“Sir Thomas, what are you doing here?” Ethan asked, surprised at the man’s arrival.

Thomas was a burly man. Not just large, he was a mountain of a man. Encased in a dented and polished steel plate, his chest seemed broad enough to shield two men. Beneath his helm, a grizzled beard the color of iron filings spilled over the mail protecting his neck. He was old, too. One hand, the size of a dinner plate, rested casually on the pommel of a longsword that seemed almost dainty in his grasp.

Holy, it’s another thing seeing him in Theo’s memories, and a whole different thing seeing him in person—the dude’s massive.

Ethan watched, stunned, as the colossal figure of Thomas dominated the room. The knight’s gaze remained fixed on Edgar.

“What exactly brings you here?” Ethan finally said, breaking the silence.

Thomas shifted his weight. He turned his head towards Ethan, his expression unreadable beneath the metal helm. For a moment, the room held its breath. Then, Thomas spoke.

“We’ve sent a letter to the crown,” he said. “About the situation in Holden.”

Ethan’s brow furrowed. “The situation?”

“The Blight, boy,” Thomas clarified, his voice devoid of warmth. “We spotted one of the living dead in the Deadwoods a while back. We were… distracted with the recent dungeon incursion near Corinth. But things are getting serious, faster than expected.”

“And?”

“And,” Thomas continued, “I had the pleasure of meeting Lady Karmichael just recently.”

“What… why?” asked Ethan, then recalled his conversation with Juliana.

What about Aunt Karmichael? He’d asked Juliana. Didn’t she come with you?

She did, Juliana had replied, but she needed to meet an old friend or something.

Was Thomas the ‘old friend’ Juliana was talking about? Ethan wondered. It’s entirely possible. Given that Aunt Karmichael is probably old as fuck—and she appears younger due to a high-level class or race—I can safely assume that Thomas is some old powerful goat stationed in the bordertowns for the safety of the, well, borders. Regardless, he should be far stronger than I’d initially thought, if he has someone like Aunt Karmichael calling him an ‘old friend’.

Anyhow, I need to know what Aunt Karmichael said to Thomas. Thinking so, Ethan eyed Thomas. “What did Aunt say?”

A faint flicker of something that could have been amusement crossed Thomas’ face. “Let’s just say,” the knight rumbled, “the information she shared made it very clear why the crown decided to intervene.”

“What information?” Ethan pressed.

Thomas sighed, the sound heavy and laden with worry. “It seems the Blight is a deliberate act—we’d expected as much, but now, we know who it is for sure. They’re using the Blight to weaken the people of Holden, Corinth, Westford, and sooner or later, they will target Argent too—to make them… pliable.”

Ethan hummed to himself.

“Regardless, she practically confirmed what we suspected and she had some orders from my king,” Thomas stated grimly. “There will be another dungeon incursion. In, or very near, Holden. And they’re using the Blight to weaken the townsfolk. Make them easier to control.”

Ethan’s blood ran cold. Just as I’d expected.

“We’ll be putting Holden under lockdown soon,” Thomas continued. “No one gets in, no one gets out.”

“But… what about me?” Gilbert, who had been unusually quiet throughout the exchange, finally sputtered to life.

Thomas turned his gaze back towards him. “You, young man,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle for such a large man, “will stay. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Silence descended upon the room once more. Then, a high-pitched voice and laced with indignation broke the stillness.

“Hold on a damn minute!”

It was Gilbert, the tax collector, obviously.

He bolted up from his seat.

“You can’t just lock me up here!”

Ethan winced. Why’s he acting weird? Gilbert’s outburst seemed out of place and it was definitely not the time to do that.

Thomas, however, remained unfazed.

“Lockdown?” Gilbert continued. “Are you out of your mind? Do you know who I am? I am here on official business. Tax collection. This isn’t some game you can just play with.”

The room fell silent again. All eyes turned towards Gilbert, who shrunk under Thomas’s gaze but straightened his back instead of shrinking further. Ethan could admire that. Thomas was big and the way the man was looking at Gilbert... Yeah, Ethan didn’t want to be in Gilbert’s place.

Thomas took a single, deliberate step towards the tax collector, dwarfing the man in his shadow. The silence stretched—almost thick and suffocating.

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“Do you think I care about your… taxes?” Thomas finally spoke, his voice laced with a dangerous calm. “We all know this is a farce. This little money wouldn’t mean anything to my king, and he sends you every year not to collect tax here but to teach this boy a lesson. Which, I might add, you have failed to do so spectacularly. You have failed to do what my king had asked. Yet you have the nerve to threaten me? Taxes? What if I say there’s something more important going on here than that? What do you say to that, Gilbert? Do your taxes matter when my king himself has given us a mission?”

Gilbert’s entire body trembled. “I…I…” he stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. Edgar, on the other hand, appeared to be struggling. Ethan could see that the man wanted to intervene, but didn’t—either due to respect for Thomas, or fear. Ethan had more than enough reasons to believe it was the latter than the former.

“Do you know what the Night Whispers do to the people that have tried to get out, Gilbert?” Thomas continued with his voice low.

“N-night…Whispers?” Gilbert stammered, his face paling further. He knew them, obviously.

“They don’t care about your fancy clothes or your little badge,” Thomas said. “They’ll sever both your arms, then your legs. And then they will skin your face, followed by your whole body. You will not die; they won’t just let you. And don’t think they’ll let you die quick, either.”

Gilbert quietened.

“They’ll keep you healed,” Thomas continued. “Flay you alive, inch by inch. So you can feel every agonizing moment. Once you’re nothing but raw flesh, they’ll tie you to a cross and let their ravens feast on you. Slowly.”

A bead of sweat trickled down Gilbert’s temple. He looked like he was about to be sick.

“So, Gilbert,” Thomas concluded, his voice back to its normal tone, “Do you still want to leave? Now, hm? Mister Tax Collector?”

Gilbert looked around the room with his gaze flicking from Ethan’s expressionless face to Thomas’s impassive one.

“N-no, I don’t,” he said. “I will stay.”

Thomas grunted in what could be interpreted as satisfaction and turned back to Ethan. The tension in the room had eased somewhat, replaced by a different kind of weight—the weight of impending doom. Maybe that was Ethan’s imagination. After all, he had an inkling so as to what Thomas was here for, and that was exactly what had him feeling hollow in his chest, feeling as if everything he’d build would crumble any moment.

“Now,” Thomas said, getting everyone’s attention. “Let me get to the point. The crown doesn’t trust the local militia,” Thomas explained. “They suspect… corruption. I’m sure Lord Theodore here—” Thomas pointed his hand at Ethan, saying the word lord as it stung him to say the word—”has seen the state of Corinth? You did go there recently, did you not? I’m quite aware of your escapades. It seems you’ve truly changed, somewhat, for the better.”

Ethan blinked, then repressed a shudder. Did he have me under surveillance? How?

“Don’t be so shocked now,” Thomas allowed himself a smile. “You didn’t doubt, for even one moment, that such a skilled [Necromancer] as Jack just happened to be in Holden?”

Ethan froze. Ahh... It makes sense now... Hmm, so Jack had Thomas backing him, and most likely some more bigger people, too. Thomas was too good with espionage, and stuff. So, it makes sense he’s in Thomas’s team—I assume he is in Thomas’s team, at least. Regardless, I don’t feel so good that Thomas essentially left a spy to, well, spy on me. However, I can understand. And Jack’s been nothing but useful so far so it doesn’t really matter either way.

“Aye, it seems you’ve realized it. You have certainly gotten smarter, as well. Regardless, Lady Karmichael has brought her own people. Corinth, Westford, etc—are quite corrupt. Argent is not that corrupt. However, I will be using this opportunity to get rid of the filth. Montague would be coming soon for a meeting, yes?”

Ethan nodded dazedly.

“I shall have a word with him. I’m sure he would be more than willing, given he’s quite pissed at them himself. She also mentioned you, boy,” Thomas said, his gaze boring into Ethan. “Something about… potential as a [Mage].”

Huh? Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. “Potential?” he asked, unsure what Thomas meant. How does she know I’m a [Mage]? I can understand Thomas knowing it; Jack must’ve told him. But how did Aunt Karmichael know it? Just how many people are keeping tabs on me... Seriously, at this point, I’m sure there’s more people... Is Mother keeping an eye on me through someone? Father? Maximillian? What about my other siblings? Alden? What about the younger ones then? Leona? Benson? Ugh... I hate this.

“She’s interested in what you can do,” Thomas elaborated vaguely. “Says you might be more useful than we’d thought.”

Ethan swallowed nervously to keep appearances. Internally, he was lamenting the fact that he was on their radar this quickly. This was a lot to take in.

“Anyway,” Thomas turned toward Gilbert. “You better not have any thoughts about escaping. Useless as you might be, I do not wish for people to die. Regardless, don’t care about the tax. It doesn’t matter anyway. Because this boy here definitely doesn’t have your tax money.” Thomas turned to Ethan. “Or, do you?”

Chuckling nervously, Ethan said, “I don’t. However, I have suggested a plan and—”

“I do not care for your excuses nor the money you owe.”

Ethan pursed his lips further, the nervous chuckle long gone. “I see,” he said, “what’s your plan?”

Thomas steepled his fingers, his expression grim. “I know they’re in the Deadwoods.”

Ethan furrowed his brow. “And?”

“And,” Thomas continued, his voice clipped, “Deadwoods surrounds Corinth, Holden, Westford, and lastly, Argent. These four major bordertowns are ringed by the Deadwoods, and if I’m not mistaken, the Night Whispers have us all surrounded. They don’t let anyone out. We’ve had many people killed already. They let everyone in, however. Something weird is going on, and I don’t know what. I have not one clue why they would let people in but not out. It seems... illogical.”

“What are you thinking of doing?”

“I’m going to find them.”

“Find them? Where? How?”

“They’re hidden, they strike our people at times, but we’ll find them, and we will kill them all.”

Ethan blinked, incredulous. “Wouldn’t it be better to capture them for information or something?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “That’s obvious. We will capture.”

Ethan felt exasperation bubble within him. “Then what did you mean by kill?”

Thomas’s voice hardened. “We will capture a few, kill the rest. Outrageous? An overreaction? Perhaps. But I will not have such parasites in the kingdom. That is what my oath entails. I must keep my kingdom’s best interests at the top of everything.”

Ethan muttered under his breath, Sheesh.

With a final, curt nod, Thomas turned to Edgar. “You, soldier, at ease.”

Edgar finally relaxed. The man had been standing alert since Thomas had arrived.

“Pack your things,” Thomas said to him “I came for you. You’re one of the best. Come.”

Edgar simply shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. I was here under the king’s orders to do one thing. If the orders have changed to something else, I’m fine with that. Looks like I won’t be leaving this place anyway, so it doesn’t really hurt, does it?”

Gilbert interjected. “What about me?”

Edgar turned to him. “You should be fine here. I’m sure Lord Theodore here would be willing to give you excellent accommodation.”

“For sure,” Ethan nodded. “We can make room for you both.”

Gilbert, however, remained silent, his face a mask of discontent. He clearly wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of being stuck with Ethan. But his options seemed limited.

Once Thomas and Edgar had clattered out of the room, Ethan turned to Gilbert. “Look,” he said earnestly, “about the tax… I’ll pay it, for sure. You needn’t worry.”

Gilbert just offered him a skeptical look. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, unconvinced.