Kalender and his group were yet to wake. In another part of Lyrica, the day was young, and the woods, still cold.

The creature had five legs, two mouths, and one head. Parts of its fur had already fallen off. Lady Tiril stood up from examining it. Her dress had been ruined from rolling around the dampness of the village’s soil, but at least her headhunting sword was intact. It had a broad hook tip, the single-edged blade narrowing towards the hilt. The crossguard, handle, and pommel were nothing to speak of. It had neither magical effects, nor deep history, just scratches angrily scored across it from age and rough handling, much like the woman herself. It was less of a Lyrican blade, and more of a Kalek one—perfect for heavy chops against a fearless foe. She still carried herself as sharply as the day Yal last saw her.

“It’s one of ours,” she said. She recognized the colors of the fur on this one.

“And how can a hunting dog become like this?” Yal asked. The dog was at least twice as large as a dog should be, and it had a third hind leg that helped it to spring at its prey. With two mouths, there was no chance of it ever letting go once it had committed its teeth to flesh.

Meanwhile, a squadron of dismounted knights was helped by some villagers in piling up the bodies of monsters and accounting for the villagers’ fallen. Many of the houses here had been blotched in red in the surprise attack.

“Demons must be at play,” Tiril said.

Yal sharpened his gaze. “The Inquisition takes such claims seriously.”

“You know how my Skill works.”

“Then let’s at least first suspect a collaborator before a full demon, shall we?” Yal surveyed the villagers around him. “Perhaps they are even still here. Perhaps there are more.”

Tiril winced. She wanted peace, but demons still chased her all the way until this backwater lumberyard called Jitter.

“And the other villages?” Yal asked.

“The villagers here and the ones from New Clearing will be moved to Woodport. The defenses there ought to be adequate.”

“A fence, a handful of militia, and one squad of knights are adequate?”

“Doesn’t your retinue count?”

“Absolutely not. I am interested in the wider developments of this region, not manning a village fence.” He glanced towards Tiril. “Do you not count, yourself?”

“Tsk. I would rather wilt and die listening to the lumberers’ incessant sawing than have my bones pop and creak when I least want them to.”

Yal disguised his smile. The Lady’s skin may have been sagging, she still wouldn’t yield to a horse in a game of tug-of-war.

“Beautiful name, by the way,” he added. Tiril—or so she went nowadays—glared stilettos at him.

“I’m sure you’ll want to be … inquisitive, as you are,” she said. “I’ll pull my weight while you pull yours. I’ll hand you a list and a special reservation by evening.”

***

[INTERVIEWS EXPUNGED]

***

He had found three of them. There was a fourth, one confessed, but she had been killed by the very same dog she had transformed.

The collaborators had been taking directions from an outside agent to transform the forest’s creatures to the south of Jitter. Little could be said of the agent’s identity—some kind of disguise Skill, no doubt.

As to how the collaborators performed the transformation, they were granted a Blessing:

[Blessing of the ###### God: GMO]

For a Blessing, the naming sounded … too cryptic to him. Maybe it was common knowledge all along, and he’d just never found out until now? Never mind that, the description was enough to explain the circumstances.

—Bend the designs of all life to your will.

Such a short description, and yet so profound. The collaborators said it was a difficult power to control, and yet, all the external agent had ever asked of them was to come up with any abomination that could walk and attack. Surely, it must have been supremely difficult to avoid killing a creature with the power, and yet, they said they had never failed in creating living abominations.

As to why the collaborators even agreed to carry out acts of terrorism upon their neighbors … poverty and desperation. The agent promised a way out, and even provided a down payment of three sacks of wheat per head—three sacks of wheat would see a mother and her four children through majority of the year.

Yal took in Woodport as he made his way to Tiril’s manor. People lived hard. A woman argued with another about yesterday’s wages. “You didn’t appear,” the boss said, “so you aren’t getting paid!”

Lady Tiril’s spartan ways would always reject people who could not sweat blood, driving them into the arms of temptresses. She afforded little compassion—the worst exemplar for a Lady, indeed.

He found her sipping tea in the veranda of her mansion—or as close as a mansion could get in Jitter. Granted, a proper house with proper kiln-fired shingles and a brightly-colored exterior looked much more like a mansion compared to an earthen hut with a few rooms and little privacy. Tiril’s sword leaned against the wall of her home behind her. As unsentimental she claimed to be, that sword was always there.

“Good morning, Inquisitor,” she said.

“Good morning, m’Lady,” he replied. Tiril rolled her eyes. Yal couldn’t have been less patronizing.

“I know you’re not one to dally. Out with it.”

“Your ‘relationship’ with Lady Palem, what is it?”

Tiril’s wrinkles deepened. She put her cup down. “The monsters had not yet reached here, but our direct southern routes to Chello were still blocked. Our only option was to go around west, through Sterring—but Palem,” she paused before she could raise her voice, “she raised tolls for Jitter lumber. I told her to eat yellow snow, and now I am troubled by demons and their collaborators. I would not be surprised if she had a hand in this.”

“I see.”

Yal left without a further word from his former boss.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

***

Sterring, as Yal had found on arrival, was a simple garrison town, with the workings of a marketplace and accommodations for its soldiers and workers. There were some goods moving through it, some travelers stopping by, and maybe some entrepreneurial nobles visiting the area, hoping to gain Lady Palem’s permission to develop the town’s outskirts.

All in all, a typical town that stood guard over an unimportant crossroads.

It was a wonder that Tiril came into dispute with Lady Palem at all. Jitter fell well outside of Sterring’s area of influence, separated by almost 20 kilometers.

Yal stepped down from his carriage, greeted by Lady Palem herself and her mansion behind her.

“Inquisitor, Sterring welcomes you.”

She welcomed him with a perfect smile, and conducted herself with a most amiable disposition—par for the course, for success as a Lady Governor. She still lived in youth, skin unblemished and well-powdered, her dress well-used, but also well-cared for—a far cry from Tiril’s presentation.

She invited him inside her mansion. There were carved furnitures of whitewood, and dark grains emphasized with varnish on the surfaces of oaks and pines of the trims and millwork that framed the walls, fireplace, and doors. By no means were the carpets and rugs rare nor expensive, but they were clearly selected to complement the ambiance of Lady Palem’s home. It wasn’t a large home, either, and it showed in how she had few attendants—a Gardener, two Maids, and a Secretary. They were all it took to maintain this humble mansion and sustain Palem’s work, and she asked for no more.

She and Yal sat across each other in her office, the window beside them. The shelves behind Palem were well-stocked with documents for signing off, and letters demanding her attention. There was another table, behind Yal for now, for her Secretary to work. It was empty for the moment.

A Maid came in with a polished steel tray and set down a pot and two cups for tea. As soon as she left and the door clicked closed, Yal began his interrogation.

“I have heard about the recent upheaval of monsters in the region. How is your town doing, Governor?” he said.

“As you know, Inquisitor, this is a garrison town. If you speak of finances, Lord Crisens” —the Lord of Chello— “continues to provide annual allocations of the treasury to maintain the presence of the soldiers here. As for the other subjects … I have had to take in some villagers. We simply do not have the resources to accommodate them with dignity.”

The refugee camp had not been hidden away. They lined the road outside the gate, welcoming returning patrols and passers-by all the same. It was unsightly, but for the sake of the security of all, it was better to keep them close than shamefully tuck them away.

“I see,” Yal said. “I noticed a great influx of goods through here, more than I would suspect a simple garrison town to have. Why is that?”

Palem shifted uncomfortably. The pressure of the Inquisitor for even the simplest of questions was far too great.

“Sterring has become a staging ground, of sorts,” she replied. “The surrounding villages simply do not want to take the risk of traveling on their own as they have always done, and so they come here, sell to our merchants, then our merchants travel in convoys to Chello.”

“And the tolls?”

“To pay for the convoy guards, of course. I am sure the tolls are not exaggerated, as we need only employ a few to supplement the soldiers who normally patrol the road.”

“And the unordinary drop in fertilizer purchases?”

How did he know of that? “The land entered a productive spurt, according to my Surveyors.”

The land produced in abundance, so even if the villagers sold lower than they used to, the sheer quantity made it so they easily made up for their losses.

“Out of nowhere?” Yal asked.

“It’s nothing I can explain.”

“I can’t imagine Lord Crisens would be delighted about it.”

Palem chuckled. “He wouldn’t.”

“How is Sterring’s relationship with him?”

“Mild.” Palem sipped tea for her nerves before continuing. “Sorry, that would be ‘mildly infuriating.’”

Interesting. Everyone in this region hates their neighbors. “Why is that?”

“Fertilizer prices have been on a steady rise for the past year.”

“I can’t imagine the Chello Region’s productivity would have been rising with those prices.”

“They weren’t. Higher prices meant farmers made do with less fertilizer. They have been making less and less, and yet the prices continued to rise.”

For the first time, Yal noted a true emotion surfacing from Palem’s eyes. It was some kind of … indignation.

“That perhaps some goddess has blessed our land is truly heaven-sent,” Palem continued.

Again with the half-truth. Yal could push his true agenda right now, but there may yet be more context he could squeeze out of this one.

“The villages around Sterring, how have they been faring?” he asked.

“Villages closer southwards have been attacked. The farther two have been completely overrun.” She paused. “The local Commander has seen it fit to fortify the remaining villages. Smaller patrols and squads dot the farthest reaches of the extent of Sterring’s domain.”

“I am impressed the farmers continue on.”

“It is their way of life. They know nothing else.”

“I see.” This woman is suspect, but perhaps not for the crime of conspiracy. “What is your relationship with Jitter?”

For a fleeting moment, Palem winced. She may have hoped that the Inquisitor didn’t catch her, but she knew not to hope. “I dislike dealing with Tiril.”

On the contrary, it would be a miracle if she didn’t. “What makes it difficult?”

“She wouldn’t accept the tolls.”

“They are higher than for others.”

Palem was surprised, but only for a moment. Inquisitors seemed to know everything about you and your dog before you even met them.

“Of course! Jitter produces high-quality lumber, which sells at a lucrative price! Not only that, but transporting lumber of any useful length over land is almost always more difficult than transporting food. The only merchant we have who deals in lumber stated, in very clear terms, that she would hire separate guards for lumber deliveries. If the lumber joined the food convoys, it would slow them down. Who, in their right mind, would further slow down perishable goods?”

Yal felt no omission in that statement. A picture of the region was beginning to form in his mind. A visit to Chello was in order.

Well—time to wrap things up, here.

“Have you spoken with a demon, recently?”

Palem’s eyes widened in alarm. “What?”

Strange. She’s hiding something, but there is genuine concern. “Or, perhaps, have you met with a demon collaborator?”

“I—”

I see. “Will you answer truthfully?”

Palem’s hand shook, and her breathing turned shallow. Her body language had given away too many clues. There was no way out. She put down her cup, and dared not to look the patient Inquisitor in the eye; if he were to even steal a glance of hers, he could may as well rip out the truth from her sockets. She’d heard that they did that, sometimes.

“Yes,” she said.

“Have you spoken with a demon, recently?”

“I beg your pardon, Inquisitor, but … what do they look like?”

“So you saw something, then?”

“Someone,” she said. “Whether a man or woman, I don’t know. I couldn’t see their face.”

A collaborator. “When?”

“Five months ago.”

“Where?”

“Here. Where we’re speaking. I was … terrified.”

After a pause, Yal asked, “What transpired?”

“I was powerless to fight back. They just ignored the bullet I shot at them. They took me, and we … flew—to a field that was long dead, then they told me, if I wanted it, I could have the power to make the field alive again.”

“Did you accept?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I thought … I could make Sterring flourish.”

An exemplary Lady, indeed. “What next happened?”

“I asked them why they would give such a power to me. They said … ‘Don’t think about it. Do what you want.’”

No conditions? Did they think she would naturally carry out malice? No, that was a strange thought. The mansion had little in the way of security, save for unusually high-leveled employees. Even if an ordinary intruder couldn’t enter the mansion, there were many ways to understand Palem’s personality and disposition. It was nigh impossible for the outside agent to hope that Palem, of all people, would use her newfound power for nefarious ends.

Really, all that Yal’s spies had found were rejuvenated fields and frustrated fertilizer vendors. The soil itself was deader than sand, and yet, grass and corn grew with little complaint. There was little variation in crops between rejuvenated fields, however. The power of the Blessing must have been difficult to control. Give Palem a lifetime, however, and every major crop might even take root on the frost peak of Mt. Lyre.

“And the name of your Blessing?” Yal asked.

“From some unnamed god … GMO. I don’t know what it means.”

Yal nodded and stood up. “Congratulations, you are now under the sanction of the Scarlet Branch of the Inquisition.” He placed a silver card in front of Palem, the seal of the Inquisition prominently embossed near the top. “Ah, and a word of advice. Convince your lumber merchant to foot the bill for her convoy guards, or else the world will never once again see Jitter lumber. Thank you for the tea.”

He hobbled out through the door. The Maid waiting outside saluted, offering a light bow typical of Maids, but intertwining her fingers in front of her lap in a strange, tangled way, before guiding him out.

It was a bit disappointing that he would have to set out for Chello so soon. Maybe staying just one night more would be fine, if at least to rest his bones. Those who lived in cities always stifled their desires, and the more ambitious of them loved deception. Those out here lived much truer, even if much harder.