Zade was definitely not used to heights. Especially not such extreme heights as the trees of Fairland reached to. Luckily, past a certain point, once they got away from the battlefield, there were no more convenient trees to walk to, so he and Monan had to get down to the grassy ground. Well, getting down was also uncomfortable, to say the least, but it was done.
Although relieved to be on proper, stable ground again, Zade felt awfully dizzy. And he didn’t think that it had to do anything with his location.
“We still need to remain cautious,” Monan told him. “I did study this area’s geography so that we wouldn’t stumble on any enemy settlements… but this is wild land. There are none of those strange things you call animals like in your world, but it doesn’t mean that it’s not dangerous. We can’t tell what’s going to happen at any given moment.”
Zade ignored that entire diatribe. “I’m thirsty,” he mumbled, licking his dry lips.
“…Right. We couldn’t bring a lot of water with us, after all. Let’s look for a river.”
As a matter of fact, rather than water, he actually referred to the concoction that Monan always supplied him. However, he knew that stuff was foul and that it ruined his mind. He felt disgusted with himself and said nothing further.
As they walked through the silent woods, for a moment Zade felt as if he wasn’t there—as if he was taking a pleasant walk with Alima.
Right, one time they snuck out of the town they were performing at and went into a forest just like this. She marveled at the beauty of nature while he admired her beauty. They felt the pleasant wind, then lay down on the soft grass and kissed…
This dream cracked and shattered and he was brought back to reality. He didn’t have Alima, only Monan. He couldn’t lose his grip on those facts.
Fresh water was found within a few minutes of careful wandering. There was a small river cutting through the forest. Without wasting a moment and ignoring Monan’s yelp, Zade came and stuck his head inside. He felt his mind clear ever so slightly as he drank and let the cold wash his face.
He could just stay like that… let the water wash everything away, all of his worries, all of his life. However, this wasn’t enough to extinguish the flame still smoldering deep inside him, so he finally reemerged, breathing hard and sputtering.
With his wild beard and hair dripping all over, he turned to look at his meek companion. “What now?” he asked gruffly.
Monan thought for a moment. “From here, I suppose we might as well try and reach Sarashin. Um, that’s the nearest Makin settlement.”
“And then what?”
“What…?”
Zade raged, “What are we going to do—”
“Shh…!” Monan hurriedly silenced him, glancing around. There were absolutely no people around them, so what were they playing at, anyway? “I-I… ah!”
With vigor that surprised even himself, Zade grabbed their shoulders, piercing them with a fearsome gaze and a snarl. “You really don’t have any fucking plan, do you?”
Monan shuddered in his hands. When Monan looked at him like that they almost felt like Alima, which made him flinch. Especially with that pretty flower in her hair… he grunted, let go of Monan and held his head.
“Are you alright…?” Alima whispered softly. No, it was Monan; he started getting mixed up again. He had to stop doing so! “We… we should find a place we can sleep. It will get dark soon.”
As if their very words caused it to be so, Zade noticed that the surroundings were indeed growing darker and darker. It felt as if the sky was blue just a moment ago, but now orange light illuminated their patch of the forest.
“Sleep…” mumbled Zade weakly, still grimacing. Despite raging just now—or perhaps because of it—he felt awfully tired, all of a sudden. Now that he realized this important fact, he nearly fell down on the spot. He cursed Monan for catching him, but also felt relieved.
The following minutes were somewhat blurry for him. Monan helped him walk and they sat down covered by a few bushes. Although he wanted to lie down, Monan insisted that they had to eat a meal first. He missed juicy meat, but all they had there were stupid herbs, nuts and mushrooms. He couldn’t even remember what he ate, but he did get something into his stomach. The ground was hard and cold and the bush was itchy, but he didn’t care anymore. His life was harder and colder and itchier, anyway.
He really was tired if he was having such silly thoughts.
Monan lay down near to him, huddling for warmth. If he hadn’t felt so fatigued, perhaps he would have pushed them away angrily. Instead, he felt his mind rapidly sinking into the darkness. Love and hate mingled within him, no longer dulled by the drugs—
That night was full of horrible nightmares, as well as a voice that whispered deep into his mind and soul.
“It has been a while since we last met like this,” said Levia, wearing her usual sweet and elegant smile.
The castle’s meeting room, adorned with red carpets and a crystal chandelier, was much too grand-looking for its usual purpose. Though, even her father had used it for meeting with his closest confidants, so perhaps she learned it from him. Ever since Levia scouted Salom and made Stard the General they’d been through small conferences like this countless of times, for both secretive and less secretive purposes.
They were simply the two people she could count on the most, other than Swen. Salom’s rational and calculated personality supported her plans, while the loyal and pragmatic Stard supported her powers. Together they should be unbeatable.
“I am glad to be of service to you, Your Majesty,” said Stard, as formal as always in his meticulous uniform and shaved face. “I just hope nothing happens during my absence from the frontlines.”
“No new beasts sighted, right?” asked Salom.
Stard shook his head. “Not since that first attack, no. We still suspect some connection to Sacrona, but nothing is conclusive as of yet. Regardless, their forces still seem to be moving around the borders. I would like to conclude our business here as soon as possible, lest they take advantage of my absence.”
“My, General Molton, some other people would have found that remark awfully conceited, as if you do not trust your army to function without you.”
“Do not jest, Your Majesty. You know what I meant,” the man said stiffly.
“Moving on,” said Salom, impatience clear in both voice and mind, “I will now explain to you the details of my plan.”
Poison and then a direct assault, incidents currently left unsolved—these attempts were obviously no small issue, given their timing. Investigation regarding the poison seemed to reach a dead end for now, as there was simply too much information to process, but the nightly assailant had left some more clues that could possibly lead to them, given enough time.
But there was no time to waste when war could start any day now. The faster they solved this issue and found the culprit or culprits, the better. Another problem was that they could never know when the next strike occurred—a problem which Salom thought to rectify.
Right, there was a way to be prepared for another attack: by inducing it themselves.
Salom went on to voice the details of his scheme.
“Quite convoluted, but impressive nonetheless, Salom,” said Stard. “Yes, something like that could definitely work on the battlefield, even if not to this extent. This is not my specialty, though. Since this is not war but an assassination… hmm, they might indeed take the bait. One of them, anyway.”
“Ah, so that was why you had asked me to arrange that speech,” noted Levia. “Well, I did figure you were thinking something of the sort.”
Although Salom had only just now conveyed to them the specifics of his plan, he’d already made sure Levia lay the groundwork for that. He was even the one who’d suggested bringing Qumisson into this public speech.
Levia could feel that Salom was not quite confident in his plan, but Stard was accepting of it. As he often did with anything connected to Salom. She herself wasn’t sure, but thought she should at least give it a try. The worst-case scenario was her losing her life, but that was already the case even if they did nothing.
“Then we will go on ahead with that,” she announced. “Lord Qumisson is already on board, as well.”
“I assume you confirmed nothing about the matter from his mind?” Salom asked.
“No. There were the usual signs of surprise, worry and anxiety, but those could be attributed to the general situation just as well. Whether or not he is involved, we will never be able to catch him that way.”
“Whether or not he is involved, if we manage to stop the assassin, the ones behind them will not be able to act so freely anymore. And that’s the important part,” said Salom.
The Queen leaked a small giggle. “I look forward to how your little plan bears fruit, Saburn,” she said, feeling his slight irritation at that. Would he ever get used to her silly teasing?
Levia would accept death, if it came. She was prepared to die on that day, a decade ago, but lived—on borrowed time, she always felt. There was no longing for life. On the other hand, there was no longing for death either.
She was going to do whatever she could and let reality decide the rest.
“They even sent a damn soldier after me! Have they no shame?”
With each passing moment of sitting in the nearly-deserted restaurant, Linza regretted her decision more and more. Even getting suspected and outed as the assassin would be preferrable to listening to this stupid man drone on and on.
From what she managed to understand he was apparently some Lord’s son, and he clearly let that fact rise to his head. A head that was full of nothing but frivolous and possibly lecherous thoughts, based on his stories. Despite supposedly being on a “date” he still spoke to her about his attempts with other women.
Not that Linza cared. Her life as an assassin left her no time nor desire for all this romance stuff. Well, not that the word “romance” had anything to do with this man.
Linza didn’t know too much about the politics of Rumdon, but they sounded even more irksome than those of Lastia for sure. Callun kept talking about how he was trying to woo some girl to get her secrets—why would he tell it to Linza of all people, she had no clue—and that his father always disparaged him from trying anything despite the fact that he only had the kingdom’s wellbeing in mind. She doubted he even thought about anything like that, and again, why was he telling her that?
The sly bastard also barely touched his drink. She wasn’t sure if he really was as much of an idiot as he looked and acted and allowed it to happen by coincidence, or if he really took the phrasing “just one drink” to its logical conclusion to not let this stupid date end.
“Well, I suppose they might be suspecting me,” he mumbled off-handedly. “What with all the assassination attempts.”
“…Assassination?” Linza asked innocently. She actually didn’t quite know how much information reached the populace, so this could be a good opportunity.
“Yeah. There’s been some poisoning attempt or something,” he said, briefly checking his glass as if it might contain poison and then smiling and taking a small sip. “After killing that old Lord they also tried poisoning the Queen. That takes some guts.”
“Hmm,” she said noncommittally. So he didn’t know about the attack, then? “Never thought the Capital would be dangerous.”
“You said you were from Rastun, right?” It was a country close to the border with Lastia, and so it became her cover story just in case anyone noticed her Lastian features and accent, since there were many immigrants there. “Never been there, but if everyone is cute as you are…”
Linza groaned internally. Currently she wanted nothing more than to gut this annoying man even more than she wanted to kill the Queen.
Surely she could find someone who’d pay her to do that? An acquaintance or a woman pestered by him who’d love nothing more than to see him dead? Luckily, it seemed that their awkward date was about to end, as there was a hushed call from nearby.
“Y-Young Master…?” Linza saw a small, nervous-looking man enter the establishment. Upon recognizing Callun he immediately came over.
“Moger? What is it? I’m busy,” the young man muttered angrily.
“You told me to let you know immediately if anything happened,” the man spoke in a rush, “apparently the Queen is about to arrange some sort of public address and your father—”
“Stop,” Callun said, glancing at Linza for a moment. “This is not the right place, Moger.”
“But you told me to—”
“Shut up!” shouted Callun, drawing the attention of the other customers around. He then clicked his tongue, took a final, long sip from his drink and rose from his seat. “Sorry, babe. Some urgent business came up so I have to leave. Can’t promise I’ll find you again, but you’re free to come to me, if you wish to. I currently reside in the Marsten mansion up the third street. I’ll gladly take you for a tour.”
Linza paid no particular attention to his stupid rambling, but instead her mind focused on the information provided to her. A public speech by the Queen? Why, how and when? That was very, very interesting. For a moment she even thought of trying to butter up to Callun to hear more about it, but decided against it, mainly because she felt disgusted with herself at the mere thought. He almost immediately left the place with his servant anyway.
And then she realized something important with a soft gasp.
“…You didn’t pay, you bastard,” she mumbled softly but angrily.
“Where are they?” demanded an icy-cold voice whose bearer grasped a thin sword, its tip nearly piercing the neck of a trembling person on the ground.
“I-I… don’t k-know, really…”
“You have to know something. Your Ruler’s plans about the faerie. Some escape routes. The location of your special labs. Anything.” The blade pressed only very slightly against the skin, which made the one being threatened freeze in place.
“I really…” they mumbled, perhaps afraid to move their head too much, lest their throat would be pierced, “I… already told you everything, so…”
The torturer’s cold eyes flared up and they raised their sword, following which they simply launched a swift kick to knock out the other person immediately. And then clicked their tongue.
“Another dead end,” said Aisbroom, sheathing their sword as they looked ruefully down at the unconscious Stroba soldier.
“Why does no one here know anything?” asked the gruff-looking Ariboh, who’d been standing nearby with folded arms while watching the whole process dispassionately.
Aisbroom sighed. “Most of the higher-ups probably either ran away or died already. Some even took their own lives when we captured them. I wouldn’t even be surprised if people here drank potions that made them forget crucial details, as well.”
The attack on Marmony ended ambivalently. Although in a broad sense it was a crushing victory, none of their real goals had been fulfilled. Even so, there was no denying this great achievement. In fact, it almost looked like it was too easy—then why did they spend all these years in fighting fruitlessly and intermittently?
Aisbroom knew the answer. Acrus, their cunning previous Ruler, was to blame for this needless bloodshed. They had aimed to keep their rule through constant conflict. Perhaps this in turn also led to Aisbroom’s own overestimation of the Stroba.
Or were they still planning something after all? Was this not the end yet? Well, Aisbroom remained there to stop them, in that case. For that, they needed to find a certain individual.
“We’ve pretty much checked any nook and cranny already… so where’s their bastard of a Ruler?” complained Ariboh.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Moanin Bromma, Ruler of the Stroba. Although Aisbroom never met them, they already knew plenty through Kalden’s spies. Moanin was an imposing figure despite their roundness, ruthless and calculating. They and Acrus were pretty much branches of the same tree, and both of them Ruled for similar periods.
In fact, Aisbroom heard some rumors that the two were actually distant relatives, though they seriously doubted it; there were too few births in the last centuries for that to really be the case.
However, they certainly felt just as disgusted at them. Moanin was said to rule with an iron fist, conduct horrible experiments and encourage their populace to become martyrs regardless of any military advantage.
Those were only few of the reasons Aisbroom wished to capture the Stroban Ruler. Even if they managed to subjugate Marmony, as long as they couldn’t get their hands on Moanin, that victory felt hollow. Especially when added to the fact they were unable to find the captive faerie as well.
After managing to get rid of the hated Acrus, Aisbroom felt that it was their duty, no, their pleasure to depose the Stroban tyrant as well. However, they already had the feeling that this was not going to happen. Not like they were going to give up so easily.
After interrogating a few more captives and getting absolutely no information, Aisbroom and Ariboh tired and decided to give up for the day. They’d probably need to either use their special herbs to sleep or else another kind of herb to stay awake; Aisbroom hadn’t decided yet.
“Have they left yet?” Aisbroom asked as they exited the small underground room.
“They? Ah, you mean the faeries,” said Ariboh, giving a nod. “Yes, a coupla hours back. They seemed pretty depressed, but I suppose they’d eventually come to terms with it. Though, this bitter feeling after a battle never fades away, eh?”
It really didn’t. Aisbroom felt that these were unique circumstances in this case, though. “Both of them are fine warriors. They will be fine.”
The journey from here back to Kalden should go smoothly, especially now that they could roam relatively freely without much fear of an attack. Well, the situation with the Makin was currently unclear, but they would probably not act rashly upon hearing their new allies had been crushed and conquered like this.
Aisbroom breathed through their nose. No, they definitely couldn’t rest yet, not while they were still like this.
“Now,” they said, “I thought of heading back, but… care to join me for another stab at the tunnels? I’m sure we can find at least another hiding place, and we still haven’t found their truth serum stores, after all. That stuff’s too useful to pass on.”
“Bring it on,” said Ariboh, smiling.
A new day dawned out in the wilds. The moment channeled sunlight came filtering through the treetops, Monan woke with a dull, pounding headache. It was their first time to sleep like this out in the open. Their body ached all over and they missed their fluffy bed back home terribly. Their hair was a mess, though the flower they put in it somehow managed to stay on.
No, I can’t be spoiled, they told themselves. Even if I might never get a comfortable life again, I made this choice. I knew that.
Monan came to rouse Zade and tell him that it was time to keep going. He looked horrible; his face was pale and he had large bags under his eyes, so he probably slept very badly just like them. He was jumpy and would often mumble something under his breath, his eyes darting all over.
Seeing him like this made Monan’s heart ache. Not only because it was (mostly) their fault he was like this, but also due to the fact that they couldn’t help him at all. They took no potions with them, a fact which now struck Monan as odd and stupidly impulsive. What had Moanin expected to happen?
Then again, they would have run out at some point regardless.
Also, Monan could obviously not support Zade even emotionally. He radiated only wrath and disgust at them. For good reasons, obviously, which made it all the more painful.
Even so they were determined to let Zade survive. They could simply run away and start a new life. Perhaps he’d let Monan help him for a while before he decided to throw them away or kill them.
If they managed to cross the Forestless Border—the single emptiest stretch of land of the continent—then Kalden, Stroba or the Makin would probably not follow them. Monan knew that many Stroba chose to escape their despairing situation through that route. Some even crossed the sea, but that would be much more difficult. Yes, that was a nice plan. Monan decided to suggest it to Zade.
“Is that it?” he grumbled in response after hearing that.
“W-what?”
“Is that really all you could think of?” he spat. “Simply running away to another unknown? Why not send me back home?”
“B-but I can’t…”
“I know you can’t!” he shouted at Monan, just like always. “That’s why I hate you! That’s why I want to die! You all should die!”
Calming him down took quite a bit of effort, especially when Monan heard some sounds from not too far away. The pair hurriedly hid inside a nearby hollow trunk of a tree and waited for an hour. Luckily it seemed that they weren’t found, or else it was just the rustle of the wind, and they continued on their way.
“I’m… sorry,” Zade suddenly mumbled after another long walk.
“What…?” Monan exhaled in surprise. They were completely taken aback by this abrupt apology. Usually, his mood swings only went the other way. Now he looked to be nearly crying.
“I need to go,” he said absentmindedly, turning to the left.
Monan stood there only for a second, blinking, before they took after Zade and grabbed his arm. “W-where are you going?”
He turned to them, his expression somewhat vacant. “Don’t you hear it?” Monan was becoming more and more confused at his behavior. “You really don’t?” They stood there shocked before Zade shook off their hand and continued walking ahead.
“No, stop!” Monan called out, pacing quickly to him yet again.
He was definitely acting strange. They realized this even more when he turned to them again, extended his hand and a gust of wind pushed them back. Monan fell to the ground with a yelp.
They had obviously already known that Zade was capable of using magic, but this was one of the few times they saw it in action. And he’d done it so decisively and easily, too. Was this part of the faerie potential they heard so much about?
“Wait, Zade!” Monan hurriedly rose up, although hesitated to approach too closely again. “W-what are you hearing?”
“A voice,” Zade said calmly. “It tells me that all our problems can be solved…” He turned around to Monan, wearing a cold smile but with tears streaming down his cheeks, “will you not come with me?”
That was odd. Was he starting to hallucinate? Monan hadn’t heard about this side effect, although it was true that he was probably currently on withdrawal from his usual concoction. There was also another option that rose to her mind.
“Is it their new Ruler?” Monan asked. “Queen Niu Kalden? I heard that they possess this sort of power…”
Hearing that, Zade’s face momentarily distorted in rage. “You think I would go to those traitors?” And without adding anything else, he again turned around and broke into a run and vanished into the lines of trees, making Monan gasp again.
“Oh, rotten mushroom—” they briefly cussed and began following him.
“Be brief with it,” said Qumisson, not even bothering to mask the venom in his voice, “I really do not have the time for this right now.”
The place was the dining table of the Marsten Mansion. Gathered there were about ten people including Qumisson and Lord Marsten himself. According to the latter, the nobles had urged him to arrange this impromptu meeting to “discuss recent developments”, the impudent fools.
“Because you are busy working for her Majesty?” suggested Lady Sacrum, putting as much venom into her voice as possible and causing her husband sitting next to her to emit a voice that was half a gasp and half a squeak.
Qumisson glared at the woman. When she was young, she’d attempted to marry his cousin to inherit the crown, but was (rightfully) rejected. Instead, she joined with the pathetic excuse of a Lord that gave her neither children nor any safety.
“I am working with Her Majesty because she asked me to,” he explained calmly.
That damn woman, he thought to himself inwardly. Not only had she given him a strict and unfair deadline, but she also wanted him to oversee the entire process—which meant that his time on his meeting was completely wasted. Levia had cited the fact that he was much more used than her to organizing such events like he often did in his territory of Sankow.
That was undoubtedly true, and he had indeed supervised such constructions in the past as well, wishing to oversee the hard work of his own people. But this was different. This was working for the one he hated the most of all.
And yet he simply had to do it.
“A speech in the King’s Plaza?” offered Lord Amain, who was the youngest present there, aged thirty. “A bit old-fashioned, is it not?”
How ironic of him to say that, considering his family belonged to the traditionalists, who were much more religious and conservative than most modern nobles. He even wore a formal suit that went out of fashion a decade ago.
“She believes the public will receive it better like that,” Qumisson said. Why did it feel like he was defending that vile woman’s decision?
The King’s Plaza—so-called because it was the stage for the coronation of King Azamel-E at the time—was since then used for many public occasions. Consequently, Queen Levia-O also decided to hold her grand public address over here despite the difficult logistics involved. Which were all left to Qumisson.
May she be thrown to the underside of the world, he cursed in his mind again. Were that I could install some sort of trap.
He had entertained this thought; she left the construction work entirely up to him, so he could bring his own people and concoct something in secret. Including some sort of mechanism that could cause an unfortunately “accidental” death would be difficult, but not impossible. The huge crowd that would gather could also perfectly mask any hostility for her to feel.
Then again, she probably wanted him to do something like that. He could almost feel her glancing over his shoulders, waiting for him to slip up and present her undeniable proof that he was plotting against her… so he couldn’t let that happen.
Just like those workers were carefully and methodically building that stage, so was he building the kingdom’s future. Although his method was much messier, he couldn’t allow himself to indulge and fall into her trap.
“And what exactly is she planning, anyway?” now asked Lady Farrenback. She was always deathly thin and gaunt and looked like she would fall over at any moment; Qumisson had heard talks of her using illicit substances, but as nothing could be gained from blackmailing her, he never inquired any further into it.
Qumisson put a finger to his temple. “Have you brought me here only to assail me with all those needless questions?” he spat.
“No, because we want to know what you are planning against her.” This came from the unexpected source of Lord Marsten himself. “We are all certain you are cooking something. You’ve been acting fishy lately.”
“F-fishy indeed…” mumbled Lord Sacrum for some reason.
The fools! What were they even trying to do? Did they all want to cooperate and get a slice of the pie? Or were they somehow being instigated to do this by one of Levia’s spies to make him admit something?
“This is absurd,” he said, keeping cool still. “Are you suggesting that I am planning something untoward? Something that could count as treason?”
Several there smiled at the comment and exchanged glances. While he knew that all of them were against Levia’s rule, he knew just as well that many of them would feel no remorse if anything happened to him, even though they wouldn’t move directly against him. Probably.
“My dear Lord Qumisson, you are acting way too irrationally,” said Lord Marsten, raising his hands as though in surrender. “We are merely trying to ascertain that the country’s future is going in a… beneficial direction, shall we call it.”
The nerve of the man. He could barely keep his own records in order to precent spying, and yet he thought he could help preserve the kingdom? He really was for nothing other than to provide him with accommodations for his stays in Copius.
“It is,” Qumisson said, suddenly rising from his seat. “I will take care of it.”
“Take care of your son as well, while we’re on the matter,” said another noble. “He’s treading dangerous grounds.”
Qumisson narrowed his eyes, but said nothing else. He simply strode outside the room and closed the door behind him. A nearby servant stared at him in surprise, so Qumisson smiled at him apologetically. It was no fault of his that his master was an idiot.
Really, what a waste of his time. He had so many things to take care of. If he ever was going to become King, these people would all pay. Right now, however, he pushed all these insolent nobles aside and returned his thoughts to his hated nemesis.
Levia was planning something. If it wasn’t something against him, then she simply wanted him out of the way. Considering the fact that his son was also stirring up trouble, he couldn’t help but feel worried.
No, there was no need for any worry. He still had his plans, and he knew fully well that he wasn’t the only one trying to do something. Therefore, Levia would never connect any of it to him no matter how much she read his mind or manipulated him.
Captain Alsore stood in their watch post, surveying the land that spread to the north, meaning the direction of the Stroban territories. As far as they heard, the operation was a major success, although that was exactly why they were so cautious. Somalir was known as the final frontier between Kalden and the Stroba. Either the Stroba or the Makin might try a desperate, final assault now that they were humiliated.
They also obviously still had the demon to watch over.
The mysteries regarding Alsa were far from being solved, but she currently seemed to be dormant—or so they thought, despite some signs of faint activity that morning.
This sort of thing would happen from time to time. Well, this part wasn’t Alsore’s domain, so there was no need for them to even think about it. Their only job was to keep Somalir, and Kalden by extension, safe.
Suddenly there was the distant sound of blowing wind as if a storm was brewing. Alsore perked up, straining their ears. Another similar sound came, the ground slightly shook and a few leaves danced in the air.
“Something’s going on!” Alsore shouted from his position high above. “Someone, go check!”
Immediately people began running around and shouting while in the background the same event repeated itself. Even so from their current vantage point Alsore couldn’t see the scene of the event—which was almost assuredly the demon’s crater.
“I-it’s moving!” came another shout a few moments later. “The demon is moving!”
Although their alertness was currently focused on any possible outside threat, this was perhaps the worst-case scenario. They could at least somewhat anticipate their enemies, not to mention fight against them, but the demon was completely incomprehensible and unbeatable.
If it felt so inclined, it might be able to destroy the entirety of Somalir. That was what Alsore feared the most.
They watched with great terror as a small figure rose to the air with great vigor such that even they could see its ascent. Following this, a fierce gale shook the forest around, causing Alsore’s short hair to flutter despite the distance.
“Captain, your orders!” came a shout from nearby. The wind kept blowing and there were now also the loud cracks of broken trees added to the mix as well.
Their orders? What could Alsore possibly do in this sort of crazy situation? There seemed to be no physical way to harm that monster. There was no way to stop it. Even so, they couldn’t just watch it wreak havoc, either; it’d be a disgrace to their job. They bit their lips and thought.
“Burnt and scorched forest,” they cussed in a hiss full of indignation and then raised their voice, “Keep following the demon! If it tries anything, attack!”
No matter how useless that action was, Alsore still had to do something, if only for their and their soldiers’ sanity. And, of course, they also had the duty to see this attempt to the end. Alsore leapt off the tree, using the specially inscribed runes on the branch to propel themselves with a gust of wind toward the nearest tree branch.
Along with that wind came a small, barely audible whisper—one that reverberated inside their very mind.
“The catalyst of cataclysm/a stray soul in the darkness/the long-sought haven.”
“Well? Have you scanned the documents I have given you?” Swen asked, crossing his arms.
At first Salom looked confused, and then he sighed. “Well, I did go over them, but I have yet to draw any conclusions, which I assume you are seeking.”
I knew I couldn’t count on him, thought Swen glumly. He’d come all the way down to Salom’s house—which was apparently used for nothing more than sleep and study—to try and see if the supposedly smart man had managed to gleam any new information.
Right, he should have expected this disappointment.
“Look, Swen,” Salom said, not a hint of any annoyance in his voice, “this is not an easy thing to decipher. Our enemies are devious and calculating and would do anything in their power to reach their goals.”
Why was he telling Swen this as if he was some child who understood nothing about the challenges of royalty? Although it never came to an assassination, those kinds of political machinations had led to him being sent here to Rumdon in the first place.
“I will do my best to crack this,” Salom said, “so I want you to do your best, too.”
“What are you implying? I have undertaken some risks in order to bring you—”
“Yes, yes, and I’m thankful for that. However, coming here to pester me about this will not change anything. I am trying to consider every possibility and have given Her Majesty some tips, but my work is not done. Which means that yours isn’t, either. Have you really reached the end of your abilities? Don’t take this as an offense, Swen.”
Swen gritted his teeth. From the very moment Her Majesty had recruited this man all those years ago, he never trusted him. And yet he knew that he had to trust him. Which was why he came there, hoping the great Lord Professor would find the required solution for everything.
Thinking about it that way, Swen really felt pathetic.
“…I apologize.” Swen’s shoulders sagged. He knew he was being rude and even childish in his treatment toward Salom, so he sought to mend it. “I am simply desperate to protect her.”
Salom smiled at those words, as if they were funny. “I know you are. As do I, and Molton. And each of us can accomplish this in different ways. For example, you are in charge of the castle. Neither I nor Molton can breach that domain; it is wholly yours. I can give you the names of those I suspect as possible culprits, collaborators or pawns, but my reasoning won’t help the actual security. That is your job.”
It really was his job. And his failure, since twice now Levia had been under attack in her very own castle. Now that she was planning a public speech of all things, that was another avenue of danger. He’d warned her about this, but she was adamant about performing the event.
“But this is too big for me,” he mumbled. “This is an actual trained assassin, right? What can a simple man like me do to stop them?”
“With that I cannot help you,” admitted Saburn. “If I find anything, I will send you a messenger. But even someone like you might stumble upon a new clue I hadn’t considered. Two heads work better than one, and all that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must get back to work.”
Something about those words struck Swen as he left the house, such that he didn’t even feel insulted by Saburn’s dismissal. Two heads work better than one.
He couldn’t think about all the complex details; that was Saburn’s job. But if he considered it too simply, it wouldn’t be enough, either. Someone was trying to kill Levia. His own guts stated that Qumisson had to be involved in this, somehow.
But what if he wasn’t? Well, even if he was, there was no guarantee that Swen could find any clue. While he was in charge of the castle, just like Saburn had said, he couldn’t know about every single thing that happened there. The mastermind was shrewd and careful.
Reaching the street and waiting for a passing carriage, Swen suddenly stopped in place.
Was the mastermind careful, though? Why would they poison Lord Shammings, then? Just to test their method? But the assassin seemed to be much more competent and careful in later incidents. Something was odd there.
Swen spent the hour riding up the mountain in deep thought—and finally understood.
As they ran ahead to catch up to Zade, Monan noticed a disturbance in the forest around them. There were errant gusts of wind despite the sky being clear, and leaves were rustling and dancing above. This caused them to pause for a second; there was definitely something going on. It was dangerous to keep going.
“Zade! Please stop! There’s something—”
Surprisingly, he replied to them, his bloodshot eyes wide. “Yes, there is something—something I’ve been looking for all along!” Zade started laughing, a shaky laughter that brought a shiver to Monan. He was as unstable as ever.
Monan was powerless and useless. They couldn’t do anything… they barely even functioned as Zade’s illusory partner. However, they still intended on staying with him, on helping him survive. So they had to somehow stop this new madness of his.
“Zade, it’s too dangerous!” they called.
A moment later, the world changed.
No, something simply assaulted their mind. Monan saw hair, blood, fire and ruins and had to gasp for breath. A buzzing not unlike a hundred voices talking at once seemed to be drilling directly into their mind. They screamed.
“An unwanted mannequin/the symbol of false fertility/a withered flower buried in the meadow.”
At first Monan thought that they were so shocked and affected by this mental assault they’d lost their sense of balance and direction, but then realized that some sort of impact actually resounded nearby, causing a small earthquake. It was followed by loud crackling and thuds, as well as the appearance of something unbelievable.
“No… No, this can’t be…” Monan mumbled, taking a step back and nearly falling.
“Finally,” shouted Zade, “finally, someone who understands me!”
This figure appeared directly in front of Zade on top of a tree split in the middle, almost as if it destroyed the forest around it purely to create a direct path to him. It was a faerie dressed in pure white, their hair a writhing sea of vines that even now made the air crackle with intensity.
Their face was completely void of emotions, their eyes were closed and their mouth made no move, but even so the faerie spoke. A confusing mess of images and words assaulted Monan’s mind yet again, but this time they had the feeling that this wasn’t directed specifically to them.
“A stray child of the world below/a receptacle for urgent havoc/the one who will shatter destiny.”
At that moment Monan finally understood. They recalled their relative position and everything that it entailed.
“No way… i-it’s the demon,” they called in shock.
Every day has its night. And before every night comes a sunset.
Kings and queens rise and fall. Sometimes naturally, sometimes by design.
However, becoming a ruler is too great of a burden. As I have just examined, the position brings with it not only power and privilege, but also responsibility and danger.
Yes, I wish to rule, but not to die. Therefore, it would be much better to do so from behind the screen.
I will be the one watching the Queen’s lineage bleed as an orange sunset.