Chapter 98

The Wit and the Brawn

“Every heart finds its counterpart, be it in life, or in death.”

Proverbs

“I was expecting you sooner,” a melodic voice broke out into a chuckle as the faint signs of moon’s rays pierced through the half-opened window, folding over onto the wooden floor beneath. Lymena smiled as she turned toward the cloaked and hooded figure leaning against the wall, his eyes staring directly into hers. “Though, I suppose, it takes a day or two for the news to travel around.”

“You’ve been a busy woman.” The shadowed figure said in an indifferent tone.

“I’m always buys,” Lymena replied. “Curse of the noblewoman.”

“Self-inflicted curse.”

“Afraid not. Orders from above.”

“… forthcoming.”

“Hardly,” she shrugged. “Though, I suppose, my Father does consider himself a visionary. While the world touts him as a mindless brute who only knows how to swing his ax and chop off the heads, when he stares at the mirror, he sees a snake.”

“He stares at his own reflection often?” the figure asked.

“More often than I’d like to admit.”

“… why?”

“The crux, isn’t it?” she chuckled. “You are a smart man,” she continued. “And, I imagine, your arms have the reach of stars. Toss a guess of your own.”

“… desperation.”

“… you sound confident.” She said, narrowing her eyes.

“I’ve found that people commit to madness only in two cases,” the figure said. “When they’ve truly gone mad, and when there is no other path to take.”

“… we’re living on borrowed time,” she said. “Though, to be fully fair, that is the case for any house save for our beloved northern brethren.”

“… a bold bet.”

“We’re not gamblers, I’m afraid, Mr. Skyler,” she said, pulling out two flagons, tossing one toward the figure who nimbly grabbed it. “My Father had looked into you. Well, as much as there is to look at. The first ever record of your activity is yet to be a whole year old. Yet, in that time, you, or whoever may be behind you or beside you, have roused the sleeping Kingdom from its ashes. While all of us meekly bent our heads and awaited the War with the bated breaths, you assailed the status quo and turned it upside down.”

“… you’re overpraising me.”

“What we don’t know, though,” Lymena said. “Is your endgame. If there’s one clutch that’s holding us back from tossing our fates into your hands, it is that. Care to share?”

“… I’m not much of a classifier myself,” the figure said, eyeing the flagon though not opening it. “I’m a tool, Lady Lymena. Like a knife. My purpose isn’t to explain to the butcher why he’s killing the animal, but to ease the animal’s suffering as much as possible by being sharp.”

“…”

“The problem is… the knife cannot be too sharp,” the figure said, tossing the flagon back. “It arouses strange thoughts within the wielder.”

“… our help was unwelcome?”

“It was an overcorrection,” he said. “Right now, everyone is questioning… why? Why would you toss yourself behind a puny Princess? Your Father’s front may be a marvel of century, but none of the people you’ve pissed off are fools, Lady Lymena. You’ve dragged the eyes of the Kingdom onto yourself.”

“From your puny Princess.”

“If anything, you’ve made it worse; temporary gains, or, rather, preventing of the loss, will do little to salvage the story.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“For a tool, you know plenty.”

“And if I know so much,” the figure said, his eyes bending upward, as though smile. “What do you think of my wielder, then?”

“…” Lymena remained silent, frowning. “The Dacent?”

“A clever lad,” the figure said. “But… just like you, too impatient.”

“Who can afford to be patient? The Holy War is less than a year away.”

“What does that have to do with us?” the figure tilted his head, staring deeply into her eyes, as though they were daggers, piercing her. “The looming alarms of the War are hanging over your head, Lady Lymena.”

“…”

“Besides,” the figure continued. “Your Father made his decision based on misguided interpretation of his investigation. He saw the crowns pooling in our hands, and he saw the bodies in our wake, and projected our plans toward some grandstanding at the dawn of the Holy War. Use the coins to raise an army, and use us to withstand and level the storm.”

“… I’m afraid you’re giving my father too much credit, Mr. Skyler,” Lymena chuckled, relaxing somewhat. “My father may see himself as a snake, but he is just as impulsive as the world makes him out to be. The main reason he tossed me back down after you kicked me up, is much, much simpler than that.”

“… care to enlighten me, then?”

“… you scare us,” Lymena said truthfully. “Not your wielder, not the Dacent, or your organization. You, Mr. Skyler. Few, both among the living and the dead, can murder a Duchess in the plain view of her entire Guard Corp and then flee unscathed. Even fewer can take my death struggle and treat it as a sparring session with a junior. My Father, for all his wit, is a man at his core – strength… is everything. At the end of the day, wit can take a man only so far. Many-a-woman throughout our history has been as witty and as clever as a human can get, yet, the fairer sex still plays a second fiddle to the men.”

“…”

“All their scheming,” she continued. “All their bickering, planning, backstabbing, wordplay… those are empty gestures. They are the means of the weak people. Back in that hall, they all had a story they wanted to write out. Yet, if the Light Mother chose to light them all to the afterlife… what worth would be their stories? And do you think anyone would even try and say something to her? No. Because she would smoke them just the same.”

“… you underestimate the wit, Lady Lymena,” the figure said after brief silence. “The wit created the past that maligns the present. The wit wrote a Doctrine binding the entire world of strong men and women. It was the wit that tore up civility in the name of better or worse people by birthright. It is true that strength, at the end of the day, can always simply crush a scheme; yet, what worth is that strength when its beholder never sees the scheme coming?”

“… you sound well-acquainted with it.” Lymena said, taking a sip from her flagon. “This wit, I mean.”

“… we’ll fall asleep for some time,” his eyes suddenly veered to the side, shocking Lymena who nearly stood up to her feet. “As should you. When you hear the song being sung, contact the Dacent. He’ll have further instructions for you.”

Just as Lymena was about to reach out and say something, he vanished – like a ghost that was never there. She stood up, her mouth agape, as a figure materialized from the corner’s shadows, a deep frown on his aging face. Neither reacted for a good minute, their minds reeling from what they saw.

“… did you catch him?” Lymena asked, shaking her head and turning toward her Father, Duke Godwind.

“… not a whiff,” the Duke sucked in a cold breath, shaking. “If he wanted… he could have killed us.”

“What?! Not even a trace?” she asked, dropping her flagon in shock, yet barely reacting to it. “That’s impossible! That wasn’t a Shadow – that was his true self. Nobody can disappear that well, not even the best Subverts in the world.”

“… well, clearly… we’ve never met the best Subvert in the world before, I’m afraid,” the Duke said, sighing. “How did he discover me? Not only did I use my Light, but also our Artefact.”

“… you also used the Skin?” Lymena frowned. “Was he guessing?”

“No,” the Duke said, shaking his head. “He looked me straight in the eyes. He knew I was there.”

“… did you forget to imbue the Skin with Light?”

“… I know you said that I’m just a man at my core,” the Duke looked at her oddly. “But that still doesn’t mean I’m a mule, Lymena.”

“… what should we do?” she asked after a brief moment of silence, looking at him.

“We follow what he said,” he replied. “Sit back for a while. Besides, we’ve drawn the ire of many now. It will do us some good to lay back and let them stew over it for a while.”

“… by the song, he must mean Lo’kret, no?”

“Probably,” the Duke nodded. “Let’s go. Though I left my Shadow back, I can’t risk anyone figuring out I’ve left our house.”

Meanwhile, Noah was standing on a rooftop across the street, staring in through the window at the two figures. Sweat was trickling down his forehead as he pushed the anxiousness down into his gut. Thinking back, what he had just done was truly insane – but it wasn’t supposed to be. Never in a million years could he have guessed that the Duke himself was there. And, the truth was, Noah only noticed the man toward the end, by pure accident at that. His lumps instinctively reacted to something in that corner, and when he glanced there, he only briefly saw a silhouette of a man.

However, in a way, it was all worth it. From his experiences, both during the invasion, as well as when his eyes met the Light Mother, and now, with the Duke and Lymena, he’d come to realize that Dark… was far more formidable than he’d thought. It almost seemed entirely impervious to discovery, as he cloaked himself entirely in it in front of their eyes and vanished without a trace. And, he knew for a fact that they believed he was still just a Subvert, and had no inclination that he was using an entirely different school of magic.

Well, that’s dealt with, he sighed, turning around and bolting toward his own quarters. Now… all that’s left is going back home.