The ground softly shook under the heavy weight of Augermil as he marshalled through the maze like streets of the western plateau. His gaze focused up and down, shifting between the pristine white pavement under his long and angular greaves, and the hundreds of heads belonging to good folk of Luth-Astaril. Even as he was deep in thought, he felt the gazes of the onlookers and passerby folks, but paid little to no mind to them as he headed for his next destination.
The past two months since cleansing the cursed lair of the cult, he had been hunting for the remaining cells who still cast their dreadful shadow over the peaks of the mountainous capital. When he gazed at the distorted parody of his kin’s corpse, he still had a naïve hope that with their death, folk could once more stride the streets without the fear of becoming a grizzled victim of this unknown enemy. Yet when he returned, and reported to Terrianis reality slapped him in the face with a mild force as not long after that, several more attacks unfolded, killing hundreds.
Though they still managed to at least capture a few as First Legion started to live up to their name, as the ones who brought peace and prosperity to the pan-continent of Vhalleryon which stretched far beyond the eye of even Terrianis. Most of those who were captured were the attackers ready to unleash Tartarussian spells of various kinds. These prisoners proved to be weaker against the Mindwalking techniques of the Empire, compared to those who aided the strange, tall figure who took the Heavenly Monarch years ago.
With the arkhaine aid of the Magistratorium’s inquisitoriir, they swiftly penetrated the layers of mental blockage put up and found out that the lair the three of them ventured down to was just one located on the lowest district of the city and they had set up at least four more across the city. At this point, the only safe haven in the capital was the Radiant Keep. Even the headquarters of the Draennith Praetoriir sitting atop the western peak proved to be within their range, though Anguraa and Albron both thought it was highly unlikely that it would be attacked.
Augermil thought the same as for now, the attacks were only aimed at the general populace which planted the seeds of mistrust pointed against the upper echelons, the patricii, the wealthy merchants, and the legatiir. On the other hand, these people accused the New Dawn for being responsible and even the inquisitoriir now believed this and actively hunted for those associated with the movement. He himself thought that while the New Dawn may one day pose a threat against his brother, his family one day, the ones behind it were clearly associated with the Shadow his brother was wary of.
They also learned from these prisoners that they were common folk who lived in the slums of the lower district where they were taken by strangers who shrouded themselves in dark garments enchanted with high grade inscriptions which made it impossible even for the inquisitoriir to learn their identity. Others were travelers, adventurers of Vhalleryon, who were thought to be dead either attacked by savages on the road back or in the forgotten ruins of the great war.
Amidst these thoughts, Augermil finally arrived to his destination, the guild house belonging to the Laenas family, an upcoming merchant family who were taken by some ruffians approximately a year ago by some ruffians Augermil suspected to be tied to the cult, providing them with the attackers. The relatively high standing family were the only ones within their rank who tried to clear the name of the New Dawn, as they themselves were rescued by none other than their agents who learnt of their taking – which itself planted further questions in Augermil regarding who were the source of these agents.
His sculpted hand covered in the scaled, metallic gauntlet grown from the vambrace curled into a bulky fist and with three, well-measured hits, he knocked on the deep mahogany door ornated with the symbols of the Prosperous Son – a large golden coin engraved with a corpulent hybrid of an aevhen and a dwarf with a wide, almost unsettling grin on his swelling head.
“Yes? How can I help, O Blade of the Empire?” Not long after the third hit, he heard the careful steps approaching the door and when it slowly opened, a tall, well-kept and dressed man of Truscian blood stood in the warm shadows of the guild house of the Laenas Family – which also served as their home.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Munatius, the Head Steward of the Laneas Family first stared at the gleaming gilded plate ornated with a sleeping dragon whose elongated, serrated tail spiraled around its majestic, yet menacing form. His head slowly tilted upwards before he met the piercing, calm gaze that was natural at this point and time to Augermil who cast his soft shadows onto the meek Truscian man in front of him who almost practically broke his neck just to glimpse into his slit pupiled eyes. Fear manifested itself in the elderly steward as the famed blade of the Empire himself stood in the doorway, silent for several seconds which felt like hours yet on the outside he managed to fake calmness.
“May I rob some of the time of Middias Laenas regarding the events that unfolded a year ago?” Augermil was never a draevhen of words like his father and siblings, though some of the former’s teachings did glue on him through the eons, but still he had to munch his words a lot before heading out.
“Excuse Munatius, but he is quite wary as inquisitoriar of the Magistratorum were here the day before and left quite the mark on his psyche even without the aid of their spells.” Suddenly, as if the deosos listened to his short, silent prayers Middias appeared in the hallway and swiftly recognized the towering draevhen in gilded, segmented angular plated armor. He rushed to the aid of his old caretaker – now steward – and with a gentle touch on his shoulder, alleviated the scorching which clouded his mind at that moment.
Augermil calmly inspected the young man in impeccable robes which naturally swirled around his body without a single crease on their bright alabaster surface with a tint of golden, and contrasting charcoal frame inscribed with three repeating glyphs. His chestnut hair short and slicked back, gleaming still thanks to the maghia infused waters that forced military discipline upon each strand, similarly his beard was painted onto his handsome face by the most careful hands with a slightly deeper shade. His calm eyes beamed with an affable slyness which contributed to his rise in ranks, and the wealth with which he can shower his family with goods many other just dream of.
“Come, Munatius fetch Bertilber and bring some mead to our exalted guest!” Munatius bowed as he regained his cool finally then before he could disappear in the bowels of the large home, Augermil spoke out. “Actually, I may prefer some sweet, fruity beverage if its not too much.” The two looked at him surprise and Middias chuckled a little before he gestured to Munatius who walked away once again a little confused.
“Excuse my sudden rudeness, it was just quite the surprise hearing it from the Blade of the Empire who I read so much about.” The floor screeched under the weight of Augermil who followed slowly after Munatius. “I do not fault you for that. Many of the tales regale the glorious feasts I attended after those victories, but they always shroud my sweet taste with those of a warrior.”
As they headed further into the belly of the house, Augermil pressed his hulking arms together in the narrow corridors and the stair where he made small steps not to accidentally kick a hole into the soft wooden surface. He resemble a gallant crow hunching over Munatius who led him further up to the second floor office of his, where he knew, he could speak to his once idol. While they passed towards the office, Augermil’s attention moved onto the many paintings hung onto the crimson walls.
Most were depictions of once great battles he himself fought, including the Battle of the Golden Bay in the south where they fought against the horrid legions of the elusive Black Pharaoh who made a pact with 72 Umvraoth and Infaerni to imbue their wicked, vile essence into His once proud warriors and magusos.
It was followed by the Terror at Meith tu Barreult where the savage kin of theirs fought with their tooth and nail to beat back the small contingent of the First and Second Legion. A battle that cost them the lives of hundreds who were torn to pieces by the enemy behaving like they devolved back to their primal states, accompanied by legions of transmuted beasts, carnivorous flowers given life by dark nature maghia.
And lastly the one which made him the proud warrior he once was – Battle for the Everlasting Dawn in which he even witnessed the terrifying shadow of the Grimm Sovereign massacre his older brothers, and myriads of his friends who fought with him side by side and whose names he engraved into his mind.
Even as he stared at the haunting painting, his lips moved as he silently recounted their names and pondered what would they think of him in this day and age and whether they still await him beyond the Molding Gates of Asphodai. “We’re here.” Middias softly said those words as he watched Augermil stare at the painting, and saw his lips moving without uttering a word. “Excuse me, just an old habit whenever I see that painting.” He bowed as he himself was well aware that not all races were blessed with the eternity of his kin and slowly rushed into the office.