?!”
“He’s my prisoner. And I’m taking him to the capital city of Farryn.” Jerome felt good saying that, like he was all important and stuff. The guard straightened and walked with more caution, eyes roaming around.
“We’re here,” the blonde-haired guard finally said. They walked toward the front entrance and were stopped by two guards at the door with spears.
“State your business!” one of them said. They scrutinized him with judgemental eyes and a sneer on their faces. He probably looked like a butcher in his blood-stained rags.
“Guard Captain 2930, requesting permission to see the mayor.”
Jerome glanced at the captain like he was seeing him for the first time. He’d never seen someone numbered with so large a number. Does that mean there are over 2000 guards in this tiny town? That couldn’t be right. There was probably some error in the way they handed out those numbers.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“State your business with the mayor,” the guard at the door repeated. Jerome noticed both were well equipped than the guards who guarded the city. But they were Drudges, so that mattered little.
He sensed the guard captain getting frustrated so he jumped in.
“I’m here on royal business,” he said, cycling to reveal his Realm — he hoped. He wasn’t sure if that was the way to make them feel more pressure from him like an aura attack but he gave it a go. He put the force of his will behind his voice as he spoke too.
Both guards visibly shook and began sweating a moment later. One of them even had to use his spear to support his weight, to stop him from falling flat on his face. Satisfied, Jerome stopped cycling and they let him in, rushing to get word to their lord.
The interior of the manor was a sight to see; not as beautiful or as glamorous as Rihal’s manor in the Royal Estate but it was still better than what he expected, compared to what the rest of the town looked like. This lord was hoarding his town’s riches and living in luxury.
Jerome sat down on a sofa in the living room and dropped Lokta to the floor so they could wait for the mayor to show up, which happened not long after.
“To what do I owe this august visit, my lord?” the man in question asked as he walked in. His demeanor was one of respect and Jerome suspected the guard had told the mayor how powerful he was. “I’m Lord Bas, mayor of Nandene.”
Jerome scrutinized him from head to toe, not bothering with pleasantries. He made sure to look and act as cold as possible. As a disciple of the royal family, he had a higher status since he was connected to the Royal Family.
The man was the roundest person he had seen so far — even rounder than Tala’an Taleed, the manager of the Crystal Gateway. His jowls hung very low and the flesh of his chest was more of breasts, hanging down to his drooping belly which was as thick as that of a pregnant cow. He wore an immaculate, silk red robe that looked like nightwear. And the front area was barely covered.
The mayor was barely a Blank. Jerome sensed that he was far weaker than the guard captain that led him here even though the captain was a newly advanced blank.
“I need to know about the Spirit Realm experts who fought in the market square this morning.”
“Er, they, er.” The mayor was caught off guard by the question but he quickly composed himself. “They disappeared without dropping a word.”
“Then I’d like a map — preferably one of the whole of Vorthe,” Jerome said, not breaking eye contact with the mayor. From his words, he made it sound like he wanted to scout the area for the Spirit Realm artists. No reason to mention he couldn’t find his way back to Farryn.
The mayor gulped and began sweating. “You see my lord, there hasn’t been a cartographer in these regions for many years. The merchants that also pass by never come with maps of that scale. However, I could put in a few words to my very good friend and brother, Lord Bas of New Lead.”
Jerome raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
“We’re both named Bas by our father — may his soul rot away and never know reincarnation,” Mayor Bas explained with a shameless smile, seeing Jerome’s curiosity. “Can’t have too many unique names. The price one would pay for that…”
Jerome cleared his throat to get him back on track.
“Yes! He may have the kind of map you need, young lord. That being said, my maids are preparing you a bath and a wing in my manor to rest your head, er, heads?” he said, looking toward the legless Lokta on the ground. He didn’t know how to address him.
“He’s a prisoner. A dangerous one. He massacred an entire village half a mile or so, south of here.”
The mayor gasped. “The village of Woodbone is gone?!”
“Yes, it is.” What’s up with these silly names?
“That is where we get our wood from,” the mayor muttered to himself but Jerome was already getting up.
Jerome took a deep breath smelling the foulness of the air coming from himself. “I would love that bath now. And some fresh clothes. If you can’t get me a map of Vorthe, a map of the southern region will do.”
“If I may be so bold, young lord. May I… know your name?” the mayor said, plastering a fake smile on his face.
“I’m Jerome. Disciple of the Royal Family of Vorthe.”
~~~
His adrenaline came crashing down the moment he stepped into the warm water of his bath. Jerome relaxed, his body unwilling to stay hyped any longer. He had been running on adrenaline since his fight with Lokta and he only now noticed it.
The battle came to the forefront of his mind and he held in a groan. He’d killed people. Blanks, and possibly some were younger than he was. He hadn’t thought to scrutinize them properly. He had just barreled through them like they were nothing but cardboard props.
Jerome closed his eyes to calm his mind but he found he was calm. Too calm. He thought he’d be fidgeting and regretting his actions but none of that was happening. He held his hands in front of his face. It was clean already but he could still imagine the blood covering them moments ago.
“No,” he said with a sniff. “They were murderers, the lot of them.” He wouldn’t act as if he himself was some saint but he would also not guilt-trip himself.
Lokta was in the dungeon underneath the manor right now and tomorrow, he’d be on his way to the north. He had much to plan for.
The door to the bedchamber opened up and in walked a maid. He looked to the privacy screen separating the bathtub from the rest of the room. The silhouette of a woman holding something like clothes in her hands approached the bed and dropped the clothing in her hand on it.
“Thank you,” Jerome said. She flinched but calmed a moment later.
“You’re most welcome, Milord,” she said. Her voice was young and clear, but it sounded like she was trying too hard to sound sultry.
Jerome thought that she would leave but she remained where she was. Just standing. He didn’t have to wonder why as his brain raced to conclusion. The mayor was giving her to him as a play thing. He almost spat in disgust.
“Towel,” he said after he was done. “Just place it on the frame of the screen.”
She placed the towel there for him quietly. When he was done wiping himself clean, he came out from behind the privacy screen. The woman — no, girl — was pretty. She was probably not even sixteen years old. She stood a foot away from him, nervously rubbing the skin on her arm. Jerome could almost smell the fear oozing off her.
“You may leave now,” he said.
She nearly jumped out of her skin in shock. “M-milord?”
“I said you may leave. Thank you for waiting on me.”
She stood there nonplussed, shifting her weight from foot to foot. The girl reminded him of Ms. Tara a little, except for the blonde locks that framed her pretty face. She was skinny. He could see protruding bones from the exposed skin of the skimpy robe she wore.
Jerome walked to the bed and sat down waiting for her to leave.
“I can’t, milord,” she finally said. He was afraid she’d say that. It was like watching a play about slavery from medieval times play out in front of him. She sniffed, her voice cracking as she almost broke into tears. “Mayor Bas gon’… he would kill me! He gon’ put me ta da stock and—”
Jerome held a hand up to interrupt her and sighed. That went well… Even the cultured way she spoke couldn’t survive his rejection — or so it seemed on the surface. Jerome could tell she was faking her tears though, and he wouldn’t fall for her damsel-in-distress tactic. She must have done this too many times.
He looked around to see if there was another furniture, like a sofa or something, in the room for her to use. Nothing. There was only the bed and a wooden chest in the corner, not even a reading table and chair was in sight. The walls of the room were cream in color and orange-colored tapestries hung on either side of the floor to ceiling window facing the four poster bed.
“You can sleep on the floor.” He bunched up a dark-brown bed linen and threw it at her. No need to give her ideas. It just made him feel sick in his stomach.
“Thank you,” she said, still sobbing. He could hear the fake relief in her voice and it broke his heart that such a young girl would be subjected to such abuse that it would twist her into what he was seeing here right now. How long has this been going on for her? How many more young girls were subjected to such a treatment?
Jerome sighed. He really thought he knew how wicked the heart of men was but facing it left him in shock. If there was anything that sleazy viper, Idrel, was right about, it was that he’d surely lived a sheltered life in Farryn.
All the more reason to find you all, he thought, thinking about his family. And fast. He wouldn’t want them to go through what this girl was going through.
He sat down on the bed and skimmed through the map the girl had brought for him. It was a map of Nandene and two other towns, New Lead and Sky Paw — what sought of a name was that? The villages surrounding them were also highlighted on the map. It was a crudely drawn map and he was sure whoever the cartographer was, he’d gotten the scales all wrong.
Nothing he could do about that though. He only needed to keep going north. Jerome took a deep breath and put out the candle, throwing the room in total darkness. The little girl was already fast asleep when he scanned the room before lying down and shutting his eyes to sleep.
~~~
Grogg
“By all that is damned in the sea! I will find you and tear you apart!” He had just watched his son face down a monster and lost. Lokta lost! Not only did he lose, he had his legs cut off.
Grogg flew as fast as he could. Vorthe was just far too big. He had no idea when he’d be able to get to his son before that monster took him to the Golden City — at least he assumed that was where the monster was taking his son.
He reached through his Amarkh to see if he could get a glimpse of his son again. Nothing. All he received was stillness and darkness. Lokta’s Amarkh must be inside his storage bag.
Grogg’s final destination was supposed to be the golden city but he hoped he would’ve had the time to wrought untold carnage in his wake before reaching the city. Turns out the gods of the south sea had other plans.
“Hang on, Lokta. I’m on my way,” Grogg muttered.