“I'm the bell-ringer. My job, as the title implies, is to ring the bell. I've been ringing the bell for ninety-eight years ! Don't laugh. It's an important job, you know ? When the capital is in danger, there I am, ringing the bell. When the Empire is at war and a siege is about to befall the city, there I am, ringing the bell. When there's a fire, a dragon attack, a dark lord trying to breach the walls... There I am. Ringing the bell, like always. What ? I'm sorry, I can't hear you very well. Old age, poor ears. Hah ! Got you ! Who do you think I am, some random oaf ? I'm the bloody Imperial bell-ringer ! I know sound magic, lad, and I use it whenever I ring this damn thing. How else could I not be deaf after all this time ?

-The Imperial bell-ringer”

* * *

Anton

“Why are the bells ringing ?”

Anton looked in Tania's direction, not knowing if it really was a question worth answering. The panic outside would soon be enough of an answer. She was young after all, she may have heard of it, but it wouldn't be a surprise if it was something new to her. She was from that generation born in peaceful times.

No one expected the capital to be under attack in these times, especially not in such an unforeseen fashion. Sure, the Empire attacked other nations, like the northern cities, but it was uncommon for the opposite to happen. Too many fortresses along the way to allow enemies to reach the capital unnoticed.

Only twice in his lifetime had Anton heard the capital's bells. None of these times were a sudden occurrence, it was always expected, because spies, diplomates and sentinels would do their job. Though apparently that wasn't the case today.

What is the meaning of this ? There's no battle scheduled, no army coming here, nothing of the sort, or I would've heard of it ! I need to be told about these things, I'm the god-damn Lord of the Storm, did they forget about that !?

He gazed at Tania and decided to reply nonetheless, as an elder trying to reassure a youngster.

“It's to inform the citizens that there is a threat at the capital's gates. Usually an army, or a horde of monsters.”

He could see how inefficient his reassuring answer was just by looking at the maid's frightened expression.

“But not this time,” he hurriedly added. “It's nothing worth worrying about, I guarantee you. Armies and monsters don't simply show up without warning, it's probably a fire or something like that. Nothing a bunch of water mages can't handle.”

Whether it really was a mundane fire or something more dangerous, he had no idea. A fire was bad enough, but it was still preferable to whatever else could cause the bells to ring.

He neared the window to look down at the street. From the fifth floor of the Farril mansion, where he had been taking refuge with Tania, he could see people running in the streets. Instinctively, he glanced at the direction they were coming from, and saw it.

Flowing from beyond the walls, a black cloud.

A cloud of things.

The things.

He almost had a heart attack, as a past trauma surfaced back in his mind. Then some gears broke inside Anton's brain, allowing his vulgarity to show its nose, letting out a spray of indecency.

“This shitty ball-sucking bag of liquid crap...”

...I will gouge your eyes out if I find you, brat. WHEN I find you.

While the people in the streets kept running and screaming, hell-bats ! Run for your lives ! Hell bats are attacking the city !, Anton clenched his teeth to prevent further insulting to come out of his mouth. He was known for his witty sarcasm and whatnot, it wouldn't do for people like his maid and the Farril family to learn that he was not above raging, fuming insults, like the rest of the weak and mortal humans.

His eyes met Tania's, and he understood that she, too, could hear the panicking and crying coming from the outside. It didn't seem to do well for her sanity, so he attempted to trigger another elderly reassuring moment.

“Don't worry, Tania, it's just hell bats. Just hell bats, all is fine. Quite the scary bunch at first, but pretty much harmless.”

Or so I hope.

She seemed to be calming down, or at least tried to do so. Anton's words were always eloquent, trustworthy and impactful, as these traits were one of the major requirement for being a professor at the Academy. The other main condition was to possess inhuman patience and composure. That, or high-placed connections, good enough for getting away with the murder of stupid students.

Anton had connections, but prided himself in his composure – another reason he couldn't afford to burst out in anger like that. Only Azcheron could cause that so easily.

Since the maid wasn't looking like she was about to puke on herself anymore, he could now move on to the next important matter. “Well ! In any case...”

“Are you leaving ?” she wondered as he walked at an angry pace toward the door.

He stopped briefly to flash a fake smile. “Just going out for a bit. Putting a stop to this hell bat nonsense and stuff,” he said in a low voice, before continuing in a more cheerful tone. “I'll be late for dinner, tell that to lord Farril, will you ?”

The Farril family had been kind enough to house Anton and Tania – and also Nathaniel – ever since the assassination attempt at the Academy, so it wouldn't do to spit on etiquette and fail to show up at dinner without notice.

He grabbed his coat and stepped out. It took Anton a good hour of dodging frightened people and avoiding mad horses, before reaching the east gate. He couldn't very well exit the capital through the north gate, not right now. The old mage took advantage of the panic to slip out, not really feeling guilty about using magic to cause a commotion in order to distract the guards' attention.

Someone else is already causing a much larger commotion, so...

From here on, it was another few hours of travel from the east gate to the north gate, away from the sight of the sentinels. The last thing Anton wanted was to be mistaken for the source of the draconic summoning. He went through the woods and used the bits of camouflage magic he knew to enhance his stealth, like in the old days.

Never knew how Roharl did his invisibility magic, but darkening the space around you in a forest works well enough for such a situation.

It was already night when Anton arrived at the place of the incident. He watched from afar, of course, since any one who would try to approach the hill where the magic circle was would immediately get shot down by an archer or a mage. There must have been a line of defence of some kind, with elite forces waiting for the perpetrator to show up.

I don't know what they're expecting. As if any sane person would come back to the scene of their crime, especially when the entire capital is aware of said crime. But then again, sane people usually don't summon nightmare bats, so...

And Azcheron could certainly consider showing up amidst all the mess he caused. Anton had to find him before that happened.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The scholar was hiding behind a tree, glimpsing at the hill and looking for clues. The Saint was nowhere to be seen, as expected, and it was difficult to see anything at all. He had to survey the area with a night vision spell. Even with that magic, he could hardly see the bats in the dark sky now, but the screeching was still here. That alone was enough to remind him and everyone else that the abominations were still flying above the capital.

Let me see... If I was him, I'd probably wait in a place from where I could watch and appreciate the spectacle I just caused.

There wasn't really any sort of hill from which one could look down on the capital, and it would be too obvious anyway. There was, however, a small wood not far from here, like the one Anton was hiding in.

That would be worth checking.

* * *

And here they were, in a small clearing in the middle of the woods. Erin, in her armour, sitting on the ground, and Azcheron, arms crossed, standing up and staring somewhere in the woods. He slowly turned his head to face Anton, probably already aware of his arrival.

“Anton, old friend ! You're finally here.”

The scholar walked straight toward Azcheron, not bothering to look the part of the old friend, probably having the expression of the old arch-nemesis instead.

“I'm so glad to see you,” the Saint continued. “You've been well, I hope ?”

Anton sighed and grabbed the brat by the collar. Refraining from shaking him like a chemical concoction in a phial took everything he got.

Azcheron smiled innocently. “You look angry. Perhaps there was trouble on your way here !”

“Oh, yeah, trouble,” he answered in a flat voice. “There's plenty of it. For you, that is.”

“Hey, hey. Aren't you the one in trouble ? I came here as soon as I got your letter, you know ! To take care of... well, trouble.”

“Your trouble. It's yours. Of course you'll take care of it. But you don't take care of trouble by creating more of it ! You just don't. Ever. It doesn't work like that. Especially not like that !” he bellowed while pointing to the sky.

“Bah. You're getting carried away over some mere bats, aren't you ? Look, it worked. You found me and I managed to stay hidden.”

Erin snorted upon hearing this. Perhaps she found something funny. That somewhat annoyed Anton. He released his grip on Azcheron's collar before facing Erin. She was supposed to be the normal counterpart to Azcheron, or at least the one with the common sense, the one that could stop those absurd situations from actually happening.

“And what about you ?” he asked her. “Nothing to say ?”

She shrugged and smiled resignedly. “Oh, lots of things to say. Nothing that could make a difference now, though.”

What's this ! You've got no fight at all in you ! Don't tell me you just go along with whatever crap he comes up with, now ?

Azcheron didn't look like he intended to let the conversation revolve around his trouble-management methods, and coughed to get everyone's attention.

“Hrm. Before we start this interesting conspiracy thing, which I've really been looking forward to, there's one last issue that needs to be taken care of.”

Erin frowned in irritation, as if she already had an idea. She didn't say anything else though, so Anton had to ask the dreaded question.

“And what issue would that be ?”

The Saint came behind Erin and put both his hands on her shoulders. “Something I've been discussing with my lovely Erin here.”

'Lovely Erin' ? Is that... something new ?

Anton gave her an interrogating look, but didn't get any sort of reply in return. He half-heartedly aimed his questioning gaze toward Azcheron, mighty holder of all answers. The brightness of his smile increased twofold.

“We had a difference of interpretation regarding a situation we encountered earlier !”

He neared a tree and stopped in front of it before continuing. “I think we came to an understanding now.”

He put his palm on the tree. “We reached an agreement.”

“And,” Anton said, massaging the bridge of his nose, feeling like Azcheron was dragging his revelation on purpose, “what did you two agree on ?”

“That I was right.” And his hand reached for something behind the tree. It was an old man. Azcheron was grabbing an old man by the neck, a tied and bound old man, badly bruised. He had a lot of missing teeth, though Anton couldn't guess whether that was Azcheron's doing or some other unfortunate fate that had befell the man before this even more unfortunate fate.

The hell is this ! Are you torturing old people now !?

“His name's Brutos. His job was to spy on us. Don't know how he found us, since we were lying about our identities, but the fact is that I stumbled upon him while we were waiting for you here.”

“You... stumbled upon him.”

“I did. He was hiding in a bush and my foot conveniently landed on his face. I then stumbled. I may be an amazing magician, but I'm not adept at kicking people in a forest at night, so I fell.”

“...I, err, don't know what to say ?”

“So I stumbled upon him, physically.”

Please shut up.

“But not figuratively,” Azcheron carried on, “since I was already aware of his spying and was looking for him.”

“Alright ! Alright, I get it,” Anton said in an exasperated groan. “A pun, very funny. Let's go to the point : did you interrogate him, yes or no ?”

“Of course. Got nothing out of him. Must be some lowlife who got paid in exchange for playing the part of a peasant and getting close to us.”

The old man – Brutos, if Anton was to believe the spy's captor – looked pitiful, but not in a way that suggested he had no idea why all this crap was happening to him. It was the pitifulness of someone failing at a dangerous job. The pitifulness of a caught spy.

“Doesn't even know the face of the guy who employed him, he says. Was wearing an armour, he says.”

“So what do we do with him ?” Anton wondered, knowing fully what was about to happen. A spy was a spy. They had been talking freely not far from him, and he saw Anton's face. Anton couldn't afford to be linked to more of Azcheron's stupidity, and so he would have suggested to eliminate him if that wasn't already planned from the start.

This time, Anton wasn't as hesitant as he had been the last time Azcheron captured a henchman, for in the meantime he had had his very own assassination incident. These things could change your perspective drastically.

Probably understanding that Anton's question was only for appearances' sake, Azcheron glanced at Erin, who wordlessly walked to Brutos. She gripped her sword and as the man began to realize that his end was near, and started to scream “Wait ! Wait,” she slit his throat without a single care in the world.

Brutos fell on the ground while making gurgling noises, and Erin kept staring down at the spy until he stopped moving. Then, and only then, she exhaled deeply, as if she had just ridden herself of a burden.

That was when Anton noticed the awful, unhealthy relationship these two had. He had no idea what had happened in the past six months, but the two were unmistakably closer to each other now. That could have been a good thing. There was a brief vision in Anton's mind, in which the Saint was a regular person, dealing with love like every young adult does, entering a normal relationship and becoming a family man.

Except it's Azcheron we're talking about.

Anton got dragged back into reality as his eyes wandered on the pool of blood caused by Brutos' freshly slit throat.

So... We have the brat who's playing tricks and pranks to impress the girl he likes, though the consequences of said tricks and pranks are reaching the political scandal and national disaster fields. And we have the girl who tolerates all the brat's mess because she probably likes him back, and accumulate a large deal of frustration that needs gruesome venting.

Anton stared at Brutos' corpse. The spy had been a casualty of Erin's venting, that much was obvious. He closed his eyes, tried to deny that this was reality, that an already difficult pair had become even more of a hassle to handle, but he had to acknowledge the truth.

Great.

“Now that this is done, let's get to business,” Azcheron said.

* * *

“I see,” the Saint concluded once Anton had finished his retelling of the assassination attempt at the Academy. He had also brought the pair up to date on the capital's happenings.

He told them of the Emperor's sickness, of how nothing stood in the way of Hadrias' crowning because of his brother's disappearance, and of Azcheron and Erin's reputation here. Though they already seemed to know about that last thing.

“Assassins sent to silence scholars researching draconic encyclopedias and old Imperial history,” he said mechanically as he stared at Erin. “Sounds like a conspiracy to me !”

Erin grimaced for some reason. But that was how it felt to Anton too. “I agree there's enough plotting and schemes to hint at something big. Someone in the Palace is obviously fearing that some dirty secret gets exposed.”

Erin now had a look of stupefaction. “You too ?” she asked in a strangled voice. “And you're going to tell me that it has something to do with Azcheron's clan ?”

“As it happens...”

“I hope it does !” Azcheron interrupted. “Time to go on a crusade for truth ! Dark secrets are buried deep in the Empire's history ! Forgotten events that could hinder the next Emperor's reign of terror ! Azcheron and Erin shall brave many dangers to overthrow an evil ruler ! The key may very well lie in the Rahal clan's past ! How will they fare ?”

“Not well,” Erin said flatly. “Hadrias will soon command one of the largest armies in the whole continent and there's no proof he's involved anyway. Don't get excited for nothing. And last time I checked Roharl was still part of the Imperial forces.”

“Can I speak ?” Anton asked impatiently. As Erin said, it was important that Azcheron refrained from making up some convoluted goals, like antagonizing the Empire more than he already had.

The Saint returned to his serious self, so Anton told him about his own guesses. About the books that were being researched at the time of the assassination, about something that the Dragon tongue linguist had supposedly found regarding the Rahal clan.

Nathaniel wasn't really helpful – he wasn't aware either of the details of this mysterious finding, but both him and Anton thought it had something to do with the Second Emperor. Though they had no clues about anything else.

Erin bit her lip. “So Nathaniel doesn't know anything relevant...”

Anton shook his head.

“How useless can he be ?” Azcheron grumbled.

That's a bit harsh. Poor Nathaniel almost got himself killed after all, and it was Anton that had dragged him in this mess in the first place.

“Well, there's no two ways about it. I see only one place where we'll get answers.”

“What, are you planning to question everyone in the Palace with brute force ?”

“Hm ? No, that's boring. We'll go west. Beating Karia should be evidence enough of my prowess, don't you think ? I'm curious what the dragons have to say about my clan.”