14th day of Midas’ Win, year 983
Soral turned in her bed. Trying, and failing, to make sleep meet her tonight, she accommodated her pillow a fourth time. After another fifteen minutes of twisting and churning, she muttered a curse. Rising from her bed, she walked to her desk and sat down. Her hands, unsteady, hungered for something to do and picked a random book that turned out to be her old diary.
Moving it from one hand to the other, the events of last week weighed on her mind. She still didn’t understand. Was this an illusion? Mind magic? Was he really intending to do what he had vowed to do? Yet, the contract he had left on her desk that day had been signed. Why leave it with her if he wanted to change? To intimidate her? ‘And why have I not yet revealed him as a necromancer to the High Paladin? While deposing cruel rulers is a chore for the Inquisition, purging undead takes priority over the war. Was this his plan, to drown me in fear? But why use Sacrament then? Why still play this charade, why put me in charge, why…’
As if running away from her turmoil, the diary slipped from her hands after a careless throw, landing wide open. Somewhat startled by the small sound, louder at night, she glared at it, now distracted from her endless questions. The written date called to her. ’16th of Firstleaf…’ She squinted her eyes, trying to read under the starlight that came from her window. ‘973 of the Imperial Calendar?...Ten years ago, huh.’ Having calmed down from that light scare, she continued to gaze at it. With sleep still refusing her calling, and with nothing better to do, she picked it up and started to read, even if she knew it was a mistake.
‘...Today we went on a trip to the nearby forest! Since Noct was made to return from school he has been depressed all day. And he gets angry too! Father told me which was his favourite tree and I spent a day searching for them so I could cheer him up with a walk! And it worked!...But I got too excited and almost fell in a river. I would have ruined my clothes if not for a shadow that was Noct’s friend!...’
Her whim turned into a nostalgic mood, causing her to slowly get more into reading her own past. Turning a page, this one was in a worse condition and, noticing the date, she sighed.
‘11th of Greenery, fourth month of the year 973. Something scary is happening. Mother told me to hide in the cellar of the castle. There’s a lot of scary sounds and steps, the screams are al…’ This line was illegible due to water damage. ‘...the shadows moved! And there are skeletons here with brother! But he is hurt! He is…’ More illegible text.
She continued to read, even if sad. The death of her parents was a scar she had gotten over, even if the hole would always remain.
‘11th of Zhûn’s Awakening, fifth month of the year 973. Brother said our parents had to go on a long journey. He looked very troubled but promised to always take care of me. Brother never knew how to lie, uncle Andras told me the truth. Why wouldn’t he do the same? Does he not trust me? He looks so scary.’
‘6th of Goldening, sixth month of the year 973. A lot of my mom’s friends have started to live in the castle. Brother does his best to please them, even staying up late studying difficult subjects. We see each other so little now. I also need to work harder!’
‘30th of Firstleaf, third month of the year 974. Brother has gotten used to carrying a sword. I never see him without his armour either. He also spends little time on the castle. Today, he got very angry at the bishop of the church of Elenia, screaming at him something about corruption. The bishop left in a hurry. Brother has still not realised I got angry at him last month and have yet to talk to him…’
‘7th of Greenery, 974. There’s a lot less people at home now. Brother is talking less and less each day too. I would feel lonely if Andras didn’t come talk to me.’
‘13th of Warmdays, seventh month of the year 975. Brother called for an emergency reunion of all of the statemen of the castle and charged against all of them, calling them traitors and saying that if they did not stop bickering between themselves we wouldn’t get anywhere. They got furious and turned towards brother, calling him a stupid youngster that thought he knew better.’
‘22th of Breezedays, eleventh month of the year 975. The advisers stopped coming altogether and returned to their homes. Noct was very angry at that.’
‘12th of Goldening 976. Today was the first day my brother ever yelled at me. I didn’t even do anything! I was just sleepy from a bad night and I just yawned! Still, Andras said that things have been difficult in the countryside so I just apologised. He did too.’
‘31th of Moon’s Domain, first month of the year 977. I fear for what the barony is slowly becoming, and for my brother too. He keeps using skeletons as supplementary troops as our debt only increases month by month. The normal soldiers have yet to notice, but I did. It’s as if he no longer cares about what the Empire would say.’
‘22th of Greenery, 979. He fired Andras and I have yet to be able to talk to him. He is going down a path I won’t tolerate.’
‘30th of Zhûn’s Rest, 12th and last month of the year 979. I am alone. There’s not a courtier left loyal to me. My old brother is gone.’
Closing the book, she gazed around her bedroom. Her room was the last place that had furniture on the castle. It was but an illusion of kindness, that she knew. Reading her diary, while not having calmed her down, did reinforce something she already knew deep in her heart. The “Why”s didn’t matter. He had destroyed everything she had had or could have had and there was nothing that could deny that fact. Forgiveness was not something she would give.
Rising from the chair, her fingers traced her bookshelf, filled to the brim with books, both advanced and introductory, of economics, military tactics, politics and different languages. On one of the shelfs laid a sword, a gift from long ago. She knew Noct had his demons, but he sure as Nethers had been another.
‘Maybe I should ask for lessons.’ Her focused gaze fell on the sword.
………
Noct had developed a certain distaste of sunlight since he had come back from the University. Working in the underground had acclimatised him to the dim light of the sewers and subterranean rooms. And it was not doing him any favours as he traversed the inner city under the morning sun. A sea of whispers and murmurs also followed him as always. ‘Do the usual. Pick a random thug and smash them into a wall. It oughta shut them all up.’ The habitual thought came to him and, by muscle memory, almost acted on it. But he was drained of the same ritual. How many times had he done this very act? Had it ever fixed anything? Slowly shaking his head as apathy rained inside, he dispersed his dark thoughts.
Letting out a silent laughter, his walking turned brisk. Being right always cheered him up after all. He had been proven yet again that he was a danger, and the quicker he did what he had to do, the better. This certainty did little to quell the whispers and the imaginary pointing fingers, which appeared to grow louder by the second. The rotting smell coming from the main plaza was another weight to his dwindling patience. He had left the castle to visit the carpenters half an hour ago and he already wanted to go back to his workshop.
Street after street, block after block, the people did everything in their power to stay as far away from him as possible. Never making eye contact, some returned from where they came to evade him. His walk turned into what some would call a run and his mind dived into the question of how to pay for the men that would build the new outer ring. His glare turned to the right and fell on the stall of a bakery. The owner backed away and Noct knew that if he took anything, they would not demand payment.
That second felt like a sudden bout of inspiration, as if Kill, God of Logic, had granted him inspiration. He could simply stop paying the interest, nay, the debt of his family. That would strengthen the position of the baroness with the merchant guilds and grant him the liquidity to complete the slums project. The long term problems of that decision would present themselves after winter, and by them the Druids should have stockpiled enough processed hardwood to be able to bribe his way back in.
Reaching the doors of the Carperters’ Guild, his evil smirk scared the guards.
…………
“You want us to do what, sir Regent?” Asked the Grand Master of the guild, a man in his late thirties. His working attire was already tainted by the work shift. Biting a toothpick, he was glad he could not afford his usual tobacco as the stale barony had done little to help with the overbearing high cost of almost all luxury goods. ‘Not like necessities had to be any cheaper for that to be worth it.’ In front of the cause, it was hard to contain the bitter thought.
“I won’t repeat myself again, so do hear it well this time, Issac.” Noct crossed his arms, not bothering to sit in the chair that had been arranged for him. “I want all of your men to shift priority into opening half a dozen guild subsidiaries in the outer ring to instruct the peasants so they may join the workforce as you work to help the Druids with the reconstruction of the slums.”
“All of my workforce? That will impact several other projects we have already ongoing. And before winter would be im…” The heavy thump of a bag, filled to the brim with gold, against the table shut up Issac. Some of the coins that fell from the table glistened thanks to the light from the window. While that glint did wonders for his motivation, the glare from Noct curtailed his enthusiasm. “My mistake, my regent. It is feasible.” He gulped. “This is half of the payment, right?”
Noct smiled like a predator. “A third. I want the best materials and for the new subsidiaries to be permanent. You should not have any problems with that if you can train them well enough.” The shine of the gold heavily contrasted against his armour, darkly stating its power as it drank the light that fell on it, giving the appearance of a black void that sunlight could not fill.
Gulping again, now out of fear, Issac nodded. “Very well. We will turn Bonfire into the jewel of the North. Still, I have an inkling that the other Guilds wouldn’t like your favouritism. Do you have any measures in place to prevent an economic conflict?”
Noct arched an eyebrow. “I own both your Guild and the others. They can either follow my orders or have their Grand Masters terminated and reselected.”
“I-I see. It’s always an honour for me to be relied upon by you, my Regent.” Bowed Issac, still not remembering half the time that he was a bureaucrat of the Ashen Household.
Not bothering to answer, Noct banished into the shadows of the office.
Now alone, Issac sighed and dropped into his chair. Letting go of his tension, he gazed at the gold bag. After half a minute, he cleared his table and put himself to work on the prototype the regent had given him. Merchants were greedy and Noct didn’t threaten in vain, so he was sure that if he did an above average job some of the competitors of this guild would be passed by the sword. And bigger quotes meant bigger shares. Truly, a good deal if he saw one. The slums were already smelling of profit.
.………….
‘They are all the same. Merchants are the snakes of humanity, never hesitating to kick each other aside to get a better deal. Why haven’t I replaced them all with yes men I will never understand.’ Still, now all of his guilds had an extra incentive to work hard to prevent the Carpenters’ from monopolising the slums. And that would create more business opportunities. Still, his mind couldn’t hold his attention forever as he parted the metaphorical sea that was the busy roads filled with people. With every step, more and more people banished from his sight.
“Let’s get out of here.” “Why’s the regent here?!” “I think I forgot something at home, sweety. Let’s return.”
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‘How easy it is to terrorise my own lands, my own people, without doing so much as raising a finger. Morons, all of them, do they really think that I cannot hear them?!’ His mood worsening by the minute, and the now silent street stabbing him with pinpoint accuracy, he let out a growl. A nearby child started to cry as their mother, with a bone white face, tried to shush them. Noct fist clenched the handle of his longsword, hidden inside his long coat. To banish the infuriating sight in front of him. To destroy that image. To finally prove to himself a monster and to stop the irritation from those looks. To act on his misplaced anger. To punish someone. To finally stop caring.
Instead, he walked into an alley. This way was faster, for he needed to reach the castle faster. To share the new discoveries of the druids. To make Soral do that. Accelerating his walk, as if to escape from the knowledge of those being merely excuses. Inside, he heard a scream, and he had had it.
……….
The benefits of a city ruled by fear, guarded by highly skilled soldiers with full clearance, and with even higher penalties for crimes than most of the Empire was lesser criminal activity. Lesser criminal activity meant more commercial stability which made the city an attractive selling and buying point for merchants on the far north, where bandits and swindlers ran rampart along the long and mostly empty highways.
The consequences of all crimes being treated harshly was that once a person had committed a crime, they may as well be already dead. The only thing that changed between sentences was the amount of whip strikes they would be condemned to. And a normal person could only survive up to an average of ten. A grave offence, such as stealing over 50 silver coins, rewarded the criminal with twenty in Bonfire. That turned the difference between a capital offence, a grave offence and a light one nonexistent, as the three of them had the potential to kill the criminal.
That meant that what were supposed to be normal robberies, like the one that was happening in this alley, could escalate rapidly in the case of the victim not giving up or fighting back. After having to subdue the victim, the soon to be killers knew they were damned for she had managed to see the face of Johan. And a trial for assault and robbery would end with them in the pillory and, after, their corpses in a pyre. Losing themselves to rage and fear, they instead turned to silencing the victim, with the vain hope of being able to get out of this mess.
What was beyond their expectations was meeting the lawgiver that had caused their hopeless situation in that very same dark alley and not on the square on which they would have faced their trial.
Johan, the youngest of the three and the one who was trying to deescalate the situation, saw his regent enter the alley with the dark bearings of a nightmare. Goosebumps assaulted every part of Johan’s body as Noct walked towards the three of them. His face whitening, he opened his mouth to try to say something, anything.
But before any word could leave him, Noct, who was seven metres away, turned into a literal humanoid shadow whose sight would hunt his dreams forever, or for the next six seconds. A blink and the shadow had come out from the shadows of his right. Turning back into the regent, who proceeded to pierce his flank with his clawed gauntlet. Feeling the hand coming out of his other flank, he coughed. Not a second later he was thrown sideways, the hand tearing his insides as Noct unceremoniously retracted his arm.
Jeste, the one who was currently grappling with the victim, screamed in fear, letting them go, and tried to back off so quickly he tripped and fell on the wall behind them. The hit making him drop to the ground, he was incapable of crawling backwards under the glare of Noct.
Mark, the one who had been trying to convince Johan to silence the witness, and the one who usually called the shots of their small group, had started running away once Noct had appeared in the alley with all the speed their legs could conjure. He didn’t dare to look behind during any step of his retreat. Meaning, he didn’t see the magic spear of green energy skewer him from his back and come out of his guts. Falling to the ground, he ran out of air as the necromantic energy withered his midsection from the inside out. He rotted before being able to realise what had hit him.
“Merc…!” That word from Jeste was cut short as Noct’s feet stepped on their neck, slowly asphyxiating them. Their hands clawed at the armoured boot, and later at the greaves, trying to alleviate the pressure. A crack resounded on the alley as Noct stepped harder, having strengthened his leg with magic. A whimper was heard from the victim as they made themselves smaller.
Letting out a content sigh, the somewhat justified violence bringing some peace to his mind, Noct withered the blood in his right arm, turning it into dust. Staring at the corpses around, the scent of blood and death made him frown. Conjuring his usual shadows, he sended them to his forge for future use. The sound of another moving person made his gaze turn to the victim, whom he had forgotten. A young woman of about twenty was clutching her bags, trembling from either fear or cold, as her coat had been damaged in the scuffle. Noticing his gaze, she tried to make herself smaller.
The small calm he had found banished as he unclasped his coat and threw it to her face, both to give it to her and to hide the fear she had for the person that had just saved her life.
“You saw nothing.” Not bothering to wait for a reply, Noct started to walk again. As he turned a corner, he smashed the vain and egotistical hope of her thanking him for that gory mess.
Now again on a road, with yet another crowd that had come to see what the fuss had been about, he cursed inside his mind. ‘I should have simply teleported. Cursed be my desire to move around.’ A few loud voices, some directed to the victim and some to the blood taints of the walls, reminded him to move, for he sure as Nethers was not looking like an innocent. While the crowd parted again as he marched ahead, a person stood in his path, both ire and fear in their visage.
Not letting them accuse him of anything, Noct fastened his pace and collided, shoulder fist, with the bastard, knocking them to the ground and lightly injuring them with his armour. That poured oil into the flames, as now some screams were directed at him. Direct accusations, he bothered not to hear one. What he did bothered with was the crowd slowly closing onto him, now having him surrounded.
‘Why don’t I do it again? It would shut them up. Give them another reason to hate me. And I have to live up to my reputation as a monster, after al. I’m sure they will stop disturbing me if I kill every fourth of them.’ Almost acting this thought, he half unsheathed his sword. Suddenly, there were no brave men. They all backed away in a hurry, remembering he would dare to start cutting them. The crowd dispersing as fast as it appeared, Noct raised his shining left hand, ready to shoot some magics. The sight of their panicked backs as they ran away tired him instead of making him feel the usual elation. Shaking his head, he changed his destination.
Giving up on walking, he activated one of his rings and phased into a shadow, quickly travelling the city. He just wanted out of this place and back to the castle, so he moved unconsciously along a path he had walked many times long ago.
………….
He remembered why he never came here under any circumstances.
A private and sealed garden of the inner ring neighbouring the castle. The mausoleum of the Ashen Household. There, statues of all the past generations sat. Named and with descriptions in their bases, none rested forgotten. Half filled, in the middle stood the statue of both his father and mother in their knight armour. Badly constructed and somewhat cracked, these felt out of place.
Noct snorted, diverting his gaze from his creation. ‘I spent half a year working myself to the bone and this was the end result. An agglomeration of broken pieces of the old statue. To call them art would be an insult.’
Energy drained by the sight, he walked towards the statues. Memories from that hateful day creeping on him, he rested a hand on the base of the statue at the right. Unhealed scars stinged again. Not minding the tears, his blurry gaze turned to the ground. Soral had been eight years younger than him and she had taken their loss better than him. He had hunted both the perpetrators and the ringleaders of the revolt himself, at the head of his army. Remembering their fear brought, now, only emptiness. It was another memory that haunted him.
Descending further into his reverie, he didn’t realise his hand was starting to crack the stone. Then he had learned it had been pushed by the friends and acquaintances of the old Baroness, to stop both repaying the debt and to gain control over the barony. They thought that killing the household would invalidate the contract.
The crack lengthened, as if fueled by his internal turmoil. The castle guards had just stood outside the castle, after having let in the mob. Only the loyal knights, led by Andras, had fought. A lowly commander back there, he had been tasked with the protection of the non combatant personnel of the castle. And he had indeed protected them.
The second company hadn’t been so lucky and, while his father fought and died like a knight was required to before Noct had arrived, he had arrived just in time to see his mother be impaled by a peasant from the back as she fought. Using all the magic he had learned, and ignoring both injuries and exhaustion, he had managed to reach the cellar and murder the bastards that had been trying to enter.
More cracks appeared in the stone, now spreading to the statue itself. He never forgave Andras for the deaths that day. He should have been quicker, braver, stronger. He had always accused him with the same words he had accused himself of. That hate that he harboured towards Andras was an illogical one, but feelings never were logical so he hated him just the same.
A good number of merchants, both low and high in the chain, and richer citizens from the inner ring had also participated. He had enjoyed putting to the pyre those traitors. They had had a home to enrich themselves thanks to the Ashen and they had still bit the hand that fed them.
The old diet of the barony with his council members? The bastards who had tried to take advantage of the situation and put Noct, an underage and easily controllable teenager, as a regent? They hadn’t expected that same kid to throw himself so wholly into his studies, wasting countless sleepless nights and days to turn himself into an average ruler with some know-how. Their bickering and plotting against themselves had made them unable to see the holes in their plan.
His hand carved itself into the base of the statue. For two years, two whole years, he had tried to knock some sense into those older fools. They had refused to bend or see reason, so he had purged them. By fire.
The bribed sections of the guard and army had cried injustice. He hanged them on the streets. Several leaders of the different churches had tried to condemn him as a heretic. He took their lands and buildings, kicking them out of the city as it was his right as ruler. The city and country land itself came last, as citizens and peasants who had enough money to think themselves more important than the barony, fearing the purges, raised last. He cracked them with an iron fist, torching the villages that were necessary to torch. Or so had he repeatedly told himself.
Not only that, he had had to sell his research and create an army of puppets under the threat of the Empress. Could have he used that army to restore the household? He never had the nerve or resolve to try it out.
Nonetheless, after securing his realm, reforming the laws and penal system of the barony and overhauling the economy, he found himself alone. A hated regent, a rumoured usurper. After toiling for a decade of constant work nobody remained in his hometown that didn’t hate or fear him. Each year he had tried more reforms, to centralise the economy around the household to be able to spend the money where it was needed. To better it. Each year, the barony tried to push back against these reforms, turning him more and more unforgiving.
Still, the city had improved slightly. No more people died of cold or hunger. All had found either a job or a place to study and find one. The price was the old, cosy and welcoming city of before turning into a jail, a terrified ghost town that obeyed his rule. The only thing he himself had gained had been magical and sword progress, the cost he had willingly paid had been everything else.
‘I should just burn this place to the ground, really.’ Still, he retracted his hand before the statue broke for good. ‘Feel happy, sister, soon enough this barony will be your mess to fix. I cannot wait for it to no longer be my problem.’ Stretching his back, he heard steps behind him. Furious at the interruption, he turned around, with an already forming energy spear in his hand, ready to skewer the fool who dared to be here despite his orders. Before his magic launched, he recognised the young woman of before.
“Ah!! I’m sorry for intruding, my lord!!” Bowing repeatedly, she raised her hands to show she was no threat, causing Noct to drop his hand and dispel his magic. Less frantic, she continued now in a normal tone. “I don’t know if you remember me, you saved me a few hours before. Not a meeting per se but, thanks…” Almost regretting having come to thank him, she extended her arms which held the long coat before notice a tear streak in Noct’s face.
Not realising it, Noct glared at her for a long time. Now calmer, he assessed the person before him. Fearing him to death, the main reason she had come back with the coat as soon as she had returned to her home, she still had come to thank him in person. She could have simply sended the coat or left it to a guard. A fool or a viper? That he did not know.
“No need for thanks.” Curtly replied Noct, stalking towards her and recovering his coat with brusk movements. Seeing her jump and retreat a few steps made him smirk. Evoking direct fear by his actions alone always made him feel better. At least it served to lessen the sting of her initial fear.
Hastily bowing her head, she almost ran away.
Noct took longer than it should have taken to reach the castle, lost in his memories.
……..
After entering by the mausoleum to the castle hold, and reaching a badly maintained garden, he was surprised by heavy breathing. Soral was training with an old sword and dressed accordingly. On the bench behind laid an opened book about swordplay. While he was doubting whether to confront or ignore her, she stopped and, wiping her face with her hand, she started.
“Took you long enough to come back.” Surprised to see him come by the mausoleum, but doing her best to now show it, she let her sword drop to the ground. Turning it into a support for herself, and causing it to stab into the ground and making Noct grimace, she continued. “Speaking about you, could I ask for a favour?”
Staring with pity towards the sword, Noct asked back in a low tone, “And what would that be?”
“As High Commander Andras is too occupied with retraining your men, I lack a proper teacher. You should suffice.” Her heavy breathing betrayed a lack of stamina.
Noct’s gaze turned towards her as he crossed his arms. “And for what do you require swordsmanship? For what I have been told, you are a pretty good mage. And what’s more, you are a baroness. You are not to be on the frontlines.”
“And who to…Whatever.” Sighing, Soral sat on the bench. Returning his gaze with a glare, she spat, “Don’t tell me you forgot your promise of facing your own trial?”
Stunned, Noct uncrossed his arms. After a few seconds of that simple statement sinking in, he started to laugh. Today had been a rollercoaster of emotions and Soral asking him to teach her how to kill him was another turn. After his laughed died, he answered, “So you want me to teach you how to kill me.” A snort. “What the Nethers. Why not? Still, I should caution you a bit.” His gaze turned into a piercing glare as he walked a few steps towards Soral. “I am hard to kill, so I will work you to the gone.” ‘If she’s the one to hunt me, she would separate further from my legacy.’
“Finally doing something useful.”
…………………..