An open window shows the starry sky, no moon illuminates the darkness. Only the glow of a flickering candle at Mercia’s bedside pushes back the gloom. She desperately wishes to reach for that light, to use it to push away the black, but her arms… her legs… She can’t move. In the candlelight, a glistening needle piercing her arm is all the clue she needs to know she has been poisoned.
On the other side of the bed, at the edge of the candle’s illumination, a man sits. He wears black wrapping across his whole body, from his feet to his head, covering even his eyes. A raven insignia is stitched to his chest. The only parts bare are his mouth and the chin, with which he favors Mercia a disarming smile.
She opens her mouth to scream, to cry, to call for help, and ekes out barely a whisper. Her voice is halting, broken, and barely responds to her wishes. She pulls at her aura, to bring it to bear on the infiltrator, but her strength isn’t enough. The poison coursing through her veins renders her powerless
“Who are you?” she rasps.
The masked man inclines his head.
“Just a simple [Bounty Hunter] searching for someone.”
Mercia frowns, glaring defiantly at the masked man.
“I will not speak. Leave.”
The man continues smiling, undeterred by her declaration.
“[Queen] Mercia, you are currently helpless in your own bed. You cannot move, ask for help, or do much of anything. I hold all the cards.”
Mercia spits in defiance at the man, but the spittle just trickles down her cheek.
The man’s smile stretches.
“Your bravado is amusing, as is your stoicism in the face of death or worse than death. But, everyone has a weakness, especially a mother of three daughters.”
The man lifts his empty hand and flicks his wrist. Suddenly, between his thumb and middle finger, he rolls a needle not dissimilar to the one in Mercia’s arm..
“Don’t worry, I’m not a monster, I’d never kill a child. This needle is only coated with Painbreaker Venom.”
“No…” is all her attempt to scream can muster.
The man spins the needle and makes it vanish with another sleight of hand.
He leans forward to rest his chin on his hand. “Now, it seems you understand that compliance is to your daughters’ benefit.”
He lifts a sketch from out of sight and holds up so that Mercia can clearly see the image, despite the unsteady glow of the candle.
“I want you to tell me everything you know,” he taps the picture, “about this man.”
She blinks at the image of a well-dressed gentleman wearing a tophat. The subject’s face is obscured by a grinning skull mask.
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The darkly dressed man absconds from the royal residence of the castle. With his skills, the wards are easily bypassed again. He reconvenes with his team.
“Raven 7 has returned,” a tall man calls out, his eyes trained in the distance, watching the movements of a shifting shadow. The other two members turn towards the direction, only noticing his arrival when he is within thirty meters.
The black garbed man arrives without a sound.
“Raven 7, you’ve returned fast. Was there a problem?” a female voice asks.
“No, Raven 9,” Raven seven replies, still smiling relaxedly, “It’s merely that our quarry has revealed little of himself. The [Queen] only knows that he created something strong enough to wipe out an army while also matching an [Archangel] in combat.”
Raven 7 bows his head and sighs, but his smile never leaves his lips. “She also doesn't know where Bone left to.”
“Raven 3 has already discerned that Bone is traveling north,” Raven 6 interjects, pointing at the tall man with an oversized crossbow on his back.
Raven 3 nods. “Tracks lead north, possibly through the passes. Easy to follow dead horse tracks.”
Raven 7 turns to Raven 3, his eyes roaming until they stop on the last member of their group. “Raven 4, do you have anything to add?”
A short dwarf without a mouth tilts his head. His eyes glow as exceptionally controlled mana enters the earth.
“Nothing to report,” the words come from the ground, vibrating the air to create sound.
“Then the hunt begins. Raven 4, take us north.”
The dwarf's eyes continue to shimmer as the ground rumbles. The earth rises around them, engulfing them in an earthen cavity. The bubble descends ten meters underground then accelerates North, travelling much faster than the average unladen swallow. The only sign of their passage is the occasional pebble trembling on the ground above.
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Rathos breathes in… and out. He opens his eyes. Today, at this moment, he realizes how good he feels. Not physically, as his high physical stats see to that, but mentally. He would usually worry over his daughter’s safety, or would feel as though he is letting himself go to waste, but today… Today, things are different.
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And, grudgingly, he has to admit that it all started when he met Quasi. The [Hero], [Necromancer], and [King]. The stories he hears from his gejan [Soldiers] sound almost mythic. In fact, they’re so far beyond credulity that even if he had witnessed half of the events, he would believe it to have been the work of a skilled [Illusionist].
Even Rathos finds himself still skeptical, but can’t argue with the end result. In a single day, after only briefly meeting the man, he was made a [General] of monsters. He expected nothing but torment awaiting him, to be little more than a toy to be played with in the games of [Kings] and [Despots].
Technically, that’s not wrong; he is beholden to Quasi and Nighmora. It’s just that it’s been hard to notice. The level of autonomy he’s been granted is astonishing. Nighmora hasn't even bothered to speak with him since his debriefing. Nobody with high authority has bothered. Despite his daily reports and requests being submitted, he received no commands and had all his requests approved. He has nobody watching over his shoulder, nor does he butt heads with anyone over leadership. No other [Generals] or leaders argue with him except for Doreson, but the centaur only questions him, which is valuable in its own way. Every mistake is his and every success is as well, but there’s no pressure. Confidence swells within him as he looks upon his army after two weeks of training and preparation.
Five thousand human infantry, eight thousand centaur archers, five thousand centaur cavalry, one thousand gejan with various classes, three hundred armored minotaurs, five thousand wyverns, and eight Kitsune mages.
All in all, a sight that would terrify any other kingdom. Even Emperor Flavion with his demi-human slave army couldn't compare to this diversity.
Unfortunately, quantity is a different story. Many well-off kingdoms would easily field an army over fifty thousand strong, while the true movers of the world number their soldiers in the millions.
Regardless, such threats are far to the north. Today. He must focus on today. An army waits on him to move, to take his seat on the new command carriage.
After glancing back at Sanavil and the completed wall, he walks towards the open air carriage. He hops up and stands by the only seat. He stares at the throne, a beautiful divine item with immense power.
He turns and plops down. He smiles as the range and potency of his aura triples. He connects to every [Captain] and [Lieutenant], then he connects to all the [Soldiers]. With a firm grasp, he pushes his will through his men.
“For-Ward MARCH!”
The drummers start their cadence, the wyverns roar, and the ground rumbles in time to the march of an army going to war.
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Mundus is not an important city. It is not very special among the many kingdoms of Orbis. It holds not a candle to the ice city of the [Frost Jarl] in the north, nor to the living elven cities, so carefully mixing living trees into their structures. However, if there is one area that Mundus stands above even Camelot, it would be its spotless streets. Mundus is clean.
Pearly white walls of marble protect a pristine city, wood and stone buildings kept in immaculate conditions through the work of the citizens and their [King]. Tersus the [Cleanly King] demands that not even a speck of dust may encroach upon his domain and enforces cleanliness with a well-washed fist. So far is he willing to fight his unending crusade that his castle has more [Maids] than [Guards] and [Knights] combined.
Tersus’s drive for purity reaches beyond his castle’s walls and to his subjects. He once walked upon dirty streets, witnessed the squalor and conditions his people were subject to, and more importantly, smelled a city without a proper sewage system. The next day, he declared war on the trash and refuse that littered his kingdom so that no longer would he ever have to see such disgusting sights ever again. It is by his obsession that every house has indoor plumbing, the water from every fountain is clean and potable, garbage is collected every hour, and the crowning grace, a sewage system was constructed beneath the city.
Buildings are well spaced, chimneys are tall, and all dwellings sport large windows to ensure adequate sun and ventilation to minimize pestilence. Broad avenues lined with fragrant trees, parks with healthy vegetation breaking up the urban maze, the city could be considered a wonder with how idyllic it looks. After all, to litter this unsullied city with even an errant scrap of paper is punishable by death.
But on the other side of things, the crown pays its citizens a basic wage, enforces rent controls, and subsidizes healthcare. All this, in the name of “cleanliness.” Even the farms outside the city benefit from Tersus’s neurosis; any farmer has but to submit a petition to the crown, and [King] Tersus will spare no expense to eradicate pests and pestilence from the land. Truly, the citizens of Mundus love their [King], never realizing his largesse is a function of some selfish mania.
Even now, returning from such a crushing defeat, the morale of the citizens of Mundus remains high, which amazes [Inquisitor] Joseph to no end. Tersus may not be a truly powerful [King] in level, but his specialized class and the skills they provide make other [Kings] pale in comparison.
Joseph scratches his smooth chin as he stares out from the castle balcony. He ponders the aura that Tersus effuses at all times, his [Cleansing Authority]. The skill does its best to affect him, to wash away the bad thoughts, the worry and the angst.
To let the aura wipe away his concerns would be easy, but Joseph refuses to allow it. To do so would invite complacency, lest he become complacent. He cannot forget his orders. He is, after all, an [Inquisitor] on a mission that involves convincing a powerful [General] with an army at his command to leave everything and come work for the Church.
Joseph sighs. Despite spending two weeks brainstorming a new recruitment plan for the [General], he’s been unable to come up with anything worthwhile. He had even mused about kidnapping Rathos, but that would not be convincing to the [General], nor does he believe such a thing would be possible. [Generals] of his level are dangerous. Joseph could very well die, which raises the next problem: Rathos probably knows he was part of Tersus's army. He may immediately order his execution if he goes to Sanavil without hearing him out.
Leaning forward, Joseph crosses his arms and rests them on the railing. His eyes stare into the distance, hoping for a solution that doesn't involve killing Tersus and bringing the [King]’s head to Sanavil as an offering.
He would do it, though. Tersus is a rotten, godless man who values none of his people, as he revealed while the army was on retreat. He sent barely armored [Soldiers] to the edges of the army to soak up the enemy's arrows instead of sending elites with shields who might have stood a chance against the constant onslaught.
Yes, the [Inquisitor] would have had the unjust [King]'s head if not for the fact that the kingdom would suffer more without him.
“Franky,” he whispers, smiling as he recalls the [Hero].
He remembers that moment as though it were yesterday, when Franky called him out for his blind hubris. For a time, Joseph had wandered, confused, but gradually he felt his view of the world grow in breadth and depth and color, as though the [Hero] had removed a splinter from his eye. Justice was still to be had, and Righteousness still worth pursuing, but every action has a consequence and sometimes the most just and righteous path is not the most expedient one.
Joseph's thoughts pause as a cloud covers the sun, blocking the glare from his eyes. With the newfound clarity, he notices something in the far distance. He can't get a good view, but it seems like it could be people. Then the cloud passes and the sun's glare returns, blocking his vision once more.
Frowning, he raises his hand to his eyes. “[Vision of Flame]” he says, casting a lesser divination spell.
Mana flows into his eyes and a red hue covers his vision, allowing him to see heat as a color. It’s a useful spell that lets him see people through walls, and even cast [Advanced Analyze] without a direct line of sight.
With a blink, he focuses on the distant, where he sees a massive concentration of blue, which can only mean a huge mass of people.
Quickly cancelling his spell, he turns around, grabs his staff, and runs out of his quarters. He rushes through the halls, ignoring the dozen [Maids] he passes by. He even ignores the [Guards] at the door leading to Tersus chambers.
With a violent push, the double doors burst open even as the two [Guards] unsheathe their weapons.
Joseph ignores them, his eyes falling on [King] Tersus where he lays bent over the bed, toupee fallen beside him on a pillow, while a muscular man rams him from behind.
Everyone freezes. Tersus’s eyebrows twitch.
Then the [Inquisitor] remembers why he just barged in.
He clears his throat.
“Tersus, there's an army coming from the South.”