Chapter 110 — In which they meet for the ‘first’ time (1)
After sending away his prey, feed with false promises and smiles, Vern returned to his room.
On his way back he ran into three siblings trying to drag Sangria back to his abode, while Sangria insisted he should go back to Crimo’s study, to analyze the events and exact their exact process.
The twin sisters insisted that was already late and against labor laws, while their little brother was heavily nodding his head in support.
Vern took their side in the discussion, by reminding Sangria that Scarlen was currently taking care of Crimo, and they shouldn’t be disturbed.
At that, Sangria pointedly rebutted that he should then go to make sure that ‘Young Master Vern’ also goes to sleep and doesn’t try to do four-people job.
That was a heavy blow, but Vern took out his secret weapon and mentioned the ‘mysterious guest’.
His general counter was that because mysterious guest had some connection with newly acquired friend, before they could start thinking about what happened there, they should get to Iben.
But before he could mention mysterious guest fourth time, Sangria held his head in his hand and asked him to stop.
He also promised to go to sleep, so Vern was satisfied and left Sangria in the care of three siblings, who were very happy that they won’t have to give grueling report today.
Something caught his eye when he entered the room.
A small note laid on the paper.
The content was simple.
‘Happy birthday. Congratulations.’
And a crude butterfly drawn with crayons.
Vern was quite impressed.
It wouldn’t be easy to put it in his room without disturbing numerous detection spells he put here.
Though the little intruder was on the entrance-permitted list, so the most sensitive spells didn’t trigger for her, it still couldn’t be easy.
Vern put a preservation spell on the small note and carefully placed it in a lock box.
Then he took out paper and a few charcoal pencils.
Sangria was right to worry about Vern’s work obsession.
Using the memory crystal in which he recorded everything that happened in the building, where the ceremony took place, Vern began his analysis.
He kept noting his scattered thoughts, switching between languages and even writing down the words that was long since erased from the history.
As he analyzed everyone’s action pattern, the suspicion he had during the coming-of-age ceremony turned into a grave conviction.
Vern flicked the pencil in his hand and let his hand wander, while he fell into thoughts.
‘As expected… That bastard didn’t die there…’
Too many forces moved all at once, seemingly cooperating together, and yet being too chaotic to truly cooperate.
He once heard one of Saf’s military aids say:
— There is only two situations when forces’ movements make no completely no sense. One, when the commander is stupid enough to think that if they will be able to hide their true goal like this. That never works by the way. The true goal becomes even more obvious because of this. Two, when the commander cannot control their forces.
That ‘bastard’ wasn’t stupid.
Far from it.
They just couldn’t get a proper grip on everyone’s minds.
Vern remembered how he died.
In the trap built on the coincidences and thoughts shared by numerous people, who otherwise had not even one point of similarity or contact.
A real betrayal needs numerous hands and great luck to work out.
But a dream of betrayal?
That needs just a simple thought.
Vern sighed and looked down at his notes.
A man with a smug, but secretly nervous expression looked back at him.
Vern blinked and then laughed.
It seemed that his hand unconsciously sketched something that he was keeping in the back of his mind all this time.
Vern turned his gaze to the scenes captured in the memory crystal and played the scene of their ‘first’ meeting again.
He leaned back against the backrest, and put his leg on his knee, twisting the leg inwards and settling in a more comfortable position.
He quietly scrutinized the man’s every feature and expression, with the obsessive fascination of a crazy botanist, who discovered a new flower.
“Truly… a work of art…”
He mumbled and then laughed again, when the man fumbled with his words and suddenly spit out ‘Lord Mage’.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Ah, come to think of it… Isn’t it a bit like our ‘first’ meeting? From your perspective I mean.”
He laughed, recalling the events from more than 400 years ago.
*-*-*
Because of the unexpected event, Citrie was sent away ‘to rest’.
He understood that in the extremely tense situation, the uncertain political factor like him could easily become a fishbone stuck in someone’s throat.
So he retreated without a word.
After returning to his humble longings and hiding the box with the things that could easily cause a civil war in Flavun if they became known to the public, he laid down on his bed.
Only then he realized how nervous he was.
How could he not?
As far as he knew if this situation could cause a war between Flavun and Rubrun.
Young Lady Saffra seemed carefree, as if she really was going to the party, and Lady Mimosa’s frozen expression only changed when she worried about her little sister, so the danger didn’t feel real until he stepped into that teleportation circle and found himself in Rubrun’s traditional building.
With all its architecture mixing clay bricks with wood and paper, it should feel beautiful and fascinating, but Citrie felt suffocated.
As if there was invisible smoke in the air.
He only felt better when…
His thoughts came to a sudden halt, as Citrie covered his face and groaned.
“How could have I know? They don’t look alike at all!”
He put his face in the pillow and lamented to the air and trees outside the window.
Really. That felt unfair.
Citrie never saw pictures of the Lesser Lord Mage, not even when he was young.
But he saw pictures of the Archmage, so he naturally thought that he would recognize the Lesser Lord Mage.
“Completely different! Completely different!”
He mumbled into the pillow.
The Archmage made Citrie think of a spider… a pale, white spider. Or some insect perhaps.
With segmented long arms, and unnaturally thin body and emotionless, cold gaze.
On the other hand, the Lesser Lord Mage was…
…
…
Citrie just groaned again and burrowed himself further into the pillow.
His heart was pounding in his ears.
‘I must have gone crazy from stress.’
He gave up, took out a sleeping incense and after lighting it up, he started to mediate.
Sleep didn’t allude him for long.
But peace didn’t last long… Soon, Citrie started tossing as a strange dream infiltrated his head.
*-*-*
Under the eternally dark sky, Guardian looked around the deserted alley, meandering between clay buildings.
He frowned and asked his subordinate:
“You’re certain that the suspects come here?”
“Yes, Captain. The suspects were seen multiple times putting up performances for the people.”
“What kind of performances?”
“Well…”
The subordinate hesitated.
Her colleague explained with a grin on his face.
“They were described as ‘scandalous’, Sir. But when we pressed for details the witnesses would say the things like ‘The story was very moving, and the acting was so dramatic, and the music was sounded so exotic, yet so thrilling…. But it was so scandalous! Of course, I left before it ended! I don’t know anything about it!’ and so on. It seems we will have to see it person to find out.”
He laughed.
Guardian tilted his head.
As they move down the alley, he took out a slip with the information about the suspects.
[Names] Unknown. For the sake of clarity, the following code names were given: Crow, Snake, Fox.
[Ages] Unknown. From their height they appear to be fully grown adults, but it’s possible they’re particularly tall teenagers.
[Bloodlines] Unknown
[Origins] Unknown. The earliest reports of sightseeing are from a year ago.
[Residence] Unknown. Possible multiple hideouts.
[Appearance]
Crow: Around 1.81 meters in height. Around 47~49 kilograms in weight. Some bones show more than usual. Hair, bright red. Eyes, bright red. Wearing a red crow mask (leather and paper).
Snake: Around 1.83 meters in height. Around 54~57 kilograms in weight. Hair, bright gold. Eyes, bright yellow. Particularly dark skin. Wearing a yellow snake mask (leather and bones).
Fox: Around 1.82 meters in height. Around 56~58 kilograms in weight. Hair, dark purple. Eyes, pale purple. Wearing a purple fox mask (pottery and bones).
[Skills] Unknown
[Crimes]
Suspected of: exploding and burning down ten major warehouses. Stealing entire storage of three military warehouses, six food warehouses. Assault on the law officers and production managers. Selling drugs. Spreading dangerous beliefs and ideas. Controlling minds of numerous residents to commit various peace-disturbing acts or/and abandon their duties against residents will.
Frankly speaking that information was laughable.
It was the first time Guardian faced criminals which entire known information could be gathered on a single page.
While he perused this single file, he and his two subordinates left the alley and found a crowd of people gathering on a small plaza.
His subordinates quickly grabbed one of the locals to ask some questions and then returned to Guardian’s side.
“We’re lucky. The suspects are about to put on a play here.”
“Should we capture them now?”
“What? No! We should watch the play! See what’s the entire fuss about. Right, Sir?”
“Hm…”
He couldn’t deny that his interest was piqued.
“Let’s watch. We may find some clues about how they mind control people this way. But if anything seems wrong, you’re free to take action.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Thanks, Sir!”
They pushed through the crowd.
It was much bigger than Guardian expected, but thanks to their physique being much more robust than the locals, they easily got to the front.
There he saw three suspects busing themselves around a makeshift stage.
As if they just finished the preparations, the man in the crow mask stepped forward and addressed the audience.
“Welcome, great people of this land. We’re honored to have you attend our humble play.”
The voice was pleasant to listen to.
Guardian understood why the man was chosen as a host.
It wasn’t magnetic or sonorous voice that would make one’s heart flutter by just listening to it, but it was a voice that was calm and soothing, with clear pronunciation, which was ideal when delivering the information.
“Today’s play is titled ‘Both cannot be chosen’.”
There was an excited murmur in the crowd.
When it calmed down, Crow continued.
“As those who saw it before would know, this play has a gimmick. One of the audience members will take one of the roles. And the generous spectator, who will stand on stage together with us will be…”
Crow looked around the audience, carefully checking each face below the stage.
Many people tried to put up their best looks, but…
It wasn’t their lucky day.
Guardian blinked when his eyes met with the two burning suns behind the crow mask.
The red stars shinned ominously.
“Good sir in the cat mask over there. Will you honor us with stepping on the stage?”
As expected, Crow pointed at Guardian.
One of his subordinates gasped, and people around sent Guardian jealous looks.
Guardian was unfazed.
He raised one eyebrow and asked:
“Why?”
“We happen to look for a good-looking face, and sir happened to be a work of art worthy of attention.”
Neither his voice nor smile felt sincere.
If Guardian didn’t know he has a good face, he would suspect that Crow was making fun of him.
“I’m sorry, but flirt words like this needs more sincerity to achieve the desired effect on me.”
Crow’s friendly smile, turned just slightly more sinister at his words.
“My apologies if that’s how it came off as, I don’t flirt during work. Is that something you, sir, do in your line of work?”
… That was pointy blow.
Guardian heard one of his subordinates snicker.
“Sir! If that guy doesn’t want to then chose someone else!”
“Right! Chose someone who knows how to be grateful!”
The angry voices came from the crowd.
On the impulse, Guardian replied to them:
“I never said I won’t do it.”
“Captain?”
His other, calm subordinate, was startled.
“It’s fine. Isn’t the best seat to watch them on that stage?”
He calmed her down quickly and strolled towards the stage.
Crow reached his hand to help him on the stage.
“It’s a pleasure to have you here, sir.”
“Likewise.”
They exchanged fake pleasantries, as Guardian was pulled on the stage.
Crow’s hand was surprisingly rough, as if he did a lot of physical work, even with this weak-looking body.
The man guided him to the stage corner and took out a colorful and somehow luxurious-looking cloak and put it on Guardian.
As he started to tie it up, Guardian asked:
“Who am I playing?”
Crow laughed.
Sincerely.
Pulling the last knot and raising his head, Crow answered curtly:
“My king.”
And placed a crown on Guardian’s head.
…
Something seemed to be going wrong.
*~*~*