“I have a lead on the mastermind behind the attack.” Exill turned his back on the cowering Assistant and marched outside.
Envy nodded idly, having heard the exchange while standing guard outside the entryway. “What will you do?” she quietly asked.
Exill glared in the direction of the main street, torn between his desire for justice and revenge. However, they were both in terrible shape, and he was still suffering from the symptoms of mana abuse. It was agonising to admit that they were in no condition to chase up on the lead. With the trail growing colder every second, he needed to make a decision fast.
“Let it go... nothing good can come from pursuing this further.” Envy gently offered her own advice. As much as she empathised with the outrage burning in his heart, she knew that path would only lead to ruin.
She suspected a noble, or someone with significant influence was involved. For Exill to go up against someone like that was akin to a slave opposing her master. It was courting death. But she doubted the Witchdoctor understood, after all, he had a strange sense of justice, a quality she both admired and found exasperating at times.
“You want to let them get away with this, after all they’ve done?!” He confirmed her eyes were clear amber-yellow, afraid she was trying to enthral him again.
The seconds ticked by, with Envy refusing to rise to the bait. In the absence of words, her surface emotions – through their party connection did all the speaking. It spoke of fatigue and resignation in the face of pointless struggle.
“Is revenge really that important to you?” She watched the anger in his eyes gradually subside.
‘Right… I have to focus on what is important.’ He thought, reminded of Tsarra lying unconscious back at the Guild. A part of him died when the righteous anger smouldering in his heart was forcibly doused in cold harsh reality. This is what it meant to be burdened with responsibility, and he gained fresh perspective on all the times he had seen people unjustly treated, walking away without complaint.
Suddenly feeling bone-deep weariness and the full weight of his age, he released a long drawn out breath.
“Let’s go home.”
The two waited silently in Diallo’s compound until the hour was up, and they couldn’t stand the stench of despair and occasional whimpers emanating from the nearby warehouse.
They took the main thoroughfares to the sandstone building housing the Mercenary Guild, safe in the knowledge they had nothing of value to be stolen.
Once inside, the two mercenaries limped towards the front desk, their clothes tattered and bloodied, people moving aside and falling silent as they recognised the pair. Iris fretted over them, but otherwise remained silent and led them to the back office where Tsarra lay sleeping on the couch, her face still pale from blood loss.
“Tsarra? It’s over, we can go home now.” Exill said softly, checking her temperature by pressing his wrist against her forehead. Scientist’s [Measure] told him her heart rate was 120 beats per minute and her skin was cool and clammy to the touch, all symptoms of severe blood loss.
“Help me carry her.” He asked, struggling to lift her on to his back. Thanks to the party racial perk provided by Envy alongside level 20 Warrior, he had the benefit of two Strength bonuses, allowing him to carry the petite woman and some of their luggage despite his weakened state.
They walked home, laden under the weight of their belongings, feeling their feet grow lighter when the familiar blue-green facade of their home came into view.
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There was a collective sigh of relief when they closed the door against the bustling market. Exill promptly dumped the heavy baggage and lowered Tsarra onto her bed. Following this, he returned outside to draw fresh water from the well, alongside various small tasks that needed doing after their prolonged absence.
Once the water began to steam, he brought the washbasin into Envy’s room, catching her in a state of undress. She was still wearing her tunic, but the hem barely covered her underwear. What caught his eye was the bleeding cuts and ugly red welts covering her pale slender legs.
‘Did she receive those injuries while covering our rear?’
“Sit down.” He reluctantly sighed, using that time to summon the Card and check his mana reserves… It had recovered to 20%, enough to heal the most serious cuts without suffering the symptoms of mana abuse.
He knelt in front of her, fingertips brushing against her skin as mana trickled into the most egregious cuts. All the while, Envy quietly wiped her legs down with a damp cloth. There was a quiet intimacy in the task… a strange sense of satisfaction when his hand skimmed across the surface of her thighs, leaving a trail of unblemished skin.
Before long, Exill was taken aback when there were no more cuts left to heal. The seconds stretched out as his hand hovered over her vulnerable legs. Then, as if waking from a daze, he snatched his hand away, reminded of what she had put him through.
“I’ll go check on Tsarra.” His voice sounded strangely husky, and he hurried out of the room. Exill carried a basin of fresh water down to the treatment room, and was surprised to find the injured maiden already sitting up.
“You should lie down.” He rebuked the woman, then wet the cloth to wipe away the crusted blood on her shoulder.
“Um… I can wash myself.” She stammered weakly, reaching for the damp washcloth.
“Oh hush, let me check this first.” Exill retorted while cleaning her shoulder, pleased to find all traces of the wound had vanished. “There, you can wash yourself now. Call out if you need help, and don’t forget to drink this recovery tonic for severe blood loss.” He tapped the red vial by her bedside, a supplement he was intimately familiar with.
Now that all the pressing matters had been resolved, he returned to his room, burying his face into the soft familiar pillow.
‘It’s finally over…’ he thought, feeling relieved as he drifted off to sleep.
***
*Knock, knock, knock*
It was the afternoon of the next day when Exill groaned, frowning as he stumbled out of bed, cursing the ancestors of the person incessantly knocking at their door. He climbed down the stairs, his mood turning fouler with each heavy knock resounding against the entryway.
“What do you-” he yanked the door open to find two guards examining him with a grim look, the Magistrate’s seal emblazoned on their pauldrons.
“Witchdoctor Exill? Come with us for judgement.” They held his arms in a vise-like grip, forcibly demanding he summon the Card to confirm his identity.
“Where are you taking me? I’ve done nothing wrong!” Exill protested while struggling, his muscles still sore from the exertion yesterday, but it was no use. He tried to remember what he could possibly be charged with while they were waved through the East Gate.
‘Is it about the earth wall I summoned to block off the passageway? Surely I can’t be blamed for killing those rogues who ambushed me!’
People moved out of the way as the guards marched Exill away in lockstep, some whispering when they recognised the most eligible bachelor of Ark being led away like a common criminal.
The large copper dome of the Magistrate’s soon came into view, and he was led into a side entrance where they held him in front of a tired desk sergeant who was struggling to organize the clay tablets stacked behind him.
“Witchdoctor Exill, charged under property crime by proxy under Article 4, Section 23.” The Guard on his left stated in a gruff voice.
“Right, cell block four should have some room available.” The Sergeant said, scribbling a note on his ledger.
Exill’s mind raced while absorbing the new information, ‘property crime by proxy? Then it must be about that earth wall I summoned to block the street…’ his mind raced through the possibilities, ‘But jailing me seems hardly proportional to the crime!’
He tried to relax when the guards threw him into the cell. One of them pointed a warning finger at his prone figure, explaining the consequences of disobedience.
“You will be executed on the spot if you attempt to escape or channel magic.” And with those parting words, locked the cell behind them.
Picking himself off the ground, he looked around at the dimly lit room. It was large enough to squeeze a small car in, and the floor, walls and even ceiling was plated in wrought iron, obviously to prevent Wizards from channelling earth magic to dig their way out. There were five other inmates in the cramped cell and the stench of faeces wafted from a bucket nearby.
A hulking brute of a man locked eyes with Exill, a menacing glint in his dark eyes.
“What you in for… pretty boy.” The ugly man sneered.