Jameson clenched his fists. He had done it.
Finally, his parents could rest in peace knowing that he had kicked those bastards down a peg.
He felt pride rise through him. For so long had he balled up his anger at those bastards, from childhood to his early adult life. He had finally managed to find a release and the catharsis was pure.
Fuck them. No longer were they just words, now he had spited them with actions as well.
He hoped they stayed in misery, he hoped that they suffered from his actions.
As the unadulterated joy slowly faded into the night air, Jameson gave a prayer to his parents. He decided it would also be the last. No longer would he revel in his past and instead focus on his future.
They were dead. He always knew that, and he had suffered from that long ago. Now though, he could accept that.
The house must continue. Words he remembered from his mother until this day. He would gather some of the wealth created from his heist and rebuild what had been lost.
House Smith would not fall today. It had come close, but with his trusted butler and his good friend he reckoned they still had a lot of growth to achieve.
The soft galloping of the horses made for a secondary sound as Florence felt his heart beat rise. Such a rush had been something else for his boring life but at least it was over now.
He wiped his sweat from his brow and swore if his master asked for something like this again he would adamantly stay far away from such schemes.
He could see his master but he hoped the boy had finally let the past be the past. He had once been such a beacon of joy but his father’s death had ruined that light of him.
He was a great man. Someone Florence never second guessed following and his death had hurt him a lot to. He also found solace in revenge and such why the smile on his face was bright as the moon above him.
Whipping the horses he got move on, no matter what he would always remain the butler of House Smith until the day he died. He just hoped it wasn’t so stressful sometimes.
They arrived at the drop-off point at one of the parks of the city. Here nobility enjoyed the countryside without having to danger out behind the city walls.
They dug a pit and chucked the more expensive of the loot inside. Everything except the silver coins which they decided to take with them.
They would separate and store them for now until they had come to use later. Malum would use them to purchase whatever he would need alchemically and Jameson would use them to rebuild his house.
Should they have the need they would slowly take out the coins first and then the silver bars. The gold bars were far to dangerous and even the silver ones could cause issues if they gave it to the wrong blacksmith.
For now they took the least valuable, harder to track silver coins and buried the rest.
Everyone expression was dim seeing there loot disappear into the earth but they all knew it was needed for them to get away with their crime.
With that done they then returned to the mansion and acted as if nothing had ever happened. It was only a few days before another wave although the morning after the heist was sure to be an interesting one.
Pandemonium.
His senses spoke only of a light dread hanging in the air.
Malum had never seen such fervor in the guards steps. Everyone was a suspect and the top brass wanted blood.
The common man kept his head low and continued to work. Merchants packed their bags in fear of being caught in the crossfires and Knights of Nobility were constantly running around.
People were scarred. Malum had never seen so many people cower at the sight of guards and now they were avoided like the plague.
Every hour new people joined the jail cells and every hour more people were hanged by the noose.
It was a hunt.
The first to go where the residents of the house which had caught fire. Word on the street was that they were colluding with the thieves.
Lies, and yet a family of four had died because of it.
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Jameson had heard the news and Malum had seen the colour drain from his face.
It had only been three days but Jameson hadn’t the heart to step outside even once. Malum had only ventured out to get the needed food for the rest of their stay.
He picked up the bag prepared at the local market. He remembered Florence had meekly asked him if he could do it this time and so here he was.
Eyes either starred down at the street or at each other with suspicion. A gold reward for information on the thief’s had set a record of thousand gold.
That was generational wealth, enough for someone to betray their own family for.
Malum took the bag and paid for it with his old coins. Paranoia had not missed him and so those silver coins had quickly been hidden away with the rest of the loot.
With the goods he made his way back and only breathed when he returned back to the mansion. He only ate here now and had moved out after the manhunt had begun. If three males were found in the same lodging and three suspects had been the thieves, Malum didn’t want those two numbers to align.
He had also tried to change the way he looked as subtly as possible. Little things like where his sword lay on his belt.
Breathing calmly, Malum rested the food on the table as he then walked over to the sitting room. There he found Jameson sat on at a desk reading a book.
They only nodded to one another but didn’t decide to talk. Conversation wasn’t either ones strong-suit and they didn’t feel like it either.
Wanting to take his mind away from the subject, Malum decided to take his sword and go to the garden.
It was a quiet place he was visiting more often.
Here emotion affected him less as physical activity strained his mind. The Martial Art tested his limits and required every piece of his attention.
Sword of Poison focused on deceit above everything else. Bluffs turned into deadly attacks and simple moves became complex attacks that if the defender wasn’t careful, would lead to their demise.
It made the technique that much harder, but it also made it that much better.
During the previous wave he had racked up less injuries and came out with more stamina, this was in due part down to the body strengthening but the technique also played it’s part.
Poison came in many forms and the technique would change depending on what you coated your sword with. A slow poison meant a defensive focused style whilst fast acting one meant you had to distract them with an overwhelming assault.
A strong cultivator wouldn’t just sit there as he quickly started to lose his life. Instead he would try and take you down with him such those few seconds of fluster as you attacked him could make the whole difference before they turned into a suicidal attacker.
Then came hallucinogenic poisons and even seduction poisons could work.
Every style, every swing of your sword was planned out and written inside the book. If he only he could read the rest of it then he could have already mastered his technique.
Malum cursed the book as he tried again to read the details of the later details of the technique, he could still read the important titles and even some subtitles but after that everything just turned into a blur of a non-descript language.
He turned the pages back and focused on what he could read. He had made some progress since he had obtained the book and slowly he was carving out his own style, but there laid the problem: slowly!
If only he could read the damn book he would have already created his own style and could then begin perfecting it but the book had ruined his plan before it even got off the ground.
Instead he learned useless details on useless stances for useless scenarios.
He breathed a deep breath before he began to try the set of moves again. He would have if not for the loud shout coming from inside.
“##############!” Malum went closer to get a better idea of who was making such a racket but found himself frozen still when he saw several soldiers at the door.
Malum checked on his intuition and found nothing dangerous was coming from them so they weren’t here to execute them, instead they were probably here just on some suspicions.
Some danger lingered around them, and if Malum looked closer he would have seen that one of the soldiers eyes were a bright shade of red.
After calming down Malum walked over,
“Of course, I will do exactly that.” Florence said to them as he came over. He saw Malum coming and introduced him, “This here is the Barons docter, Malum.”
That was the cover they came up with, with consideration of his alchemy skills.
Malum waved to the group and time seemed to slow as the guard with the red eye looked at him.
Danger burst out like a flood, the red eye turning into a disastrous event that left Malum second guessing his everything.
He paused, frozen in his own flurry of emotions. He was half expecting the guards to immediately pull out their swords and start hunting him but found nothing to have changed.
The guard with the red eye looked at him again, but apart from a slight twitch he didn’t react at all.
In fact, after some casual conversation, they guards left and nothing came of the situation. Malum was left standing there with a casual Florence who went back to his usual duties.
For once, Malum questioned his ability. That danger felt like a sword at his throat and yet nothing in reality seemed to have suggested such extreme danger was even close to appearing.
But how was the guard the catalyst of all this. He wasn’t one of the Knights on scene so how could he recognise him. How did he bring about so much danger?
Malum held his hand closer to his burning forehead. Throat turned into ideas that were quickly tried and tested through countless scenarios.
He decided to play it safe, his life was the priority and so he needed to ensure at least that.
No evidence of him being the same person as the thief still existed. The only possession that remained on any of the trio was the sword of Jameson but that was modified to look dissimilar.
The only risk remaining was his own face. His full likeness seen by the two guards when he froze in the hallway.
Malum wasn’t above scarring himself. If it meant he could cleanly keep his life then he would do it in a heartbeat. Yet, it wasn’t guaranteed that if he gained the scar he still wouldn’t be recognised.
His face shape was still the same, and so were his eyes. For the bloodthirsty nobles who only wanted a speck of evidence then just having those would get him the galley.
He could kill the guard. Perhaps that would end the danger he was feeling, especially since the danger seemed to have come from his sight of him, perhaps removing that would be enough to end the danger.
The best solution would leave him removed of suspicion and cleared of the crime. If he could obtain an airtight alibi then perhaps he could turn the danger into an opportunity.
Malum smiled as he had the thought, knowing his had found his answer.