As his awareness slowly came trickling in, the first thing that struck Ferris was just how stiff he felt. He lifted his face from the book he had been sleeping on, and felt the faint traces of ink sticking to his skin.
It took only a moment to heal himself of the minor issues sleeping on a desk had left him with. But it suddenly alerted his body to another issue. His stomach rumbled, and a dull hunger rose up in him.
He could suppress it with his magic, but he knew from experience just how ruinous that would be. Healing magic could do many things, but it could not sustain someone long-term.
With a sigh, he instead reached for an apple in the fruit basket Ram had provided him. It wasn’t very fulfilling, but it allowed him to waste as little time as possible. The only times he ate proper meals anymore was when his teacher had the time to dine with him. The man insisted that many of their more theoretical lessons be accompanied by meals, something Ferris suspected was more for his sake than Roswaal’s.
Something he’d admittedly reacted poorly to at first in retrospect.
“Don’t you think we’d save more time, if we both ate by ourselves?” Ferris asked a slight scowl crossing his face, as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’d be correct if this was something primarily physical, or even if it was a task I had assigned you.” Roswaal said in amusement as he mimicked Ferris’s posture, causing the younger male to look away in embarrassment.
“What you must understand Sir Ferris, is that my duty here is primarily to teach you,” Roswaal said gently. “To help you truly understand curses, so that in turn you will be able to better detect and destroy them. For such a task, it is important that the both of us be in top mental shape. Forgive me for saying so, but you strike me as similar to one I knew when I was young. He was the type to always forget meals so that he could study harder to impress his teacher.”
Ferris coloured at this accurate assessment to his character and he looked away in embarrassment.
“You don’t have to always call me Sir Ferris, you know. If you're going to be putting so much effort into teaching me you can just call me Ferris,” Ferris offered, honestly, a little overwhelmed at just how much effort Roswaal was putting into this.
While he’d been taught before, no teacher before Roswaal had ever put a fraction of this much effort into tutoring him, or even seemed to care much for him personally.
“I’ll admit, I’m not very used to speaking with others in such familiar terms… but if you truly do not mind it, then I will welcome the opportunity to call you Ferris,” Roswaal said with a chuckle.
“Wonderful! And in that case, I’ll call you by a nickname as well,” Ferris declared, an impish grin crossing his lips. “But I guess I can’t make it sound like I’m mocking a Margrave’s name, so I’ll choose something reasonable. How does Teacher sound?”
“Teacher?” Roswaal asked, eyes going distant for a second. For a moment it appeared he was lost in another time, and then…
“Truly, I would be honoured to bear such a title from you, Ferris.”
Sadly the opportunity for many of their more relaxed theoretical lessons were rare, as Roswaal needed to spent most of the time he was not engaging Ferris with more active lessons doing paperwork for his domain
The manor they were staying at belonged to the Mathers family and was near the palace, although it had little distinguishing itself from any of the royal guest-houses.
While to some, the manor may seem impressive, it was lacking compared to either the main Karsten Manor or the Palace where Ferris spent most of his time. One benefit of its smaller size was that Ferris often saw the Margrave attending to his duties, though Roswaal seemed to try and keep his activities limited to his office. Despite the manor’s small size, Clind always seemed busy with the task of keeping it immaculate, while Ram stayed near Roswaal.
Both Ram and Clind had offered to bring him more filling meals, but he disliked the idea of being interrupted in his studies, so he’d declined. He’d found that burying himself in research the way he learned fastest in the past, and that being interrupted with meals rarely helped.
Ferris had always been a light eater after all, a remnant from his time in his family’s ‘care’, where obtaining meals was rare.
He took a moment to glance at the mirror, and immediately regretted it. His mind picked and pointed out the many things wrong with his appearance. The dishevelled hair, the ink still sticking to his face, the way his clothes wrinkled and even the vacancy in his eyes.
Ferris was well aware of just how valuable a weapon his appearance was, and couldn’t stop a hand from smoothing out the worst of the creases. Even beyond its use as a tool, Ferris took pride in his appearance, for it was one of the things he now had complete control over.
He almost felt he should try to make himself look just a little better, but as soon as he lifted his hand, he felt an irrational guilt rise up inside him.
I should be studying right now, if I want to avoid wasting Teacher’s time!
He jerked his hand back down and opened his book, trying to make sense of where he had left off. But despite reading the passage several times, the words failed to connect to anything. Rather than the method to break a curse, it felt as if he was memorising nonsense.
He spent a good few minutes like that, before eventually sighing and getting to his feet.
He threw the apple core he had been absently eating into the wastebasket, then formed droplets of water to clean his hands of the juices left behind.
He stretched his arms, then picked up another book and sat back down. As he flicked through the pages looking for the page he wanted, he made a mental calculation of the next time he’d see Fourier and Crusch.
Crusch should be coming to check up on him in the next three days, and his next meeting with Fourier wasn’t for another six.
He’d have to tidy up his appearance before then, he was fully aware of how much the two worried about him. Ferris had pleaded with Roswaal to keep his current state a secret from them, and the Court Mage had agreed on the stipulation that Ferris take care of himself.
If Roswaal hadn’t taken further steps yet, clearly his habits were sufficient. Or rather, his lack of them.
Half of Ferris still wanted to drop what few remained as well, and focus entirely on trying to make some progress, any progress.
But he knew that would be a fool’s errand. He had been forcing himself to take mandatory breaks, but even if he cut them, what good would it do? When reading, he constantly found his mind drifting through the theory he’d consumed. If he could barely focus when studying, that was a call to take more breaks, not less.
But he couldn’t bring himself to do that. He’d found that when his mind was consumed with research, the guilt receded, and he felt more like himself again.
What did it mean then, that it felt like he was getting progressively less useful information from the books he consumed each passing day. Sometimes it was all he could do to reread the passages he had already read, in the hopes that some new insight would form.
It baffled him that he still couldn’t detect and dispel even the simplest of curses yet, and worse yet that it felt like he was no closer to reaching that goal. Ferris was well aware of the natural well-spring of talent he possessed, after all, his father had hoped that he would be the one to complete a spell that could conquer death itself.
Sometimes the memories of the research he had started back then swam before his eyes, taunting him with their simplicity. He had worked on the Sacrament for less than a single month before Fourier had convinced him to abandon it. Yet it had constantly felt as if he was on the verge of a breakthrough, every day leading to more insights and knowledge.
Thump-Thump.
The noise broke his train of thoughts, and Ferris's ears twitched aimed towards the door.
“You may enter,” Ferris called out, recognizing who wanted entry from the knock alone. Even with his weariness, his hearing was sharp enough for that.
“Good morning, Sir Felix,” Ram said, and he heard her clothes rustle as she bowed.
Though he had allowed the maid in, Ferris didn’t bother to turn to face her, instead forcing his tired eyes to start from the beginning of the passage.
“Lord Roswaal will need to delay his lessons for another hour, as he has Clind helping him prepare a more advanced lesson today,” she continued.
“Ferri understands,” Ferris answered. “I’ll keep Teacher’s schedule in mind.”
Ram remained silent for a moment, then exhaled sharply, her displeasure evident. “From your appearance, perhaps an hour of rest will be beneficial. A nap, perhaps? You’ll need to be at your best to avoid wasting Lord Roswaal’s time.”
Ferris spun around, glaring at the maid, his body shaking with anger.
“I said I understand,” he hissed. “Now leave. Ferri can’t be wasting time with naps of all things! I understand that Teacher’s time is valuable, but that just means I need to spend more time studying, not less.”
Ram raised an eyebrow, the contempt never leaving her face, and she studied Ferris’s shaking form.
“Is throwing a tantrum supposed to reassure me that you are well-rested?” Ram asked dryly. “I was under the impression that Sir Ferris was supposed to be a Knight. One would hope that you understand manners normally, and although you refer to Lord Roswaal as your teacher, you fail to obey his instructions to take care of your health.”
Ferris stood abruptly, his chair clattering behind him, his hand reaching towards the maid without thought. When he did realise what he was doing, he snatched it back to his chest.
Was I really about to knock her out, just because she wants to prevent me from studying? For just an hour of study?
Throughout it all, Ram’s gaze never flickered or changed, not even as Ferris let his arm fall limply to his side.
“It’s good to see that you aren’t so far gone,” Ram said, her tone as calm as ever. “Otherwise I would have to inform Lord Roswaal that your lessons were cancelled today.”
Ferris found his eyes drawn down as he felt a light breeze press against his chest, and he saw that a wand was grasped in the maid’s fist. He could feel a trace of mana swirling around the room, making it clear what would have happened if Ferris had decided to push his luck.
“Now then, after displaying just how much your lack of sleep is affecting your judgement, will you continue to deny the obvious Sir Ferris?” Ram said, her derision displayed through her eyes alone.
“Ferri… can’t sleep, unfortunately,” Ferris admitted reluctantly. “When I try, my thoughts keep me awake. At least by studying I’m being productive. And I do sleep every night, even if I’m not spending as long as I should.”
“Sir Ferris appears to be the type that cannot consider other possibilities,” Ram said. “One would expect as a healer that you would medicate yourself, if you proved unable to sleep.”
Ferris couldn’t resist a bitter laugh at that comment.
“Unfortunately, my magic automatically gets rid of drugs that affect me. Sorry to disappoint you, but you can’t simply drug me unconscious with sleeping pills, even if I wanted you to.”
“What about alternative methods of inducing unconsciousness?” Ram asked with a dark smile crossing her lips.
“Knocking me out isn’t going to work either. My mana would first need to be exhausted for it to be effective, and at that point it’d be worthless unless I was somehow kept under for multiple days,” Ferris said, closing his tired eyes before taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it.
“I suppose if the more effective methods have been denied, Ram can lower herself to sing Sir Felix to sleep,” Ram said, allowing a more mocking tone to enter her voice.
Ferris couldn’t suppress an eye-twitch, but at Ram’s glare, he obediently remained silent.
“You should consider yourself honoured Sir Ferris,” Ram said. “The only other person I have ever sung to sleep is my younger sister Rem. If it wasn’t so important to Lord Roswaal that you be at your best, I would simply watch you self-destruct instead.”
Ferris stared at her in silence for a moment, but the maid appeared to be entirely serious.
He couldn’t help but doubt how effective a simple song would be, but he didn’t really want to push her further than he had already.
Her sharp eyes drove him over to the bed, and he lay down on top of the covers. They were much softer than he remembered. And now that he was laying down, he was hit by just how exhausted his body felt.
But he still couldn’t bear to sleep. There was so much he needed to do. So much he needed to learn.
Ram cleared her throat, before starting to sing a soft lullaby.
Ferris allowed the sound to wash over him, not even listening to the words. But they had an effect all the same. His breath started to settle, and his heartbeat began to slow. By the time she had finished the second verse, his drowsiness had overwhelmed him.
----------------------------------------
Ferris woke to the smell of freshly cooked tatoes, his ever-present headache diminished but still present, his stomach grumbling and begging for food.
“You’ll want to eat this before you go see Lord Roswaal,” Ram said. She was sitting at his desk, which it seemed she had cleaned while he slept. All his notes had been stacked neatly on the table, and the books had been placed back on their shelves.
On that cleaned desk, she had placed a tray of food, including the steamed tatoes that were so often served in Roswaal’s manor.
“It’s been three hours since you took your nap, thanks to Ram’s song. I’ve informed Lord Roswaal about the development, and he was happy to schedule the lesson for later today, and has finished his preparations.”
Ferris couldn’t quite look Ram in the eyes, but forced himself to eat the food quickly, so that he could go find Roswaal.
And also…
“...Thanks for the lullaby. It really helped a lot.” Ferris forced out, his embarrassment clear.
“Repay Ram, by taking better care of yourself so that you can give your best to Lord Roswaal,” Ram responded. She seemed content to let bygones be bygones, to which Ferris was grateful.
After he finished wolfing down the food, Ram stood up, and walked towards the door. Ferris hurriedly grabbed a few of his books—and more importantly, his carefully penned questions—then followed her.
As they walked, he was tempted to open one of his books and revise a few last things, but instead, he found himself staring at Ram.
Why did her lullaby put me to sleep? I tried everything I could think of, but that was what worked!? Only studying until I collapsed was having any effect until now.
Unable to help himself, his thoughts went to what he knew about the maid, that could possibly explain it. But he found himself drawing a blank.
Ferris hadn’t made any effort to know the girl walking in front of him, and so he knew very little about her. All he did know was her name, her respect for Roswaal and the fact that she had a sister.
On impulse, he decided to pull on one of those few threads.
“What’s your sister like?”
Ram glanced up at him, seemingly surprised that he’d ask such a question, but she soon turned her head back up the corridor.
“She is Ram’s sister, and so she is of course incredibly talented and beautiful,” she answered, the warmth evident in her voice. “Rem is talented in anything she puts her mind to, as well as incredibly responsible. It is the primary reason she was left behind, in fact. Lord Roswaal trusts her with the primary upkeep of his family manor.”
Ferris gave a slow nod, unable to fully hide his surprise at the deluge of information. The only two people he could think of that evoked that level of warmth from him were Fourier and Crusch, his two closest friends.
The two that he wished he could call his family, rather than his true blood relatives.
Before Ferris knew it, they arrived at the hallway leading to the room Roswaal had taken to use for teaching, where he saw Clind standing alone carrying a large object. It looked like a crate of some kind, but Ferris couldn’t tell, as it was fully covered by a blanket.
“The delay has been noted,” Clind said, walking towards the classroom. “Prepare yourself. The lesson today is distasteful. Unfortunate.”
A sound like the scratch of nails on metal came from the object in the butler’s hands, and Ferris stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out what was inside.
But his curiosity could wait. He followed the man, and shut the door after they had entered the small room.
The room was cosy, with small couches and a strange landscape painting, depicting a grassy meadow and hill. On top of that hill was a small table and parasol. He could even make out the tiny details of a teapot and cups laid out, but there was no one sitting at the table. Ferris had asked about it once, but Roswaal had cheerfully changed the subject.
Ferris got the impression that it was a sensitive subject for him, so he had allowed the matter to drop.
Roswaal sat beside two stacks of paper, one substantially smaller than the other.
“When Ram informed me that you were resting, I was plea~santly surprised, Ferris,” Roswaal said.
Ferris was just thankful that either Ram hadn’t told the man about the lullaby, or that Roswaal did not care to bring it up.
“Hopefully the rest will mean this lesson goes more smoothly than normal, I heard that today was going to be a special lesson Teacher?” Ferris asked.
Roswaal nodded slowly. “That is correct. I have hypothe~sised that a novel approach may help you make progress.”
Ferris perked up, the news allowing him to push aside the persistent headache, to focus entirely on Roswaal.
“A nyovel approach? What is it?”
Clind walked to the central table, placing the wrapped object down, and shifted so he stood opposite them.
“I believe it would be best to show you first,” Roswaal said, keeping his eyes locked on Ferris’s. “Clind, please bring out the ‘test subject’.”
“Such actions can wound the heart. Protest,” Clind said, but he still removed the blanket.
Ferris couldn’t help but tense. As the blanket began to lift he saw the glint of iron bars, revealing the object to be a cage. But it was a rather small cage for a human, meaning it could only contain a child.
Yet, despite the potential evidence staring him in the face, and his own experience with… such matters, he found that he was not afraid in the slightest. He could not help but doubt his initial thoughts.
After all, surely there was no way Roswaal would ever do such a thing.
He peered more closely, and as the blanket came off fully, his racing heart slowed. The darkness had receded, but it was not a child that it had revealed. A small, mangy kitten lay curled up on a blanket. It blinked in the sudden light, its body tense.
In moments, Clind had unlocked the cage and pulled the kitten carefully out of the cage, letting Ferris get a better look at it. The creature was small enough that he’d likely be able to lift it with one hand despite his stature, and looked to be underweight, its bones visible under its skin, its ginger fur thinner than Ferris thought was healthy.
The kitten's eyes darted around in the open daylight, before it shivered and pressed itself against Clind trying to make itself appear smaller.
“I requested Clind to find me a stray that seemed as if it would pe~rish soon. We have provided it with some food to give it more strength,” Roswaal said. “While you have failed to properly de~tect any curse, you have shown some awareness of the more powerful curses I have used. Likely because such curses must by na~ture interfere with the body more.”
Roswaal paused, seemingly to gauge Ferris' understanding.
Ferris nodded. It was something he had begun to suspect himself. When Roswaal had used curses more powerful than simple paralysis, it felt like there was a shadow cast over the internals of his body.
But so far, Ferris had only been able to see that shadow, and not the curse itself.
“I have been expo~sing myself to relatively minor curses so far, due to the risk even a moderate curse can do to a body after its defences have been lowered,” Roswaal continued. “Today, however, I will show you a significantly more po~werful curse, one that should be very familiar to you.”
Ferris blinked and met Roswaal’s eyes. “Does that mean…?”
Roswaal nodded. “I have done my best to replicate the very same curse that had been placed on the Royal Family. While it is no doubt an imperfect replica, I believe it would be useful for you to study it.”
Roswaal gestured to Clind, who handed him a knife. The butler’s quiet sigh was barely audible to Ferris’s enhanced senses.
“Normally I would be hesitant to use such a powerful curse due to the price, but with Sir Ferris here, that will be far easier to deal with.”
Roswaal rolled up a sleeve, revealing his pale wrinkled skin, and he pressed the knife against himself. Blood immediately started to ooze from the wound, and Ferris instinctively readied his healing magic. But before he could lift a hand to heal, Clind stepped into his path.
“My apologies, Ferris,” Roswaal said, placing the knife down on the table, not taking his eyes off his wound for a moment. “While you may have intellectually known the price of a more powerful curse, perhaps I should have warned you.”
Ferris could feel a slight disturbance in the air, the mark of mana moving in his vicinity. With how intently Roswaal was focusing on his bloodied arm, it was clear who the caster was.
Roswaal muttered a quick few words under his breath, too quietly for Ferris to pick up on. Then he dipped the fingers of his other hand into the pool of blood on his arm, and spread it over the kitten's fur, dyeing the sickly yellow fur a deep crimson.
Ferris paled, feeling an odd sickness beginning to rise in his gut, despite the fact that the kitten did not seem to be any worse for wear yet.
Roswaal finished spreading the blood, and then lifted his cut arm.
To his embarrassment, Ferris took a moment to realise what he was supposed to do. Now that the casting was over, he could safely heal Roswaal.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
He conjured his orb of blue light, and pressed it against the cut. He was relieved to see it close easily, although he was aware that it would take a longer session to restore the blood that had been lost.
When he was finished, Roswaal pulled his arm back to continue the lesson.
“Now, I have pla~ced the trigger of the curse inside the stray’s body, it will take effect in minutes. Please prepare yourself to observe it,” Roswaal said. Clind stepped forward to retrieve the now-bloody knife, whipping out a rag to clean it with.
Ferris swallowed but nodded, praying that this new method might see some results. Placing a hand on the terrified creature, he focused his energy on the creature to establish a baseline.
While he had rarely examined animals, the kitten reminded him of the few times he’d treated members of the slums. Its immune system was busy trying to fight off its illness, even as he noticed an infected paw, and long term starvation. Without care, there was little doubt that it wasn’t long for this world.
Ferris hoped that this training method would yield results quickly, while he wasn’t fond of cats, he still didn’t want to see one in pain, something he might have to see often if this exercise didn’t produce results.
Once Ferris was ready, Roswaal snapped his fingers.
The kitten yowled, body stiffening completely as it fell limp. All at once, a dozen different injuries and problems attacked its body. Ferris instinctively pushed his magic into it to seal the wounds, then forced himself to calm down. He closed his eyes and focused entirely on the information his magic was feeding him.
Ruptured organs were the most dangerous, so his magic crept in to stop the damage. It was a feat that even many healers would struggle with, but with the amount of experience Ferris had it should have been easy. However as the damage healed, he noticed the sluggishness as well as the familiar feeling of his magic being repelled.
“Ferris, if I die, please take care of yourself.”
Not again. Please no!
Healing magic was a delicate art. It required deep concentration to take in all the information the magic relayed, and a level of control necessary to prevent the internal mana of the patient from mixing into the Healer’s own.
But Ferris was weary, and focused entirely on trying to see the curse, disregarding the usual safety practices he observed.
His control slipped.
And in that moment, Ferris forgot that he was just treating a simple animal. He was thrust back into the past, where he was the only one who could possibly keep Fourier alive for another day. Adrenaline pumped into him, and he reached for more magic than he’d spent in days, forcing it in a steady stream.
The curse reacted to the interference, strengthening its hold in spite of the mana that flooded through the body. He was desperately treating the symptoms, but the cause eluded him. It taunted him.
Ferris could feel the world around him fade away, as the pressure against his gate increased. He’d never thrown away so much mana in one go before, as enough mana could overpower a person’s innate resistance, and be as destructive to a living one as a dead one.
Yet, his instincts screamed that if he held back at all, it would just lead to Fourier’s death. So even as the pull became painful, he pushed harder, his senses fading, as he retreated from the world itself.
For a brief, precious moment, he simply existed in a state of nothingness, residing only within his Od. He felt his gate connect to the gate of his patient.
And then he saw it.
It was a tar, the colour of freshly spilt blood; a spider, sitting in a web of illness and suffering; a malevolent entity intent on strangling the very Od that composed the patient’s soul.
Tentacles of crimson ooze snaked around the internal organs, causing mayhem wherever it touched, wrecking what they could with reckless abandon.
Seen like this, Ferris wondered how he had ever struggled to detect such a disgusting and wretched sight.
At that moment, all he could think of was its destruction, and his mana reacted to the wish, reaching out to strike at the curse itself.
That action was a mistake.
Dropped into a new scenario, it was natural he would default to his instincts, and a curse as foul as the one before him would always disgust a healer.
Yet, while Roswaal had walked him through the basics of destroying simple curses, designed solely to hinder, this was far from anything so benign. For before him was a pollution that blood and power had been shed to create.
His wave of mana did nothing against it.
Its counter did far more against him.
A spear of crimson shot out to meet him, wounding him and throwing him back to his own Od.
Such a small thing would never stop Ferris, but as he prepared to return, he saw that the strike had done far more than just throw him.
His own Od, once a clear source of mana, had now started pulsating with the same colour of the taint, and he felt it as it started to injure him as well.
There was a moment where he knew that he could withdraw, and cleanse the rot before it grew.
It would mean retreating from this battlefield though, and allowing the person he cherished most to die.
Instead, he called upon his knowledge, the books he had spent so long memorising, rereading, and failing to understand. He wove his mana together into a weapon, a sword of brilliant blue, and he struck out once more against the source of the curse. This time, he saw it recoil as a portion of it fell away.
Ferris could feel its rage, and it redoubled its effort against him. Spears the colour of blood impaled him, and whips of ooze lashed out to surround him. He tried to blunt the attacks, but his mana wasn’t up to the task. He did not have the necessary techniques to protect himself, nor did he have the capacity to finish his enemy off. As his senses began to fade, the curse growing to consume his own soul, he felt strangely content.
An ending such as this felt fitting for one such as him.
Yet, as if to spite such a thought, a blinding light illuminated his world, severing the tentacles of suffering, and bolts of pure darkness fell upon the heart of the curse itself.
The curse reacted instantly, pulling back from its assault on Ferris to try and lash out at this new enemy. But every move it made was rebuffed by the light, and every defence it mustered was crushed by the darkness.
Then the light and darkness began swirling together, forming a maelstrom with the crimson heart of the curse at its centre. The curse tried to resist, but it was trapped between the two opposing forces, and was ground to dust between them.
Ferris felt his awareness slipping away. A battle for his soul had taken place, and it would be understandable if he drifted into the embrace of sleep to recover.
But he refused to do so. He could sense that his Od had diminished, but forced that feeling aside to bring his attention back to the gate he was still connected to.
He poured his mana through that connection, and he saw that their battle had caused dozens of the body’s systems to start to fade, and his mana rushed to fix them all and delay the death that the curse had sought.
It took time, but he managed to fix the worst of the damages before he felt his connection to his Od fade, and as the sounds of the world slowly started to reach him once more.
Blinking open his eyes, he looked around slowly.
Clind was bandaging Roswaal's left arm, and giving the man a cross look, as Ferris realised that he was covered in blood. His sense of smell told him that it was the same blood covering the kitten, slumped against him.
“What happened, Teacher?” Ferris forced out, exhaustion slurring the words, even as he attempted to lurch forward.
Clind lightly pressed against his chest forcing him back to the ground, at a gesture from Roswaal.
“We~ll, the reason you are covered in blood is that I needed to break the curse quickly,” Roswaal explained. “I failed to foresee that you would not only perceive the curse, but also attempt to break it in the same session. As a resu~lt, the curse reacted just as the one performed on the Royal Family would—”
Then a hand clapped onto his shoulder, and Clind held a goblet of water up to Roswaal’s lips.
“Cease speaking and drink this. Order,” Clind said, the butler’s annoyance clear from his tone. “You’ve lost far too much blood. Recklessness.”
Roswaal ignored his butler's rudeness, merely taking the proffered cup and sipping it absentmindedly. His eyes were focused on Ferris’s own, seemingly deep in thought.
Then, after a moment, he spoke.
“Clind, can you prepa~re our meals early today?” he asked. “Our active lessons are do~ne for the day. Both Ferris and I will need to retire to rest, after our meal.”
Clind paused in his fussing, staring at Roswaal intently. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again and gave a single nod. He departed from the room, leaving the two alone.
For a few moments the two sat in silence, Roswaal’s dual-coloured eyes piercing through Ferris.
“I will not atte~mpt to sugar-coat this. You have strai~ned your gate, Ferris,” Roswaal said. “While no permanent damage was done, any normal mage would require months to re~cover. For a water mage such as yourself, I suspect that time will be shortened.”
He paused.
“The worst of the strain happened after I destro~yed the curse, as you seemed determined to keep the test subject alive even after all that damage, something I thought impossible.”
Ferris closed his eyes, it was embarrassing to hear that he’d over-reacted so badly and damaged his gate. He’d always looked down on people reckless enough, to cause such damage to themselves.
Thankfully, healing himself has always been easier than healing others. For a Water Mage as skilled as him, reconstructing his entire body would be feasible, and something he could do in minutes.
While his gate was by far the most difficult, being partly spiritual rather than entirely biological, he felt he should be able to reverse the damages in under a week.
Opening his eyes, Ferris allowed eyes to drift to look at the life he had saved, wondering how he’d mistaken the small kitten for Fourier of all things.
A small smile crept on his lips at what the man himself would think of it.
Well, a cat is still in the same general family as a lion, even if it is a baby.
He leaned forward to run his hands through its fur, and the kitten mewled in response. His healing had pulled it from the jaws of death, and where once it had been destined to die in days, it would now have the rest of its life. Studying it, he saw how its eyes focused on his, and slowly reached out to pet its fur, noting how even the fur’s lustre had changed, and how it now wore a pelt of gold.
It even kind of looks like a tiny lion. I should show it to Fourier and Crusch. Maybe Fourier will want to keep it.
It would be nice to speak to the two of them with joviality again, the way they had before Fourier had been cursed.
Slowly the brittle smile faded, as the truth he’d been denying came rushing back.
The reason behind everything.
He had treated Fourier for months, had attempted anything he could to heal him, and had done nothing but repeatedly fail.
Intellectually, he was aware that he’d been going at it from the wrong angle, but that simply meant that he desperately needed this knowledge so that he could stop it from happening next time.
Roswaal cleared his throat, and Ferris snapped out of his reminiscences, looking over at the mage.
“Today you ma~naged to see for yourself your first curse,” he said, “and while it was a more dramatic scenario than I had planned, I’d say that after you recover we should be able to take the next step in dispelling simple ones.”
Ferris couldn’t stop the chuckle from forming, as he pressed a hand to his face to hide the tears that were forming.
Today had let him actually damage the curse that would have taken Fourier, perhaps not in a truly meaningful way, but it was progress.
The exhaustion he felt weighed down on him, yet he also felt as if the burden had been lightened as well.
----------------------------------------
Scritch, scratch.
The sounds of writing echoed in the otherwise silent room.
It was an administrative office Crusch had claimed as her own over the past month. While her position as Captain of Public Safety allowed her access to the traditional offices of the post, she felt it would be disrespectful to the dead to move in so soon.
She made it a point to spend at least a few hours in her office each day, so that she could go through the reports the Knights and guards had made, and write out new orders to follow up on leads and requisition guard patrols to support her actions.
Unfortunately, despite the myriad resources spent, she wasn’t any closer to an answer regarding either the source of the curse, or the murderous insects.
Releasing a slow breath, Crusch laid down her pen and massaged her temples.
They hadn’t discovered any new leads, but not for a lack of trying. In her time as Captain of Public Safety, she’d found and stopped a number of unrelated crimes, all uncovered by her relentlessly investigating even the slightest trace of wrongdoing.
Suspicious clandestine meetings in the lower city had turned out to be a normal gang, a shadowy figure sneaking around the rooftops had turned out to be an ordinary—if notorious—thief, and strange rumours of the court had been traced back to a knight with a love of ale and a lack of sense.
Her most notable achievement occurred when she audited the finances of the spy that had been murdered in his cell. After going down a rabbit hole of searching through his dealings for anything that could clue her into who he could possibly have been working for, she had stumbled upon a series of numbers that didn’t add up, and discovered an unrelated ring of civil officials who had been embezzling the kingdom’s funds.
Russel Fellow had taken over that case rather quickly, and she hadn’t yet heard what had happened to the unfortunate criminals. The Treasurer was reputedly tough on those who jeopardised the kingdom’s finances, so she didn’t think they would be causing any more trouble.
She had asked to be involved if Russel’s further investigations turned up more leads, but in her heart, Crusch knew that it too was an unrelated dead end.
All those incidents had been resolved, and yet more popped up daily. Crusch was making great strides in reducing crime in the city, but her leads for her primary mission had gone ice cold.
The reports that she poured through were undoubtedly useful and had already proven their value.
Yet, Crusch couldn’t help but grit her teeth at the thought that after all this time, no new information had surfaced.
She sighed, and opened a drawer in her desk, pulling out a worn stack of papers.
She had read and reread them so many times that she could practically recite them off by heart, and yet she kept coming back to them, searching for some clue, searching for something. There had to be something she had missed, something that would make everything else make sense.
She laid down the documents, and eyed the top of the page for what felt like the hundredth time.
‘Collected documents of Mikkel Meyer’
She herself had written those words, indeed, she had written a large portion of the notes surrounding each of the documents the collection contained.
Mikkel was the name of the spy that had been assassinated in his cell. Crusch had investigated his background while he was unconscious, but after his death, she had scoured the kingdom’s records for everything she could about the man, in some vain hope of finding a lead.
She started flicking through the pages, eyes alighting on the same points they always did, reading the occasional note she had written to investigate further, then crossed out once it turned up nothing.
He was a civil official who worked in the palace, but not in any major capacity. He was involved in keeping order in the capital, namely helping draft notices for the city and keeping the administration running.
The other civil officials he worked with had described him as hard-working, and were unanimously sad to hear about his death.
Crusch turned to the collections of transcripts of the interviews she had conducted with those co-workers. An aide had been writing everything down while Crusch interrogated Mikkel’s closest co-workers, and she had added in notes for the emotions she detected afterwards.
Not a single person had felt anything other than sadness and grief. On the few instances she had brought up the fact that he was a spy, they had responded with indignation and disbelief. Mikkel had never even hinted at his true loyalties.
She flipped to the next section of the documents, that of his family.
The Meyer family was a regional nobility based in the north, but Mikkel was part of a branch family that had moved to the capital decades ago. Her investigation revealed that he hadn’t been in contact with the main family for at least ten years, and probably never met them in person.
His immediate family wasn’t any better, he had no siblings, and his parents had died of illness, five years apart. His aunt and uncle still survived, but they had only occasional contact with him. They described him as a reserved person, and had been upset when Crusch had broken the news. She had lightly prodded the couple about anyone he might have been working with, but they too had no idea that he had been spying on the kingdom. Crusch hadn’t had the heart to tell them the full story.
The next section included some of the documents that he wrote, dry reports on the state of the city, and recommendations for review. Nothing in them stood out to her.
This continued for the entire report. He so perfectly played the role of an ordinary person that there were times Crusch somehow doubted that he had done anything wrong.
And yet, he had tried to spy on Fourier, and he had attacked her on sight.
That was not something an innocent man would do.
But there was not one trace of his guilt in Crusch’s documents. He had no ties to any foreign kingdoms, no loyalties to anything but the kingdom, and no vices he could be controlled with.
He reportedly was close friends with a merchant in the capital, but Crusch had interviewed him too, and discovered nothing. He was a follower of the Church of the Divine Dragon, but barely ever attended sermons, basically only showing up for important events. He had saved up quite a bit of money, so it was unlikely the promise riches would tempt him.
Nothing about his betrayal added up.
Footsteps approached her door, but she paid no attention to it. There were many reasons for someone to be walking the section of the palace her office was in, and she felt no need to spare the effort of keeping track of everyone.
That changed when the person stopped and knocked, the sound echoing through the silent room.
“Enter,” she called out, but the door was already opening. A breach of protocol, but not one Crusch cared about. If they felt it was urgent, Crusch fully approved of the disregard.
The man that entered had a stern face that seemed permanently etched in a slight frown, with long prematurely greying hair that enhanced the sharp looks he was fond of throwing out. His heavy armour made deceptively light thuds, as the man strode forwards, a thick stack of papers carefully balanced in his arms.
Lucius Reiter may not have been Karsten’s strongest soldier, but he was easily one of the wisest, having served as their commander for more than a decade. Even if he now bore little resemblance to the smiling young man that had first taken that position.
The man spent the majority of his time in the field, but she still knew the man well enough that the man’s dull eyes alarmed her, even without the Wind storming around him.
“Lady Crusch,” he began, “you asked to be alerted if we discovered anything unusual.”
She nodded, gesturing for Lucius to go on.
“An atrocity far worse than normal has occurred in the slums,” Lucas began. “The description in the report closely matches that of the incident in the palace cells. Notably, a swarm of bugs was said to be consuming the corpse when it was discovered.”
Crusch felt her heartbeat pick up at his words.
Could this be what I’ve been waiting for?
She stood upright, and snatched up her sword.
“Lead me there now,” she ordered.
----------------------------------------
The sun beat down on them as their procession marched through the slums, as the six of them marched towards their destination.
Crusch marched at the head of the formation, a hand on her blade as Lucius flanked her, and his four soldiers followed in a synchronised formation.
She was confident in her abilities, so she was doubtful that they would be needed, but on the off chance the curse user decided to try and attack her while she was in the city, she wanted to have adequate strength to capture them.
Crusch had never been down to the slum district before, and examined the area critically as they moved.
The houses were dilapidated, with her eyes spotting many signs of damage. She could make out the flows of air suffusing the buildings, all of them far draughtier than she was familiar with.
But the majority of the damage she saw was more cosmetic than structural, meaning that they were likely safe to live in for now.
Not many of the reports she’d read dealt with this district, which made her wonder about finding a body here.
Did it mean that the culprit had been hiding in the slums? Or had they deliberately left behind the body here to throw the kingdom off their trail?
As she marched forwards, she observed the residents of the slums watching their procession from a distance, many closing their windows and hiding deeper in the maze of buildings.
She’d seen similar actions from isolated villages before, as it was common to fear outsiders, especially those clad in armour. Bandits prayed on those who could not protect themselves.
But this was the capital of Lugunica. The residents should be aware that any large group was composed of knights, not bandits.
Yet despite that knowledge, she could see the residents of this district had no trust for their group. Their emotions flowed together, screaming wariness and fear to her eyes.
Crusch kept her gait steady, and her eyes sharp, ignoring a seed of doubt that had planted itself in her heart.
What happened to these people, that they equate soldiers and outlaws?
It was a troubling question, but not one she had time to dwell on.
Before long they arrived at the body.
A set of two guards were already there, guarding the corpse and warding away civilians. Not that any wanted to approach. The smell that assaulted Crusch’s senses was even worse than it had been in the cell, and she felt a pang of sympathy for the guards.
The sun had allowed the decomposition to progress even faster, but even from a distance it was clear that the body had been desecrated in the same way the prior victim had.
“Have you sent for Lord Mueller yet?” Crusch inquired as they drew nearer. “We may require his expertise to examine the body.”
“We have, Lady Crusch,” Lucius confirmed, face steady even as the others' faces twisted into disgust. “I have also dispatched a messenger to summon a Healer to examine the body as well.”
“What of the victim?” she asked.
“There is little noteworthy information, but considering where the body was found perhaps we should not be surprised.” Lucius said eyes not leaving the corpse. “Our only leads on the body come from members of the slums who claim it was a family member, who lived there her whole life. She had no connections to nobility, nor did her family members, if we are being told the truth.”
Crusch nodded, frowning.
Assuming that the body is truly a commoner, what does that tell us?
She pondered for a few seconds, her eyes idly tracing the scene of the murder. Bones were exposed through the savaged flesh, and blood pooled around the mound of remains.
It means… perhaps she stumbled onto something she should not have, and was eliminated? Or perhaps that’s what they want us to think, and this body was intended to be found, to lead us off track?
“Have you made inquiries to the surrounding civilians beyond the corpses identity?” Crusch questioned, eyebrows furrowing. “Who found the body? Did anyone hear anything? Who last saw her alive?”
Lucius nodded slightly. “Guards have been dispatched to learn those pieces of information, but…”
He trailed off. From the flow of his emotions, Crusch suspected he was trying to decide how to phrase his next words.
“Permission to speak freely Lady Crusch?” Lucius requested his face carefully neutral.
“Granted,” Crusch said, feeling a touch of surprise, but considering that Lucius would be more used to reporting to her Father, such a request made sense.
“The people out here barely consider themselves part of our Kingdom,” he said. “Relying completely on their answers would be a mistake, considering that many of them outright resent outsiders. The largest reason we were able to gather the information we currently possess is thanks to bribery and the fact that the Karsten Soldiers represent a new group. While it is still potentially worth delegating to the guards, it is unlikely that they will be able to gather information even with a monetary reward.”
Crusch sighed. Another obstacle. But I can’t give up a lead this fresh.
“Send two of this squad to help with the inquiries,” she ordered, “and under my authority, grant them increased access to discretionary funds to help persuade tongues to loosen. This information could be critical.”
“Right away,” Lucius confirmed, lowering into a half bow before he moved to command his soldiers.
Of course, this could just be another dead end, Crusch thought. With how things have been going, perhaps this is another unrelated event, and this new killing technique has other practitioners, not aligned with our enemy.
She frowned.
If the original one is even aligned with the curse user in the first place. We still don’t have any confirmation on that.
She glanced up at the sky, the grey clouds obscuring the sun and vibrant blue sky. Her eyes traced the winds, all of which were flowing in thick streams, clashing and mixing overhead.
It was a weather pattern she was familiar with.
It’s going to rain, she concluded, then sighed and looked back down at the remains. It had been ripped apart to such an extent that even a little water would probably wash it away.
I’ll have to get the guards to fetch a tent.
----------------------------------------
The next few days were a whirlwind of activity, as multiple murders happened in quick succession. All of them were commoners in the slum districts, who had been killed by insects and bugs.
Worse yet, the corpses were always left in public areas, out of the way enough that no one saw them taking place, but exposed enough that the commoners found them quickly.
Even with the plethora of cases, Crusch wasn’t any closer to tracking down the killer, and in fact, now she had to deal with a more pressing issue.
Panic had started to take root among the civilians of the entire city. Every day that went by, the residents of the slums grew rowdier and more fearful. The majority of the nobility didn’t see any major difference, the slums were always a lawless region. But the air held a tension that it hadn’t before, and Crusch couldn’t say what would happen if it was allowed to reach a boiling point.
The past few days had been unrelenting chaos in the slums, the infighting between gangs had skyrocketed, among other crimes, along with many seeking to leave the slums and hide amongst the rest of the capital.
Perhaps that had been their enemy’s goal with the murders all along.
They had certainly set things up to stoke as much fear as possible.
It wasn’t simply the murders themselves that triggered the chaos, from what she had read, the slums had a fairly high death rate compared to the rest of the capital. Enough so, that the deaths normally wouldn’t have stood out from the rest.
Had they died in any other way, under any other circumstances, they would simply have been a few more lives lost to the slums. But the horrifying method, coupled with the uncharacteristically thorough response from the guards and knights, had set the residents on edge.
Crusch was an experienced commander, and had fought in several battlefields. The sight of a corpse was not an unfamiliar one, but even she had to admit that being consumed by insects was horrifying.
The members of the slums were not soldiers and could not be reasonably expected to handle such gruesome details unaffected.
Usually dispatching guards on additional patrols through the region would be enough to bring some amount of calm. Their presence would be a calming eye, reassuring the citizens that they were working to ensure safety.
In the slums, the guards were having the opposite effect. The residents’ only experience with the guards was the occasional search party looking for criminals trying to lay low. The relationship between the two was mostly antagonistic.
Now, the guards had started a military crackdown, beginning to occupy the slums. They were there for safety, but to a slum resident? It looked like they were biding their time to drive them from the city.
Crusch was doing all she could to keep the situation under control. In addition to managing the increased guard patrols through the district, she had ordered contingents of soldiers from her own house to take part in patrols, and set up camps where they could quickly dispatch to address incidents.
The main reasoning being that they were better trained, and thus, more likely to catch the culprit, but it had an important secondary benefit. Her soldiers weren’t trusted, but they didn’t have as negative a reputation as the guards did.
The guards’ presence had exacerbated the commoners’ fears, but pulling them out now without making an effort to replace them would be an even worse mistake.
It wasn't hyperbole to say that it was only their presence that stopped a full scale riot from forming.
Crusch needed to figure out how to stop the escalating tension as quickly as possible.
She had been neglecting other aspects of her duties trying to resolve the slums, but she had finally reached a task that she did not feel she could put off.
She sighed as she placed down the latest report, and leaned back in her chair, debating what she should do.
‘Visit Ferris’ was listed at the top of her priorities, a task that she usually performed once a week. Her attendant had become so consumed with breaking curses, that he failed to take care of himself at all.
Should I delay it?
She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. How urgently did she need to attend to the slums? Would her presence help settle them down?
No. There’s always going to be work to do there, but it’s work that would be better left to subordinates.
It would have been easy to put the case above Ferris’s needs, but it would have been the same mistake Ferris made by prioritising breaking curses over his own.
This case was not a sprint, but a marathon. Crusch knew that the both of them needed to pace themselves in order to not completely burn out.
She stretched her arms above her head, and then reached for another document.
Perhaps I’ll ask him to take a look at one of the bodies as well. The Healers couldn’t find anything unusual, but they aren’t Ferris. If there’s anything still hidden in them, he’ll be able to find it.