Unless you were in a frontier/unexplored region and plane, an Event battlefield, or the dark parts of a city, you wouldn’t really find that much action going on due to the System preventing conflict within a certain range of the Obelisk. It could still happen if you were on properties that were controlled by Authority, or used a Shop Command, which granted certain benefits to a User with a worker class, but for the casino’s situation, normally the power and reputation of Ravimoux prevented anyone from causing a fuss. Scytale supposed that a casino that functioned as a centre for all the local underworld forces might be more….. prone to this sort of situation, but it was really dumb. And amusing to watch.
He had activated his [Incongruity Inversion] and [Lesser Invisibility] to hide behind one of the dark stone brick chimneys, watching the events curiously. One of the two assassins was dressed in black and red leather armour, a hood forming a shadow over his face. A black cloth mask had fallen down around his neck, allowing Scytale to see that he was young, in his late teens to early twenties, with black hair and blue eyes.
The man opposite him was outfitted in a pitch-black outfit, a mask with Ravimoux’s green crest embroidered on its front covering the lower half of his face. From where he was, Scytale couldn’t see the man’s face, but it seemed the younger assassin recognised him because the young man had an ugly scowl on his face as he glared at him, one long red dagger held in a hand, ready to fight. The other man had two black daggers sheathed on either side of him, with a relaxed posture as he observed the hooded assassin with his arms crossed.
The red-hooded assassin raised his long dagger to point angrily at the older man. “You murdered the man who raised me! Why?! Why did you kill my father?!”
The black-dressed assassin just tilted his head. “Boy, I’ve killed many people. Who in the realms are you talking about?”
Scytale suppressed a snigger as he heard that. It was a very stupid question to ask an assassin, but the younger man didn’t seem to realise that, instead, taking a step forward with his dagger still raised.
“His name was Gabriel Vahedi!” the youth shouted. “A knight of Duke Wilshire of the 7th Major Kingdom!”
Scytale winced. That man had just told the assassin their identity, and what possible connections there are that could be held hostage against the young man. Well, if the young man became an assassin, he probably had nothing left to lose….
The older assassin rubbed his chin in contemplation. “A knight…. No, I don’t remember killing a knight. You must have the wrong person,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly.
The younger assassin threw off his hood and glared even harder at the black-dressed assassin, gesturing with the dagger. “There is no way you are not my father’s murderer,” he growled. “After all, I saw you with your mask down, and you still have that horrid scar across your mouth that I saw when you slaughtered my father right in front of me!”
The black-dressed assassin clicked his tongue. “There’s no helping it. A battle it is. I’ll have to finish this before the boss gets here.” And with that, the older assassin pulled out his dual daggers and swung their curved blades at the red-wearing young man, who lunged forward with a vicious snarl on his face, aiming for the older assassin’s vitals.
They clashed a few times, spikes and ropes of smoky black mana coiling and curling around them both. It seemed they both used dark magic. Now that they were fighting, Scytale yawned, getting into a comfier position, as the boring part was happening. He relaxed his attention but listened out for the brief episodes of strained conversation between them.
After a few minutes of battle, something changed. The younger man spoke up. “Why… did… you… kill him?!” growled the young assassin as he clashed blades, aiming for the other man’s face.
“Why else?” the older assassin replied casually, easily blocking, and diverting the attack with a lazy swing of an arm. “The bounty, the reputation, the boss’s favour, there’s a bunch of reasons. Pick one and it’ll probably be right.”
“Why did Gabriel Vahedi need to die!” the young man screamed, angrily stabbing at the black assassin’s ‘exposed’ waist.
The black assassin turned his body to the side in one swift movement as the red assassin over extended, and gouged a line along the man’s arm, fresh blood spurting from the wound. With his other dagger, he locked it with the handguard of the young man’s blade, and then shoved his knee into the man’s side, sending him flying. The red assassin coughed and spluttered, winded, as he tried to get up off his knees to grab the red blade lying on the rooftop’s surface nearby.
The black assassin put one hand on a hip and threw one of his black daggers in the air, spinning and catching it idly as he observed the young man with a weary gaze.
“Let’s say I killed your father. You get revenge by killing me, and then what?” he said, sounding tired. “Ravimoux would never let such an offence go. If you survive, you’d be tarnishing their name. And then there are the people who commissioned me to kill the knight.”
He gestured to the edge of the rooftop. “Use your talent to pile up some money, and then purchase details on who commissioned me. Don’t waste your life here, son.”
“Don’t you dare call me son!” he yelled, getting up as he held his side.
“But I just- whatever, fine,” the black assassin muttered, getting into a combat position again. “Fine, fine. Here we go again.”
They began fighting again, the black assassin still easily fighting the red assassin, with no sign of tiredness, while the red assassin was visibly worse off, his new wound and injured side creating additional strain. It seemed the black assassin would finish the fight easily.
But Scytale narrowed his golden eyes, his slits thinning. The red assassin wasn’t actually tired. He could see the younger man’s eyes were tracking every one of the black assassin’s feints and false moves, picking and choosing which ones to ‘fall for’ or not. It finally happened, as the red assassin was getting pushed closer to the rooftop edge. The man was a few short paces away from the edge, anxiously looking behind him with every step.
The black assassin sighed. “I’ll make this quick. Better have a resurrection, boy.”
He went to take a sharp stab at the young man, but the young man’s eyes lit up with hidden light and he dodged the blade. Instead, his red blade became coated in a flickering aura of black and orange flames, and the aura extended with a flash, searing the side of the black assassin.
The black assassin coughed, stumbling back, and clutched his severely burnt side, the cloth flaking away. His mask fell down, revealing a thick ropy scar going up from his chin to the corner of his mouth, the skin twisted and waxy due to the incomplete healing. The black assassin coughed again. “You… had a fire… affinity?” he spluttered weakly, holding his side that had begun leaking clear fluid due to its injuries.
Instead of answering, the young man sneered and dashed forward. Before the black assassin could recover, the red assassin rammed into him and grabbed his arm, dragging him to the edge of the rooftop. “I’ll kill you as many times as it takes,” he said in a low voice.
The black assassin clutched at the younger man’s arm, drawing blood with his nails, but the red assassin didn’t let go. With one last heave, he threw the black assassin over the edge and then turned away with a wrathful look on his face. After a moment of heavy breathing, he started walking towards the opposite edge of the rooftop and didn’t see the quick black shadow flash behind him as it dropped over the edge. Scytale lifted his head as his eyes widened.
Something shoved into the red assassin, sending him sprawled over the ground, spluttering. The assassin’s eyes widened and his breath seized in his throat as an overbearing pressure pushed down on him from all sides, squeezing the strength from his limbs. Scytale watched curiously as a pillar of pitch-black smoke swirled in front of the man, a tall figure emerging from it. In its black-gloved hand was the black assassin, grasped firmly by the collar of his coat as he dangled limply, an awkward expression on his face.
“Hmm,” said a voice, like it was observing an interesting spectacle. “I don’t often have to deal with this sort of thing personally.”
He dropped the black assassin, who fell to the ground with a grunt, grimacing as he sat up.
“Sorry, boss,” the assassin said, wincing as he brushed off the grit sticking to his wounds.
Count Ravimoux, whose figure had fully manifested from the smoke, observed the man for a moment, before turning his dark green eyes to the red assassin, struggling, and failing, to get up with the pressure bearing down on him from all sides. “How many times have I told you all not to mix personal and professional affairs while on my property, Bartram?” he reprimanded the black assassin.
“Couldn’t help it,” ‘Bartram’ replied, breathing heavily as he gingerly touched his burnt side. “The boy saw my face before I pulled up my mask. It seems he was there when I took on an old mission and managed to see me.”
“Well, I suppose that’s understandable,” the Count commented. He narrowed his eyes as he looked down at his subordinate. “But not excusable. This does not mean I won’t be issuing a punishment for failing to take the conflict somewhere else. I was in a meeting.”
The man nodded his head spiritlessly, looking depressed all of a sudden. He turned to look at the red assassin on the ground a few metres away. “What about him?” he said.
The Count silently observed the red assassin, holding his chin in a hand as he considered the young man. “Indeed. What shall I do….. hmm.” He took a step forward, kneeled down, and lifted up the young man’s face, who was glowering at him. The Count tilted his head, green eyes intently focused on the red assassin. “Nobody died… although that was due to my intervention. I’ve always told you to get to Rank-4, Bartram.”
Bartram sighed. “Yes, Count Ravimoux. I will.”
“Well, I know what to do.” The Count smirked, his eyes gaining a cruel glint as he spoke up. “This man has offended Ravimoux. And we don’t let our offenders live.”
He dropped the pressure, the red assassin taking in a deep breath, but before he could move, the Count grasped him firmly by the neck and hoisted him up. He let out strangled sounds as the Count pulled him over to the rooftop edge, lifting him in the air over the edge with one arm. Count Ravimoux smiled as the assassin tried to remove his grasp, failing to remove the vice-like grip the Count had around his neck.
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“If I was one of my brothers, perhaps I would send out a bounty to have you killed on sight after your resurrection, over and over again. But I’m not. So…” he said in a cheerful voice, his green-black irises gaining a red-hued outline as a black smoky aura enveloped him. “Take this as a warning from Ravimoux.” Then his tone switched. “And never mess with us again,” he stated icily.
SPLATTER!
The assassin’s head exploded in a shower of blood, the pressure intensified in one short moment to burst his head. The red liquid sprinkled Count Ravimoux, getting into his hair and on his face and clothing as he let go of the lifeless body, which fell off the edge of the building to land somewhere on the streets below in a crumpled heap. He turned around with a smile on his bloodied face, hands behind his back.
Bartram stared for a moment and then gestured to his own face. “Um, sir, you have a little…”
The Count gazed at him, nonplussed, and then touched his face. “Ah,” he replied, seeing his glove come away with blood. He snapped his fingers and all the blood slipped off him, splattering onto the dark brick of the rooftop. He pointed to the door of the rooftop entrance. “Go get healed, Bartram. Then we’ll discuss your punishment.”
The man sighed, nodded, and then disappeared into black particles of fog. Once he was gone, Count Ravimoux looked around the place with a searching gaze. “Now, if her serpent was able to see the battle, then he must be here somewh-”
“Peekaboo.”
The Count whirled around, a cold expression on his face. Then he blinked as he saw the shiny snake peeking out from behind a chimney, realising it wasn’t a threat. He walked forward to come closer to Scytale, then he held his chin as he leaned forward with one hand behind his back, peering at the snake with curiosity. “How interesting. You were obviously using an invisibility spell beforehand, but it seems you have some way of removing yourself from my mental awareness. I didn’t even notice you were there.”
The snake slowly backed away. “If you’re curious, ask Lucy. She studied my spell a bit, but I remember her saying it was conceptual though, only accessible by my bloodline, so even if you dissect me it’s useless.”
The Count chuckled as he straightened up. “I wouldn’t dissect you.” He ignored the sceptical gaze of Scytale to start heading towards the rooftop exit, the winged serpent following along. “Did you find anything that interested you?” he asked casually as they descended the stairs.
“Lots of things. But there was this weird window that none of the staff members could tell me about, all black and white.”
He paused as he noticed the Count had frozen for a second, before walking slightly quicker. “We don’t talk about the window,” he stated stiffly.
Scytale blinked, and then slowly nodded. “Okay… no talking about the window. Got it. Oh, but why did an undead gift Ravimoux an Archlich’s skull?”
----------------------------------------
The Count told Scytale about some of the backgrounds behind some objects he found as they went down the stairs to meet up with Lucy and Vincent. When they finally came back, Scytale slowly started to shuffle behind the Count, avoiding Lucy’s gaze. Lucille was just staring at him with no expression.
“Ugh. Don’t look at me like that. That’s your angry expression,” he said.
“I’m not angry,” she replied calmly.
“Yes, you are! I can feel it through the bond. Don’t lie to me!” he yelled.
She narrowed her eyes. “Okay, let’s say I am angry. Why would I be angry, Scytale?”
He shiftily looked to the side. “Uh… I don’t know….”
Lucy scowled. “And yet, you’re hiding behind Count Ravimoux. Are you perhaps scared of something?”
“You know what, maybe I’ll just keep looking around the casino…” He slowly tried to back away, inching towards the door.
With a flat expression, she pointed a finger up, and the winged snake yelped as he was lifted up into the air. Using her spiritual energy, she pulled the serpent over and grabbed him with her hands as he tried to wriggle out of her grasp. He kept trying to buffet her head with his wings, so she pulled him taut.
“Ow, ow, ow! Don’t do that!” he whined. “My spine is getting stretched in places it shouldn’t be stretched!”
“Stop being a wimp. I can tell what you’re feeling through our bond, just like you can feel my anger. Your spine is perfectly fine,” she stated flatly. “Stop flapping, or I’ll never put you down.”
“This is abuse!” he complained.
“Break the bond then,” she replied.
He groaned but stopped moving his wings. With a sigh, she placed him around her neck and pulled out her pocket watch to check the time. Vincent and the Count just watched their exchange with amusement, remaining silent. Lucille turned to the Count. “Should we discuss more, or leave it for another time?” she asked.
He rubbed his chin and then nodded. “Let’s leave it for later. There’s some work I’ll have to do on my end before I can truly determine the feasibility of this, and I’ll have to start preparing my subordinates for the reorganisation of the black markets.” He stuck his hand out. “I wish you luck with your ventures, and may you see future horizons,” he said with a smile.
She grasped his hand to shake it, and then blinked in realisation, pulling out a piece of paper she had in her pocket. “Before I forget, could you please alert me as soon as possible if someone with these characteristics comes to one of your casinos?”
He grabbed it and read it with a curious expression on his face before his eyes widened slightly. “Yes, I’ll definitely see to it. You have my word,” he replied, giving her a small bow.
She smiled and nodded back. “Then, thank you for your time, Count Ravimoux, and may you see future horizons as well.”
Behind her, Vincent gave a bow to the Count as well, who nodded, and then Vincent, Lucy and Scytale left, walking back down the stairs to the first floor of the casino. When they made it back to the carriage, she sat down, Vincent doing the same opposite her. Scytale sat on the bench next to her. Lucy sighed as the carriage started moving, making Vincent raise an eyebrow.
“What is it? I thought you’d be happy with how today went,” he asked.
She gave him a dismissive wave. “That’s not why I’m sighing. I have nothing to be happy or upset about, as today went exactly how I expected. Minus Scytale’s little misadventure,” she added, glaring at the snake for a moment. She shook her head. “No, I just hate politics.”
“But you’re very adept at it,” he replied, slightly confused.
“That doesn’t mean I like it,” she responded dryly. “That just means I can do it.”
He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms as he observed her. “What did you even do before all this? I’ve been thinking you used to be some noble of some kind, but that doesn’t really tell me much.”
“I lived, ate, drank, breathed,” she deadpanned. “And no, I wasn’t a noble.” She held out a hand to pause him as he opened his mouth to say something. “Yes, I talk like one. That point has been adequately explained to me by many. I had noble etiquette education, but I was a commoner.” She looked out the window. “Up until around five months ago, I was an ordinary teenager. Or at least as ordinary as you could get when you have a grandfather who owns 4% of every country’s stock market in your world.”
“Countries plural?” he asked curiously.
She glanced at him. “I wasn’t kidding when I said my world might have a value equal to that of an unexplored Great plane. It has the size to support it. Technically though, they’re more like ‘vassal states’. We have a unified governing body for my world.”
Vincent held his chin. “So, five months ago you remembered your past memories?”
She smiled slightly. “I think you’re making a few assumptions about what I am that are not accurate in the slightest. Well, it’s a close enough description.”
“Does Scytale have access to all your memories? Or maybe not… if he did, I’m not sure he would act as young as he does…” he mused.
Scytale, who had been pretending to be asleep, raised his head and hissed at the aide. “Hey, I’m only two and a half years younger than her! I’m not that young!”
“Yet her mental age is over two hundred,” Vincent replied, bemused.
“I know what I said,” Scytale said, gazing at the man with unblinking gold eyes.
The silver-haired man looked between Scytale and Lucille for a moment, confused. “I’m lost.”
The amphiptere yawned and settled back into position. “Lucy has already told you our bond is at least advanced rank, right? That takes twenty years to develop.”
Vincent blinked and then became flabbergasted. “Wait, are you saying-”
“My mental age is 245. I'm physically 15. Lucy gets rid of it with soul magic, so she doesn’t suffer from it, but my young body makes me more immature,” the snake responded lazily. “Also, most of my memories, unlike Lucy, are sealed, so there’s that too.”
“Sealed? No wait, that doesn’t matter,” he replied, furrowing his brows. “You knew each other before you…..” he hesitated as he struggled to phrase it nicely.
Scytale saved him from the anguish. “Died. Got killed. Fell into eternal sleep. Kicked the bucket. Bit the dust. Slept with the fishes. Got put six feet under.” The snake began laughing at Vincent’s progressively more awkward expression. “Ha! You should see your face! It’s almost as bad as Annaliese’s when Lucy told her she had died!”
Vincent stiffened slightly and glared at them both as Lucille pinched her nose bridge, mildly vexed. “You mean to tell me Miss Verdon heard about this before I did?” he said, rather angrily.
Scytale tilted his head in thought. “Come to think of it, I never told Annaliese I was like you, Lucy. Oh well. A surprise for next time.”
“Stop jinxing me! I don’t want a next time!” Lucy told the snake, an eyebrow twitching in irritation.
The snake flickered his tongue playfully. “Don’t hate me when I say I told you so!”
She groaned and rested her head against the carriage wall behind her. “Why did I decide to bond you a third time?”
“Because you just love me soooo much.”
“Ah.” She snapped her gloved fingers. “Now I remember. It was so you could distract the enemies while I run away.”
“No it was not!” he argued.
“Your light-element bloodline is literally all about grabbing attention,” she replied wryly.
“Well, I mean, maybe so, but-”
“So I’m guessing you two did know each other then?” interrupted Vincent in a dry voice.
“Unfortunately, I’ve known about this snake for 231 years,” she stated, pulling out her pocket watch and idly playing with its gold chain. “So, yes.”
“Why do you both have the memories then?” he asked curiously.
“He was my bond at the time of my death. Whatever happened to my soul happened to his too,” she answered, not looking up.
Vincent narrowed his eyes. “And what did happen to your souls?” he pushed.
Lucille looked up from the pocket watch, blinked, and then traded glances with Scytale. Then she turned back to Vincent and stuck out her tongue. “Not telling.”
Vincent groaned, rubbing his temples. “Why not?” he asked, sounding very exasperated.
“Because it would make you worry needlessly about certain things. Look for clues yourself if you’re that curious. It’s irrelevant to my work as the Commission Head anyway,” she said, tucking the pocket watch into one of her pants’ pockets and gazing out the window again.
He sighed and leaned back on the bench. They were silent for a few minutes, Scytale having finally fallen asleep for real. Then Vincent crossed his arms and stared at her. “Can you tell me what you did in the past?”
“Hm? Oh.” She faced him again. “Sure.” She didn’t say anything else and just looked at him.
His eyebrow twitched when he realised she was doing the same thing as when they had just met, but he kept his complaints to himself to ask his question. “You can use magic, so you are, or were, a mage of some kind. What’s your speciality?”
“Illusion magic,” she told him.
He stared at her in surprise. “Illusion magic? Really?”
Lucy shrugged. “I’ve never used it the normal way, but I do use illusion mana. If I had to say what my second magic speciality is, I would say arcane, but that’s just because of the utility of non-elemental mana. I have no elemental affinity, so as much as I might occasionally use other magic, I’ll never be amazing at it.”
He became thoughtful. “No elemental affinity is... really rare. No wonder you used illusion magic, which isn’t composed of the 6 essential elements. But… shouldn’t your affinity be different now? I mean, if you died and entered a new body…” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She smiled and shook her head wryly. “It’s still no elemental affinity. Ask more questions and stop making wrong assumptions.”
He frowned slightly at her statement but continued. “What was your profession?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “After living for almost two and a half centuries, I have a lot of work experience.”
Vincent rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Fine. What was one of your jobs?”
Lucy hummed and tapped on her chin. “Well, I was a professor at one stage.”
“A professor? For the Academy?” he questioned.
“That’s right. I spent some time teaching advanced environmental mana theory while doing some part-time research,” she replied, crossing one leg over the other. “My field of research was the relation between the spiritual realm and mana. Hence my specialty in spiritual energy and the soul.”
“But as the Commission Head, you can’t go there anymore, can you? If you want to remain neutral, you won’t be able to return to research more….” Vincent said.
“Who said I ever wanted to return?” she asked, an odd look on her face.
He was speechless. “But… to get stronger, you need to get new spells and-”
She sighed. “I’ve already learnt all I need from there. One thing important about high quantities of spiritual energy and soul power is the eidetic memory. I’ve read everything I ever needed from the Athenaeum’s records.”
“You don’t want updated information?” he asked, looking sceptical.
She stared at him flatly for a moment, before rolling her eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking right now is wrong. I’m not what you believe I am.”
“And what is it that I am thinking?” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.
“How would I know? I haven’t bothered to check what you’re thinking yet,” she stated drolly.
He nodded absentmindedly before his eyes shot wide open. “Wait, are you a mind reader?” he exclaimed in shock as he leaned forward.
Lucille frowned at her aide. “I cannot ‘read your mind’ in the way you’re thinking. If I release a higher density of spiritual energy into the surrounding area, then maybe I could sense your emotions or surface thoughts. I can’t read memories or see anything you’re subconsciously or consciously trying to hide that way.” She turned to face the window. “Those at high ranks are automatically protected against this by their mana, and when I’m in areas with high population density, all the emotions and residual energy waves blend together so I can’t decipher them. It’s too much effort to read people’s minds now.”
He stared at her for a while, suspicious. “That’s a pretty poor way of trying to pretend you don’t do it.”
She glanced at him. “I’m not pretending. If I was reading your mind, I would either try to keep the fact I could do it a secret, or I would tell you I was doing so when I revealed that I have the capability, in which either case you wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop me.”
He hesitated, a contemplative look on his face. He begrudgingly nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. But why does it require a higher spiritual energy density?”
“If I use my spiritual energy in its most basic form,” she explained, “It functions like a domain ability, where I can control the environment, or in this case, energy, within a certain radius around me. But to interact with anyone else’s spiritual energy, I need to flood the area around me with much more spiritual energy. Detecting what emotions someone feels needs almost all their surrounding spiritual energy to be mine. It’s a waste of time when if you have more than one individual nearby, all their thoughts blend together like ripples on a pool.”
He eyed her for a moment and then nodded. “And… how did you die?” he asked quietly.
She gazed at him for a while, her face expressionless. Lucille looked up at the roof of the carriage and closed her eyes. “For longer than two centuries, there had been someone who had an…. obsession with me. I don’t know why, nor do I care to know, but eventually for some reason he ended up believing I was associating with enemies of his, or had been ‘corrupted’ somehow. That man had a self-righteous attitude, and thought he could ‘save’ me.” She frowned slightly. “I knew even if I told him the truth, he would only believe what he wanted. It ended up in a battle to the death. And he killed me, but at the same time, I killed him too. Neither of us could resurrect again. As a compeer bond, Scytale died at the same time as me. He was dealing with the man’s subordinates.”
Vincent gazed at her for a while and then sighed. “Well, at least he died. He won’t come back.”
She looked at him but didn’t say anything, and the carriage trip was quiet for the rest of the trip back.
…
“Distract Vincent for me,” Lucy told Scytale.