Saturday, August 31st, 996 ABE

A clock tower in the noble district chimed nine o’clock. The sound rang out into the growing stillness of Lancaster’s night. It would be the last chime until sunrise the next day, an eerie warning for the last time to flee the dangers of the night before they might swallow you whole.

But there were those who had no fear of the night. The high and mighty fled to their estates, sipping their wine in private while surrounded by a battalion of guards. Others, normal civilians, didn’t fear the prospect of monsters or (much more likely) criminals. These people enjoyed a quite rampant nightlife of alcohol in the taverns, or whores and drugs in the back alley.

The ordinary were forced to live in conjunction with the crime. In a city so rotten with it, the choice was either to hide away in your home after dark, or learn to befriend the right people. Three options. Hide, run, or the most dangerous option of them all, fight. With the amount of criminals in Lancaster’s streets, the only people choosing the latter were either dumb or drunk, or both.

A man walked along the clock tower. He trailed behind him a black cloak, blending in and becoming one with the shadows. The metal of the roof tapped loudly beneath his feet as he made no effort to stay quiet. As if to reinforce this fact, he gripped the rope of the giant bell inside of the tower. A mighty pull did the trick nicely, and the tower chimed out once more. A warning. With that, the cloaked man charged across the metal roof, and threw himself from the side of the tower, disappearing into the night.

Someone rang the bell manually? No. Probably just a malfunction. Lord Edwin Orion gave his head a shake. It was far more likely that the old clock tower was finally breaking down, than someone climbing all the way to the top just to ring it manually. Still, hearing the sound put him a little bit on edge, though the two men sitting in front of him didn’t seem to notice it at all. Had he imagined it?

“Is something wrong, my lord? I know this is a lot—“

“It’s alright, Tulsa. Please continue.”

The advisor called Tulsa pushed his small round spectacles up on his nose and cleared his throat. “Right,” he said. “This vigilante appeared last week, my lord. Despite this, the impact on our operations has been significant,” he explained.

Edwin leaned back in his chair and groaned. The study in the Orion estate was where they’d ambushed him, wanting to talk business. Edwin wasn’t savvy with that sort of thing. After all, he’d hired people to take care of it. Here he thought hiring a few managers would be the end of the story. But alas, not everything could be autonomous. The man at the top still had to make decisions sometimes. 

Edwin massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “And?” He asked. “What’s the damage, then?”

“One million crowns so far, my lord.” Tulsa said so with a surprising lack of hesitation. To many, that was a life ending amount of money lost.

Edwin frowned. He crossed his legs and leaned forward into the desk that lay between them. Suddenly, with the mention of money, he was interested. “Come again?” He asked.

Tulsa gulped. “One million crowns,” he repeated quickly.

“One million?” Edwin asked.

Tulsa nodded, biting his lower lip.

“Sweet Mira.” Edwin swiped a hand through his graying hair as he let out that prayer to the goddess. As his facial expression grew darker, the wrinkles in his face grew more apparent. He’d hired other people to do the jobs to take the stress off of himself, and yet no one else was ever good enough. “Mira… What have I done to deserve this punishment, oh goddess.”

“My lord…?” Tulsa tentatively spoke.

“Barney. Go get me something to drink. Something strong.” Edwin beckoned to the man beside Tulsa. Barney was a young boy, and much more aware of his standing then the older and experienced Tulsa. He quickly sensed the anger in the air, and rushed out of the room, not wanting to be a part of whatever came next.

Tulsa first looked past Edwin at the massive window that covered the entire back wall of the study, and then back to where Barney had gone. Towards the grand doors, he passed about ten rows of massive bookshelves that towered into the ceiling. Tulsa considered springing free from his chair and running as fast as he could, but imagined a scene of Edwin or one of the guards throwing him into a shelf and toppling the whole library.

Edwin watched Tulsa’s vibrant imagination in real time. “It’s not your fault,” he promised. “You’re only the advisor.”

Tulsa’s eyes lit up. “You mean it, my lord?!”

“No.” Edwin smiled. “Of course I don’t!” He slammed his hand on the desk. The wood let out a creak of pain like a dying animal, and shook beneath Edwin’s palm. He lifted his hand and shook it quickly, realising that his limbs were far too feeble to do things like that, and hoping that shaking it would make the pain disappear.

Tulsa watched with a blank expression, albeit a slight grin tugging at the corner of his face. “My deepest apologies, Lord Orion.” He placed a hand over his heart.

Edwin recovered. He maintained his standing position, placing one hand on either edge of the desk and leaning forward until his shadow engulfed Tulsa. “I don’t care about your apologies,” he said. “Tell me what you know. Do we at least have something to show for this million dollars spent? Any information about the budget fucker?” Edwin hissed the question like a snake spitting venom.

Tulsa threw a file to the table. He’d been holding it in his arms like a treasure, but didn’t hesitate to give it up to save himself. It had a gigantic red tape across it that read classified. Edwin thought it couldn’t have been tackier or more obvious if they’d tried. “You can keep that. It was passed on from the advisors of house Whiscourt this morning,” Tulsa said.

“Is that so? At least someone’s advisor is doing good work. I’ll have you pass on my thanks to Lord Whiscourt.” Edwin opened the file briefly, saw a large stack of papers, and sighed. “Can’t you just give me a summary?” He asked.

Tulsa let out a nervous laugh. “Well… The summary is that we have no idea, not really.” He scratched the back of his head.

Edwin stared blankly, gears turning in his head. “You mean that whole file has nothing of substance?” He asked.

“Nothing of the vigilante’s identity, my lord. They’re calling him the Magekiller. No name, no description even,” Tulsa explained. “He’s basically a ghost.”

Edwin scratched his chin. “So no one knows what he looked like, or even what he fought with? How the hell is that possible? Are they blind?”

Tulsa laughed and fidgeted beneath the table. He thought that surely, after hearing the next bit, Edwin might just kill him. “It’s not that, sir. It’s that… We don’t think any of the people who saw him survived,” he explained cautiously. “We don’t really even know if it's one person at all.”

Edwin froze. That’s like something out of a horror story! A chill ran up his spine, the Arctic breathing down his back. “What’s his goal?” He asked, voice quivering slightly. That much, surely, could be obtained from simply knowing where the attacks occurred. Is he after us? Am I going to die?

“Calm down, Lord.” Tulsa spoke, his arms outstretched. Edwin immediately broke out of his stupor. Tulsa was his closest advisor, who’d worked with him since the times his late father ran the family.  There was perhaps no one in the world who knew him better. “I assure you, we are not the target,” he promised.

“Is that so…?” Edwin suddenly had a headache. He sat back down in his chair and let out a sigh of relief. Barney is certainly taking a long time to get that drink.

“His target doesn’t seem to be anyone in particular. He fights crime without bias. All of the noble families with such affiliations have been impacted equally,” Tulsa explained. He sat back in his chair with a smug look on his face.

Edwin understood very well what he was trying to say. “So he’s a fool,” he said, a smile breaking across his face. “A fool indeed. And the Dragon Guard?”

“They placed a public bounty today at noon hour. Ten thousand crowns. As well, it seems they’ve personally contacted Lancaster Academy to get their students involved in the issue.” Tulsa shrugged.

“Top brass out of the city?” Edwin asked.

“Seems like it. Or they just don’t see the issue as important at all.”

Concerning. Edwin decided he couldn’t wait for a drink, and opened a drawer on his desk. Inside was a six-shooter pistol and a pack of cigars which he pulled out. This particular brand was rolled down in the sands of Michaka. It was his father’s favourite. “Care for one?” He asked Tulsa.

“I’m trying to quit.” Tulsa put out a hand to block it.

“Come on now. Don’t give me that bullshit.” Edwin held a cigar out to the man with a scoff. Eventually, Tulsa folded and took it into his hands. Edwin produced a tiny flame on the tip of his finger and lit both of them once they’d placed them between their lips.

“Chantless magic?” Tulsa asked. “Since when could you do that?” He puffed and set the cigar into the tray which Edwin had on his desk, still laced with the ashes of past cigars.

“It’s only a small flame,” Edwin explained. “The weaker the spell, the easier it is to do without a chant, don’t you know?”

“Of course I don’t know. I can hardly do magic at all.” Tulsa gave a shameful laugh and patted his large belly as he did.

“That’s right,” Edwin chuckled. “Even the new kid is better than you.”

Tulsa ignored the comment. “So, my lord. What will we do about the issue, after all?” He asked. It seemed the advisor wasn’t interested in all too much small talk. He never was.

If one of the guys from the other five noble houses don’t nab him, the Dragon Guard definitely will. Edwin puffed his own cigar for the first time and set it down. “There’s no need to do anything at all. Heighten security around the estate until it's dealt with. If Brooks and Gladstone are elsewhere, recall them.”

Tulsa nodded. “Shall I attempt to recall lord Gladius to the capital? The Magekiller would surely be no match—“

Edwin raised a brow. “That boy? No. He won’t bother showing his face until I’m dead.” Imagining such a scenario, Edwin grinned. “I’m sure at that time you’ll find that he’ll do right by me, even if he swears he will not.”

“Very well, my lord.” Tulsa pressed a hand to his heart and nodded, it will be done.

“Now, Tulsa, will that be all?” Edwin asked.

“I believe so, my lord.”

“You’re dismissed. But do tell Barney to hurry up with that drink.”

Tulsa stood up from his chair and bowed, spinning on his heel to cross the study, his black blazer flowing behind him. The man walked slower than he used to, but it was only natural. Edwin himself was fifty, which meant that Tulsa must’ve been going on seventy, though he did not know the man’s exact age. All things considered, it was a miracle he could even move at all after so many years of gruelling work for a crime regime.

Edwin took a desperate puff of the cigar and set it down again. Never in all of his years as the head of the Orion family did someone have the balls to fight against them. Not even the Dragon Guard did that, and they were the supposed keepers of the law. Whoever this vigilante was, he should’ve known better, and he would die a sad and worthless death. That was what Edwin told himself as he took another shaky puff from the cigar.

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He turned his attention back to the documents on his desk. They were various formalities required of a noble, things like signing off on different business related things or writing responses to letters. One more puff of the cigar, and he took his quill out of the inkwell to set off working. “They’ll figure it out, I’m sure.” He mumbled words of reassurance to himself as he worked.

At the front gate of the estate, a light powered by magic was struggling to stay on, the reservoir nearly running dry while none of the guards could be bothered to exhaust themselves refilling it. Two men sat in fold-out chairs by the hulking metal gate, one of them casting magic to light each of their cigarettes. They pressed the tips together and laughed. No alcohol allowed on duty, so this was the best they could do to cheers each other.

“So what’s all of this about a vigilante, anyway? I hear the nobility is in an uproar.” One of the men took a puff from his cigarette and yawned.

“Who knows,” the other replied. “Nobility is bound to be freaking out. So many years of committing crimes with no one to police it, I’d be terrified too.” He shrugged.

They laughed and smoked their cigarettes, idly chatting in the growing darkness. The line of sight was clear, so long as the light held. Only an hour remained until the next shift, so they’d decided to let the next poor sod deal with it. That was until the moment the light finally decided to falter. It was only for a moment, two seconds of complete darkness. They froze like statues, suddenly unable to see even each other, but breathed sighs of relief when it turned back on a moment later.

A short lived celebration. The guard looked up and saw him standing behind his friend. The phantom in the night. Sure, it could’ve been something else entirely, but the appearance led the guard to only one conclusion. Clad in black, a cloak concealing a host of weapons. The bulky man wore a mask, which was essentially a crude and rounded metal plate with holes for the eyes. The Magekiller in the flesh.

He opened his mouth to scream, but even that wasn’t quick enough.

The gardens of the estate were large and winding, with bushes arranged almost as if they were a gigantic maze. Of course, seeing how the bushes were hardly ever to a person’s waist level, it was never confusing enough to trap you inside. They were, however, tall enough to hide behind if you crouched low, and to hide the bodies of guards from sight as they dropped one by one.

By the time the two guards at the front door realised something was happening, the battalion patrolling the gardens was gone. They jolted awake at the sight of the shadow down the main pathway leading to the gate, fifty metres or so away. The Magekiller was splattered with dark blood. The tip of a bloodied sword poked out of the bottom of his cloak. One of the men stood up and drew his sword, while the other ran to the door to scream for backup.

Something flew through the darkness. A quick flash of metal and a whistle. The guard who’d gone for the door gave a grunt that was accompanied by the sound of ripping flesh. The remaining guard turned his head slowly. A sword. It was thrown with the precision of a spear, piercing straight through the man’s neck and pinning him to the door. His eyes went slack with the rest of his body, which slumped into the doorway, dead.

“Y-you!”  The guard started. He turned to greet the opponent who was already on top of him. A gloved fist slammed him across the face and dislocated his jaw. The next strike was a jabbing strike to the throat that crushed his windpipe, accompanied with a knee to the chest that subsequently knocked any air that might’ve remained straight out of his lungs. He collapsed to the ground, at which point the shadow soccer-kicked him on the jaw for good measure.

On the inside of the estate, all hell broke loose once a guard near the doorway realised what was happening outside. When the Magekiller entered the building, he was greeted by a lavish entryway filled with twenty guards. He wiped his bloodied sword along his sleeve and twirled it around, taking up a combat stance. A few of the guards began to laugh, brandishing their spears, swords and guns. In their minds, there was no possible way they might lose such a battle.

“Charge!” One of the guards, presumably the leader, called out.

Further into the mansion, Edwin Orion finished the last puff of his cigar and signed a letter he’d just finished writing. Getting late, he thought. Humming to himself, he put all of the documents away in a drawer and clambered to his feet. He wiped his groggy eyes, thinking about that drink which Barney had still yet to return with. He reached out for the handle of the study’s door, but it was already opening on its own.

Tulsa fell through the doorway. His face could be seen for a split-second as he fell, terrified and yet utterly lifeless and sunken. His hand was outstretched towards Edwin as if pleading to him, or warning him. The body hit the floor, and it was then that Edwin saw it, the bloody hole in his back. Tulsa was dead, but had attempted to use his final moments to warn Edwin.

The warning was of no use. Edwin froze and damn near pissed himself at the sight. In all of his years, despite ordering the deaths of many, he’d never seen a dead body before. Forced to rationalise reality at last, his whole body threatened to shut down. The old man fell backward into the nearest bookshelf and let out a visceral scream. A chain reaction began. The shelf was lifted from the floor only a little bit, but the weight of it carried through. One shelf hit another, and all ten rows of shelves eventually tumbled down on each other with massive thumps that no doubt rocked the whole estate.

It was only then that the masked man showed himself, stepping on Tulsa’s back and using it to wipe the blood from his boots. He sheathed his blade and cracked his knuckles, grabbing Edwin by the lapel and throwing him to the floor, rattling his old bones violently against each other. It was at that point that his bodily fluids finally came free, leaking out onto the lavish red carpet. The old man’s face was frozen in an unbelievable terror, his jaw extended to the maximum, his throat gone hoarse and unable to even let out a scream.

“G-guards!” He cried.

“Dead,” the cloaked man replied. “How do you figure I got in?” He asked. A rhetorical question, but one that only served to add to Edwin’s terror.

“You–” Edwin tried desperately to regain his composure and dignity, as if he hadn’t just pissed his pants. You’re the head of the Orion house. Face him! “What do you want?” He demanded.

“Answers, and your life. The order is up to you. I’m sure I’ll find my answers somewhere in this place either way.” He shrugged with the reply. Edwin knew for sure that he wasn’t bluffing, watching bug-eyed as the phantom slowly advanced, cracking his knuckles. His cloak swept across the rug, his shadow covering Edwin entirely and shrouding him in darkness.

“Answers.” Edwin gulped. “Fine. Answers. I’ll give them. Whatever you want.” If it increases my chances, or buys time until Brooks and Gladstone arrive, I’ll tell him whatever he wants to hear! Edwin nodded frantically to impart his sincerity on the masked man.

Mask just sighed. “You’re thinking about those two A-ranked lackeys you’ve got to do the dirty work. Debt collecting. Killing people you don’t like. So on, so forth?” He asked. Watching Edwin’s face grow gradually more terrified and essentially reveal the answer, he laughed to no one but himself. “Did you think a guy like me wouldn’t do his research? But yes, you’re largely correct in the idea that I’d have trouble dealing with those two at the same time. I’ll leave it to your imagination, but let me just say that they’re definitely not coming to help you.”

Edwin gritted his teeth and spat, just barely missing Mask’s feet. “Why would I tell you anything if you’re just going to kill me anyways!” He howled. “You’re not good at threatening people!”

“I feel that you’re misunderstanding your position here,” Mask said. He walked to the study door and locked it after kicking Tulsa’s corpse out of the way. He surveyed the windows, sighed, and then removed his mask, lazily tossing it to the floor. “Apologies. Gets stuffy in that thing,” he said, his voice suddenly clear, and much less deep.

Edwin wasn’t sure if the fact that he didn’t recognize the man made him angrier or relieved. “Why–” He started.

Mask put his hand up to silence him. The answer was obvious. You aren’t going to live, so it doesn’t matter. “Sure,” he said. “Objectively speaking I don’t have any actual reason to get you to tell me anything. But I know you, Edwin Orion. I know nobility. Given the chance to fuck each other over, they will, basically nine times out of ten. Am I right?”

Edwin maintained his position on the floor, and nodded sadly. “Yes,” he said.

“Get up, you look even sadder than usual,” Mask demanded.

Than usual…? Edwin stood up on shaky legs. “Shall we sit?” He asked. Not waiting for an answer, he spun on his heel and walked towards his desk. He’d seen the Magekiller’s face, so now all he needed to do was escape… Or fight. The pistol in the drawer of his desk called his name. He regarded the closed drawer as he sat down, considering the option intensely. The Mask raised a brow, seemingly noticing that something was off, but taking the seat opposite Edwin regardless.

“As I was saying, that combined with the fact that I’m sure you’d prefer your death be painless rather than long and excruciating, naturally,” Mask explained.

Edwin’s hand rested on the drawer’s handle, just out of sight. “Naturally,” he replied with a frown.

“Great.” Mask clapped his hands together, smiling a hearty smile that Edwin found quite unnerving. “So tell me, then. Each of the six high houses essentially controls a sixth of the city. I must admit I was quite shocked to find that you’re operating these criminal dens in your territory, let alone leaving pretty obvious documentation linking you to it on the scene. Am I to assume that the other five houses get up to the same kind of behaviour?” He asked. While waiting for an answer, he pulled a paper out of his pocket and rolled it out over the desk, a map of Lancaster.

“It's impossible to know,” Edwin shrugged.

“That’s just not true, and you know it,” Mask spoke cheerily. He seemed happier than ever to have the nobleman backed into a corner, gesturing to the map he’d just rolled out. It was a fairly accurate map of the city, albeit maybe a few years old. Mask had penned over the different districts of the city with labels of the noble houses controlling them, and had seemingly circled the places he’d located criminal hideouts. Five of them within House Orion’s territory had an ‘x’ inside of the circle, marking the ones he’d already hit, which seemed about consistent with the amount of money lost. He placed a finger on one of the marked hideouts closest to the border of Orion territory, and waited for Edwin to say something.

Edwin cursed himself in his head. He knew exactly what Mask wanted him to say, but decided to play dumb. “What?” He asked.

“This hideout is, or was, run by a gang called the Clubs, but you knew that. There I found documents detailing transactions between them and a gang called the Sparrows in the territory of house Adler. In other words…?” Mask stared at Edwin, eagerly awaiting an answer like a curious child. “In other words…?” He repeated.

“We have something of a strategic alliance with house Adler,” Edwin admitted with a roll of his eyes.

“Great. How about the rest of the houses? Anyone you’d like to throw under the bus?” He asked.

“I’m impartial to the rest of the houses. Our gangs sometimes get in scuffles, but we don’t take it out on each other personally,” Edwin explained.

“Our gangs?” Mask questioned.

Edwin bit his tongue. He’d straddled the line of wanting to remain an honourable man and wanting to put his enemies in the same hole as him. How do I want this world to be when I’m gone? He thought. No. I can’t let those bastards win. I’ll tell him everything. “Our gangs,” Edwin nodded. “They all do it, all of them. Nobles aren’t officially allowed to have a standing army or exercise control over the districts. Gangs are an illegal but poorly enforced way to achieve the same effect.” He spilled his guts all over the table.

Mask raised both of his eyebrows in surprise and nodded approvingly. “Gets competitive up here at the top. I suppose I wouldn’t want to leave my turf unprotected either.” He shrugged. “And the map? Can you use that pen you’ve got there and circle any strongholds you know of?”

Mask kept his eyes fixed on the map as Edwin drew out the pen. The truth was that he didn’t know anything at all about any of it. He’d never been on the field himself, and never even issued orders himself with rare exceptions. He couldn’t mark any strongholds at all, not even in his own territory, but he could certainly pretend to. “Sure,” he said, quickly circling a few different locations.

“Nice!” Mask picked up the map and held it in front of his face, marvelling at the different locations. “House Whiscourt really has one right there…?” He questioned.

This is my chance! Edwin opened the drawer, drew the pistol out, and pushed the hammer down. His hand was shaking as he pointed the heavy silver instrument at the man in front of him, his face obscured by the map. He placed the barrel right in the middle of the map, took a quick breath, and fired. The bullet instantly tore a tiny hole in the paper, sound ricocheting through the room and rocking Edwin’s ears. He’d never fired a gun before, so the recoil bucked it back enough to nearly knock his own teeth out.

Had he done it? The map still obscured his enemy. His ears were ringing enough to render any sound inaudible. His hand shook, but he braced it, quickly firing off the remaining five bullets before dropping it to the desk. The Mask didn’t move an inch, six holes in the paper he’d been intently staring at. It’s over. I’ve riddled him with holes. I survived!

“So that’s why you were looking at that drawer. I get it now,” Mask said.

“Huh?” Edwin shot out of his chair and retreated a few steps.

Mask folded his map and tucked it inside of his coat pocket, smiling. A hexagonal blue grid was in front of his face, slightly distorting the smiling face behind it. It vanished, and six bullets clattered to the floor. With that, he leaned into the desk and placed his head in his hand. “Ever heard the phrase, ‘Don’t bring a gun to a wizard fight’?” He asked. “Barrier spells made firearms obsolete about half a century ago, yet they still make them even fancier. Six shots? Seriously? If the first one doesn’t dent it, I doubt the other five will!” He threw his hands in the air with frustration for the firearms industry.

“I’m sorry–” Edwin pleaded. “I’m sorry! Please!” He put his hands above his head to surrender.

“I’ll tell you, Edwin Orion. Guns do have a use in this modern world. They’re a tool for the powerless, against the powerless,” Mask explained. From underneath his cloak, he produced his own pistol, playfully spinning the cylinder. “Or, a tool for the powerful against the powerless.” An evil smile spread across his face. “It's perfect for you!” He exclaimed.

“Please!” Edwin cried again. In his final moments, Edwin didn’t think about anything in particular. His family, any of the people who died for him, or his son. He thought only one thing, I don’t want to die.

Mask raised his pistol and stuck his tongue out, closing one eye to meticulously aim his shot. The old man in his vision turned tail and ran as fast as he could, seemingly intent on leaping out of the massive windows. To some shooters, it would mean they’d miss the shot entirely should they need to hit a moving target; to Mask it meant that Edwin got shot in the back of the head instead of the front. He died instantly and as painlessly as possible. An unworthy end for a shitbag nobleman, but Mask was a man of his word.

He spun the pistol and blew the smoke off of the barrel, laughing to himself, then he picked up his mask and disappeared before anyone could arrive at the scene, vanishing into the night like a phantom.