Chapter 6 - Four Fallen Kings (II)

A thousand years ago…

Branches bowed grotesquely under black leaves, everything weighed down by the stench of rot. The corruption hung so heavily in the air it was palpable.

Boniface Wealcroft [Mayor] rode on the back of his [Bog Tiger], warily searching for the source.

Boniface had an intimate connection to the dark arts. He was sensitive to it, and could always sense the lingering hint of corruption in the Dark Forest. However, in the middle of the night, Boniface had shot awake, breathless, sensing an explosion of corruption. Something had gone wrong in his neck of the woods. Very, very wrong.

He hoped this wasn’t the cultists’ way of calling for him. This was far too flashy.

Instead, Boniface Wealcroft found the body of a young man laying on the edge of a stream.

The [Mayor] adjusted his robes and knelt by the interloper’s face. No class hovered above his head. Dead, then.

What a terrible stench. Boniface covered his nose and mouth with his hand.

The situation was somehow wildly worse than he could’ve imagined.

The man’s thigh bled profusely into the stream, coloring the water inky black. He wore the cowl and cloak of a traveler, and in his rigor mortis, he clutched a bulging satchel protectively to his chest. If that were the end of it, Boniface would’ve assumed he’d been an adventurer who had wandered too far into the forest and stumbled into something he shouldn't have.

A shaft of moonlight fell onto the interloper. In the center of the young man’s forehead, a red jewel shone brightly. The adornment was in the shape of a glyph too advanced for Boniface’s knowledge.

Worst of all, the interloper was extremely beautiful - his features impossibly flawless, as though crafted by the gods. Even his eyebrows were like two masterstrokes of calligraphy.

‘He isn’t young,’ Boniface told himself. ‘This is what high-leveled alchemists look like.’

One step forward on the road of alchemy was one step closer to divinity. The further you walked the more of your mortality you shed. You left behind your need to eat. To sleep. Your lifespan was no longer measured in years, but centuries.

“So, you’re an alchemist of some stature,” muttered Boniface, tilting his head to get a clearer look. He kept his hands on his knees, not stupid enough to touch him. “Didn’t anyone warn you not to treat the Dark Forest lightly? What horror did you run into?”

High-leveled alchemists were backed by clans, guilds, and other powerful organizations. Their value was immense. Likely, the interloper had a Soulforce Statue back home. Upon death, the statue would alert his backers, and they would start searching en masse for his corpse.

Boniface Wealcroft twisted the rings on his fingers in contemplation.

The interloper had managed to escape his attacker, only to succumb to his injuries afterwards. Greed sparked in Boniface’s heart. What if the interloper’s cards were still intact?

Black mana coalesced in his palm.

Before Boniface could slice open the man’s chest, fingers closed around his wrist in an iron shackle, and the beginnings of his [Black Flame Technique] sputtered out.

The interloper’s eyes flashed open, burning, burning red.

“You’re alive?!”

The man’s gaze held eons in them. “Get me out of here. Now.”

Before Boniface could back away, he was unceremoniously yanked on top of the man, stream water soaking them both.

For a person on the verge of death, the interloper was extremely strong. “Help me, or my attackers will find us both here.”

Boniface Wealcroft gnashed his teeth. He had to make the best choice possible and fast.

The interloper was so injured that he wasn’t producing much aura. Less than an awakened mortal. As long as the man had no tracking spells or objects on him, hiding him wasn’t impossible.

“You’re stinking up the whole forest,” said Boniface. “Can you purify the dark magic in your wound?”

The man’s eyes fluttered closed. Slowly, the terrible stench of corruption blew away with the wind.

“I suppressed the external effects,” said the interloper. “It’ll be enough.”

Boniface took in the deathly paleness of his skin, and the leg which continued to bleed profusely. The interloper wasn’t dead yet. But he was dying. Injuries from dark magic were notorious for being impossible to heal without resorting to insane measures, and Bramblebog was merely a tiny, remote, mortal village. They couldn’t help him.

“Are you asking me to save you, just so you can die tomorrow?” asked Boniface.

“I’ll live long enough to settle my affairs.”

The words caused greed to re-enter Boniface’s heart. Settling affairs? Couldn’t that only mean the interloper possessed a legacy he wished to see passed down? Secrets, formulas, cards, or other treasures?

The [Mayor] glanced discreetly at the interloper’s satchel.

Boniface wanted to steal those things for himself. Bramblebog was scarce of alchemical resources, and it was too dangerous to collect resources from the Dark Forest.

What seemed like misfortune - finding the body of a powerful alchemist - might’ve turned out to be the blessing of a lifetime! He just needed the interloper to stay in the village until the end. Snatching the inheritance from the interloper’s heir would be far easier than forcing the man himself to spill his secrets.

“I’ll help you for a price,” said Boniface. “Will you agree to that?”

“Naturally.” Red eyes glittered cruelly. “But you aren’t a mortal or a [Mayor], are you?”

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Boniface’s expression blanched as agony scraped his soul. Like knives through paper, his defenses were torn, and the [Glamour] Spell Card in his outer core crumbled, revealing his true power level and class in full.

[Level 1 - Demon Mayor]

Amusement crossed the man’s face. “I see. [Mayors] manage living constituents. [Demon Mayors] manage dead ones.”

Boniface didn’t deny the allegation.

“I suppose it’s not overly important. Fine. Let’s make a deal, dealmaker,” hissed the interloper. “I want a place to spend my last days before dying peacefully. What do you want in exchange?”

“Wait a moment. I want to know about your backers. Will they try to find you?” asked Boniface.

“Backers?” the interloper tasted the word. “I’m just a free alchemist.”

The [Demon Mayor]’s tongue licked over his dry, parched lips. “Then I’ll pay respects to your status by not taking advantage of you. I can offer you a vassal contract. I’ll give you some of my own land to settle on. As long as either you or your family live on that land, you or yours must serve my Wealcroft family. In exchange, my Wealcroft family will do our best to hide you and yours from your attackers. Additionally, you and your family must also never bring harm upon us, your benefactors.” The edge of Boniface’s mouth quirked upward.

“You’re saving my life. To repay the debt I owe you, it’s only natural that my blood will serve yours for generations after I’m deceased.” The interloper laughed. Boniface couldn’t help but think that such a handsome face was wasted on this unpleasant person. “A homestead? Descendants to carry on my name? I like the sound of that. Hey, since we’re negotiating, why don’t you throw in a wife for me. I can have some enjoyment before I die.”

If Boniface was surprised by the interloper’s easy acceptance, he didn’t show it.

Mortals would’ve balked at such a deal. However, Boniface knew he wasn’t dealing with a mortal - or even a fledgling alchemist. This was a master who’d been around for a while. He only cared about his future heir. Likely, he assumed his heir would reap the benefits of the inheritance, and leave Bramblebog for one of the great cities. Any leftover descendants of his would eventually make lives in Bramblebog and merge with the Bramblebog gene pool. Why would he care about them?

Aside from the inheritance, Boniface wanted to take advantage of the high-level alchemist as much as he could before he died.

Boniface had been having issues with his spirits lately. A powerhouse under his control would help keep them in line. In the future, he would find a use for the man’s descendants too.

Boniface nodded. “I’ll take you back to Bramblebog as my honored guest.”

“Your servant,” corrected the man mirthfully.

The agreement sent a clap of black mana through the thicket. Black chains glowing with deathly light criss-crossed over both alchemists, before slowly vanishing into their bodies.

Boniface put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. His [Bog Tiger] beast uncamouflaged and padded over to him.

“What do I call you?” asked Boniface. With a grunt, he lifted the interloper onto the tiger's back. The feline backed away a few steps. Its maw curled back, ready to hiss and bite. The interloper cradled his satchel to his stomach like it was a precious object. There was something large and spherical inside - perhaps an orb of some kind. Boniface averted his greedy gaze, not wanting to give away the game too soon.

“Ravenbone is good enough,” he drawled, eyes half-lidded. “So… [Demon Mayor]? The Demon classes are forbidden for a reason. Are you more exceptional than those who tried before you and failed?”

Boniface held the [Bog Tiger]'s reins and looked straight ahead. “I didn’t have a choice. The class runs in the family.”

“You were born with a strange, pure black card in one of your spell slots, unable to remove it.”

It was almost irritating how Ravenbone didn’t even have to think. He just knew.

“A Beast Card,” confirmed Boniface. “Though I’ve never been able to summon the beast, and I don’t know its kind. When I finally broke through and became an alchemist, the system offered me only one upgraded class. [Demon Mayor].”

“You could’ve stayed [Mayor].”

“Like I said, the class runs in the family.” Boniface used his thumbnail to scratch along the sides of his rings. “The spirits wanted a new [Demon Mayor], and they were getting restless waiting.”

A drop of night dew splashed to the forest floor, and all of its reflections became nothing.

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.

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///

A thousand years later…

Father Linus [Priest] opened the pitch-black shed, thrusting his lantern forward.

The bog air was hot and sticky and made his clothes cling to his skin. His heart rammed against his ribs like a hummingbird in a box. Trembling fingers caused the lantern to shakily cast its orange glow around the shed.

Heavy chains clanked against each other.

A man with burning red eyes rolled his neck, the muscles popping and cracking. His right thigh was encircled in layers of blood-soaked gauze. Old, rusty chains tied him to a wicker chair - he’d been that way since before Linus had been born. Likely, long before.

“My descendants don’t take well to sight-seers,” said the man lightly.

Cursing internally, Linus pulled himself together and shut the door behind him. He placed the lantern on the ground. Against the shadows, the lantern might as well have been an ember. Darkness swallowed the light. It only served to shine in the man’s red eyes and the glyph on his forehead, making them even more vibrant.

“I’m not here to gawk,” said Linus. “I’m here to ask a few questions, if you’ll permit me to.”

“You smell like a Wealcroft.”

“I’m a [Priest]. I belong to no blood, and my home is the Church.”

“Oh? Then of course, please go on.”

Linus breathed in the dusty air, centering himself. He knew the history. Many years ago, a Wealcroft whose name had been lost to time made a pact with the Ravenbone ancestor. Deals, deals, so many rotten deals.

“Children from the village are going missing again,” whispered Linus, as if to himself. “You are the most powerful person in Bramblebog. I’m begging you to help us.”

“Little Benedict still hasn’t had any luck becoming an alchemist then? Haha. Without an authority figure - without their [Demon Mayor] - that dreadful spirit society your family created is going wild. You’re lucky they’re only eating your children.” He snorted. “See, this is the issue with forbidden classes. There are always consequences down the line. It’s fun to have a hoard of spirits at your command, but less entertaining when - ”

“Please. Don’t chastise me.”

The man grinned handsomely. “You could’ve been the [Demon Mayor]. Instead, you abandoned your family and became a [Priest]. All those resources your father poured into you? Utterly wasted. You left your younger brother with scraps, yet all the responsibility. Do you really care so little for duty?” Red eyes blazed with cruel humor. “The Dark Forest is hungry, and it’s owed, and the seat of the [Demon Mayor] is empty.”

“There is nothing you can say that I don’t tell myself every day,” said Linus roughly. Every morning he woke up in a cold sweat, regret bleeding from every pore. “I’ve made my mistakes, but the bogfolk don’t deserve to be punished for them!”

Linus looked away. “My brother… he’s given up on becoming an alchemist. He’s looking for other ways to reign in the spirits. Much darker ways.”

“I want to help you. Unfortunately, I am bound to this chair, by order of the Wealcrofts. They trust me so very little.” The shadows in the room darkened and the lantern hissed as it went out. “You’ll have to ask your brother to release me.”

Linus scoffed, but it sounded more like a sniffle. He hadn’t expected the Ravenbone ancestor’s help - not truly. He was shocked the man had even spoken this much to him, considering he’d gone silent towards his own descendants. Bored of them. “Those chains are just for show. We both know you can break out of them instantly.”

The man licked his teeth. “I’m oathbound to serve the Wealcrofts. They asked me to serve them by staying out of the way.”

“Until you die,” finished Linus for him. “But you’ve been dying for centuries.”

“Mortals truly do live like fruit flies. I’ve taken shits which have felt longer than my time here.”

“Why keep holding on? This is no way to live.”

From the cracked window, a cloud passed by, revealing a sky of diamonds. Silver light gleamed on the sharp edge of the jagged glass.

The Ravenbone ancestor gave him a mysterious smile. “Everyone has their duty. Mine is to wait… just a little bit longer.”