Lord Hovington was pacing around the inside of his office. Outside, sounds of revelry and enjoyment could be heard, as he had decided to host a party involving most of the cities elites. He had been planning to gain the support necessary to become the city's representative to the capital at this party, and there was no real reason for him to be away from it, and in his office, anxious and troubled.
The source of his anxiety lay on his desk, a letter that had been delivered mid-party, and brought to his attention almost immediately due to the senders, who he hadn’t seen ever since sending them after that blacksmith three days ago.
Lord Hovington,
We wish to inform you that, effective immediately, we will no longer work under your contract. Over the years, you have employed us to ruin the lives of ordinary people, simply due to your own whims and fancies. Many of these occurrences involved women.
We can no longer stand for your actions, and have posted a list of your misdeeds in the guild hall, and all of the things you have made us do. While most of our party will be imprisoned for our acts, so too will you, considering the sheer amount of evidence we have provided.
Unfortunately, this won’t be something you can pay your way out of. We have even told them about your private dungeon, and what’s inside. The city lord's will want you gone to clear the image of the nobility, and the common people have always detested nobility. Everyone will welcome the chance to see you brought to justice.
—The Frost Fangs.
The first time Lord Hovington had read through that letter, he had broken into a cold sweat, and all the blood had left his face. He knew that The Frost Fangs had essentially ruined him with their confessions. As he read the letter a second and third time, however, he began to calm down. He began to wonder if the letter was a fake, sent to induce him into a panic—but no. He dismayed himself of that idea. Nobody could have known about what was within the dungeon besides the Frost Fangs, who had to go into it every now and then. They had always given him small disgusted looks when they thought he wasn’t looking because of it.
Now, pacing his office, he was deciding his next steps. Only a few people would know about what he had done at this point, so maybe if he left that same night, he would be able to leave the city and make for another, where he wasn’t known and wouldn’t meet any of his associates. He could also attempt to get some amities by dragging down other corrupt and immoral nobles, though that would be the plan if all else fails.
He began gathering all the most important and incriminating documents and tossing them into the small fireplace, where they slowly burned, throwing embers up the chimney. He knew that there were some things he couldn’t get rid of, like the dungeon, but he did his best to mitigate the damage for when the city’s inquisition branch came for him.
Though, he had made up his mind to not be in the same city when they did decide to come. He called his personal servant Charles and had him bring a small carriage to the back of the manor, where nobody would see him leaving during the party.
He grabbed several bags of gold coins, and pulled on an enveloping black coat before leaving his office. Outside, a nondescript brown carriage was waiting, Charles acting as the driver.
The carriage began moving, slowly creaking down the city streets. At one point, Lord Hovington was sure he heard a thud, and asked Charles about it.
(Charles?) “Oh, it was nothing, sir. Just a street orphan in the way.”
(Lord Hovington) “Ah. Carry on then.”
He thought that Charles’s voice sounded a bit odd, but pushed it from his mind at the thought of what would happen should the inquisition grab hold of him.
He urged Charles to drive faster.
The carriage sped up marginally, the clatter from it’s wheels passage growing louder as the building came closer, the road thinning out.
Absently, Lord Hovington wondered why the road would be thinning, when the main routes leading to the city gates stayed the same size.
(Lord Hovington) “Charles? Why are we not going straight to the city gates, like I told you to, you imbecile?!”
(Charles?) “My apologies, sir. I had thought that you would want some extra secrecy, with how clandestine everything has been.”
(Lord Hovington) “No, you idiot! Go straight to the city gates! I don’t care about detours or ‘secrecy’!”
(Charles?) “Yes, my lord. I will bring the carriage back to the main roads as soon as I possibly can.”
The next few tense minutes were filled with silence, besides the occasional horse whinny and the clatter of iron rimmed wheels on cobbled streets.
Then, the carriage creaked to a stop, angering Lord Hovington.
(Lord Hovington) “Why the fuck have you stopped, you absolute idiot! Straight to the gate I said, and this isn’t the fucking gate!”
He hopped out of the carriage, and immediately stopped, his mouth hanging slightly open. In the driver's bench, Charles was slumped over, a dark red line sliced through his neck, and dark liquid already drying on the seat underneath. Next to him sat a man in a dark cowl, holding the reins and gazing at Lord Hovington with a malevolent gaze.
Situated around the carriage were seven other men, all wearing dark long coats, with steel breastplates shining underneath. They all had a particular badge on their coats, a circular piece of metal with a five pointed star on it, the legs of the star thin like a needle, or a knife.
(Inquisition Member) “Lord Hovington Durstat, you have hereby been stripped of your noble titles, and placed under the authority of the kingdom’s Order of Inquisition, where you will be judged, and punished accordingly.”
Lord no longer, Hovington’s legs lost their strength, and he fell to his knees, a vacant look in his eyes. The worst outcome for him had come to pass, considering that the inquisition tended to judge nobles much harsher than ordinary citizens for the same crimes, and Hovington had done some things that warranted worse than a death sentence.
His life would no longer be enviable, saving for those that had done worse than him.
The men brought him away, and he didn’t fight back. He couldn’t—not when he was only an A-rank equivalent, and the inquisition had a minimum of S-rank.
Before leaving, the leader of the inquisition's men glanced up at a distant rooftop, and his surprisingly effeminate face twisted into a small smirk, before turning away to follow his men.
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Hmm. I don’t know how the inquisition leader had seen me from three blocks away. He must be really strong, though.
I couldn't resist watching that annoying noble’s fall from grace, even if it was from a distance. I couldn’t hear any of the words that had been exchanged from where I situated myself, but I could see everything just fine.
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I suppose I should explain myself first, right?
Well, starting from when I had faced the A-ranks sent by Hovington, there isn’t much to tell.
Basically, I had kept most of the group under my tender care for a day or two, allowing them the very generous chance to let a bunch of stuff off their chests.
The only one not subjected to that treatment was the new addition to their party—Samith, who I had previously met in the labyrinth. As it turns out, she had joined because her brother is the assassin in the party, who was stupidly named Reaper, of all things. Although, his real name is Gregarious, so it’s a toss up as to which one’s better.
She hadn’t know what the party had been doing for its employer, though, as her brother had intended to keep her away from all that. She had practically begged him to join, citing her want to stay near him as the reason—though I think there was an element of trauma left from Veroth’s death that she wanted to recover from.
I think it was somewhat unlucky of her to have run into me twice though, through pure happenstance.
Anyway, I gave them some options.
One, they would leave, and never bother me again.
Two, they would post a list of wrongdoings encouraged by their employer, and turn themselves in.
Or three, I could kill them.
They ended up choosing option two, partly due to the bone-crushing, soul destroying, mind boggling guilt I made sure they felt, and partly because Samith begged them to. She has a very strong sense of justice, that one does. And a deadly pair of puppy-dog eyes.
I think they’ll be taken leniently though, due to the fact that they’re the ones who exposed the whole thing. Otherwise, with how sly Hovington was, I’m sure it would have been a good many more years before anyone realized what was happening.
I also sent a small letter to the inquisition branch in this city, warning them about the whole thing, which is why they had been ready for Hovington to flee, and had so easily brought him under their fold. I could guess that not many would ever see the ex-Lord Hovington again, though there would be few who haven’t heard the name in a few days, when news about the whole thing circulates around.
I smiled to myself and got up, happy that one more rotten noble has disappeared from the world, unable to do others any harm.
I made my way back to my house and smithy, wanting to plan out my next few moves.
The past few days haven't just been spent orchestrating Hovington’s fall—far from it. Most of my time was spent tracking down a few of my swords, and checking to see who’s in possession of it. If it’s a noble, then I bring the noble down in a non-lethal way, and take the blade back. If it’s not, then I leave them alone.
All but one of the blades I’ve found so far have belonged to nobles.
All but one of the blades has been returned to my smithy.
Now, I need to find ways to get the other blades back, especially the one’s which have been stored in armories, or carried by high ranking members of houses.
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In a massive and gloomy great-hall located in the countries capital, four men were meeting. One wore the crown of royalty, another the staff and white clothing of the church. The third clutched a thick book, well worn over the years and his robes in a similar state. Despite the age of his items, he didn’t look over twenty-five. The last was a martial man, wearing the steel denoting his aptitude, and a face with several scars crossing it. His hair was turning the steel grey associated with growing age, but his eyes were openly displaying fire.
The crowned man spoke first.
(King Raleigh) “Are you sure? This would be no laughing matter if it turns out the vision was false.”
The religious man answered the King, his wrinkled face holding a faint smile, as if he was amused by his company.
(Pope Nicholas) “Yes, I’m afraid our method of scrying the future is never wrong. What we have seen will come to pass. It’s just a matter of readying ourselves for it at this point.”
The armored man spoke next, confused as the the direction of the conversation.
(High General Savant) “Wait, hold on just a second. Why are we worrying so much? The vision only said that a new Demon Lord would rise—And wasn’t the last one sealed by the elves rather quickly?”
(Pope Nicholas) “That wasn’t a Demon Lord, Savant.—He only had a possibility of becoming one, a very faint possibility at that. Even then, he was temporarily the most powerful demon in our small part of the world, and the elves only handled him so easily due to some outside circumstances. No, the vision we received this time indicates that a Demon Lord will rise. Ask yourself this, if a candidate was so powerful, then to what degree of power would an actual one reach?”
The General nodded, catching the Pope’s meaning.
(High General Savant) “Right then. You said something about preparations? Can I assume our resident Archmage is here for that?”
The mage, who had been quite so far, nodded and spoke.
(Archmage Raeson) “Correct. I have something that could help us immensely. There exists a certain summoning ritual that bring beings with great power or potential to our realm…”
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South from the capital, inside on of the many forests in the country—this one being within a hundred kilometers of the city Kai was staying in—there were a group of sixteen people setting up a camp. They didn’t pitch any tents, or create any campfires, but started chanting. The tree roots grew out of the ground, surrounded by glowing embers of magic, and arched themselves over the small clearing occupied by the people. They laid their bedrolls directly on the forest floor, while the sky was covered by the tree roots.
Two of these people sat near the center, and engaged in a discussion. One was a woman with long brown hair, reminiscent of the earth itself, while the other had short black hair deep as a moonless night.
The woman spoke first, with a deep hatred in her voice.
(???) “Now that we know the whore is dead, do we find her offspring?”
The short-haired man nodded. Curiously, he had no hatred in his voice when he spoke, but his words conveyed a sense of detachment from those around him.
(???) “Yes. We need to start looking for hints of her passage again. We can’t have her disappearing from our eyes again, like last time.”
(???) “And when we find her this time?”
(???) “We take her captive, and bring her back to Almeria. While the mother was wholly guilty for...colluding with the demon nations, the child in innocent in the affair, and still impressionable. She can be swayed to our side.”
(???) “And if she isn’t?”
(???) “Then she will be sealed away.”
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