CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Confessions of a Baron

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In his mind’s eye, Bram recalled the ‘Bluebell Blossom Festival’ celebrated every spring in the Hilltop Kingdom of Yamadai, and how the azure flowers of a thousand bluebells would bloom all at once and then wilt in a matter of a few short days. In that time, endless delicate petals would fall from their branches and dance across the air in the arms of a calm spring breeze.

That’s what he envisioned now, though instead of the soft blue-violet petals of a bluebell blossom, the sky was filled with the crimson petals formed from the sorcery Rowan cast. These crimson petals didn’t sway to the tune of a calm spring breeze but danced to the beat of a raging storm. One whose eye Bram and Rowan stood in the middle of. All around them, a chorus of screams ensued—the dying, the dead, and the howling winds. Once the storm stilled, the crimson petals wilted, returning to the drops of blood they’d been formed from, causing red rain to crash onto the skyship’s deck.

In the silence that came after, Bram was witness to a gruesome sight; a hundred dead bodies lying lifeless on the ground with their flesh torn apart as if by a thousand tiny blades.

ALERT! You were unable to fully grasp the intention and prowess of the ability [Sword of Life 3rd Breath: Red Blossoms]! Replication has failed.

Despite its failure, ‘Replication’ still exacted its toll on Bram. He fell to his knees and puked blood onto a deck that was already covered in the blood of others.

“Too much?” asked a teasing voice.

“Excessive, but…” Bram wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “…It was them or us.”

He rose to his feet on shaky legs.

“I’ll learn it one day…your Sword of Life.”

“I’m certain you will, but perhaps we’ll start with the first breath next time.”

Bram took a second to catch his breath before surveying his surroundings more.

CONGRATULATIONS! You have contributed to the decimation of House von Galen’s forces. Your [Martial] Lifestyle has earned [100] EXP.

It was the first time the lifestyle he’d chosen to supplement his status had received anything from the Loom, but Bram couldn’t celebrate this new achievement.

“More nameless faces to add to my ledger…”

His eyes narrowed at the sight of so much blood and death, though he recognized the need for this sort of ending. Still, the thought of a hundred Lotharians dying because of his choices didn’t sit well with the prince’s conscience, and his stomach churned because of it.

Trying his best to look at the bright side, Bram said, “At least you spared the skyship…We can use it.”

“I assumed you would want it.”

Rowan flashed him a smile that was still impish, but less manic than the one she’d had before she massacred a hundred soldiers. More importantly, her dark look had diminished enough to suggest she’d released an adequate amount of pressure that came with stepping further toward the dark side of one’s alignment.

“This skyship isn’t the only one I’ve spared.”

Rowan’s gaze drifted to the passage leading toward the lower deck, drawing Bram’s attention to the sandy-haired rat fleeing down the steps.

“There he is.”

Bram wondered why the other skyship hadn’t fired on them yet. Surely, the soldiers manning it had seen the red hurricane that had engulfed this one. They would have used spyglasses to check the state of the deck in the aftermath and discovered the numerous dead lining its floor. Yet instead of aiming their cannons on a brigantine overtaken by an enemy, the second skyship was turning in their direction. Possibly to attempt a rescue of their lord who’d escaped below deck.

“They’ll be too late.”

Bram walked across the deck, picking up a few swords along the way. He kept the one broadsword that hadn’t been chipped at by Rowan’s crimson petals—the same one the curly-haired knight used against him—and then made his way down into the skyship’s bowels.

“You won’t use Dusk?” Rowan asked as she followed behind him.

“I don’t have the strength to wield it now,” Bram replied.

They found the rat hiding inside the gundeck, the very area of the skyship Bram was most eager to visit first. He’d hidden behind the cannon at the far end of the low-ceilinged room. The same one he’d managed to aim at the door despite how heavy it looked.

“Sorcery is such a cheat—”

‘Krak-ka-boom!’

A shell crashed into the wall a foot or two to the side of Bram’s head. To his credit, the prince chose not to dodge or flee. In those brief seconds before the cannon was fired, Bram had calculated the angle its nozzle was pointed and deduced that the shot would miss him. Of course, the type of ammo and its enchantment would have decided whether Bram met an untimely end or not. Fortunately, he’d seen enough cannons in his sister Camilla’s skyships to know the telltale markings that determined the sort of elemental enchantment a cannon possessed. It’s how he knew that the offending cannon had a water enchantment whose ammunition would lack elemental force unless aimed at a body of water, a fact Bram had explained earlier in the day to Bridget.

‘Ba-dump.’

With adrenaline giving a hop to his step, Bram crossed the distance between himself and his enemy at a speed that was too fast to track for one who lacked experience in combat. Indeed, Baron Archibald seemed so flustered by Bram’s bum rush that he didn’t even attempt to reload his cannon or cast a spell to defend himself. At least not in time.

“W-Wait—”

He raised his arm in a gesture of surrender too late for Bram arrived at that moment and cut off the Baron’s hand at the wrist. Blood splattered onto the prince’s face while Baron Archibald screamed.

“I s-surrender!” The baron fell onto the floor butt-first while clutching at the stump that had lost its hand. “I-I surrender!”

A half-second later, Bram’s broadsword would have slit the baron’s neck. As it happened, the prince stopped his attack at a point where the blade just brushed against his flesh.

Baron Archibald gulped. “S-Surrender…”

Seeing the arrogant Baron Archibald von Galen looking at him with such fear in his eyes caused butterflies to dance in Bram’s stomach.

“Fancy meeting you here, Baron.”

In truth, the prince wouldn’t have gone through with decapitating Baron Archibald. The slaying of a noble, even a lowly baron, was considered a taboo among the nobility of the Atlan Imperium. Even in wartime, a captured noble would be treated with the respect deserving of their high station and remain under house arrest until a suitable ransom was paid to their capturer. In the event of a death, the offending noble would warrant a hefty fine and a harsh reprimand from the Sovereign’s Court. In short, keeping Baron Archibald alive meant less trouble for Bram.

“Y-Your H-Highness…” Despite the pain in Baron Archibald’s expression, his eyes were darting left and right as if searching for a path to escape. “W-Why did you a-attack my ship…?”

“You attacked me first.”

“I-I would n-never—”

“Your ships fired on me and my companions.”

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“Your c-companions…?”

Baron Archibald’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Th-those weargs belong to y-you…?!”

There was just the barest hint of a sneer in the baron’s voice.

Bram expected the reaction. Many of the Imperium’s nobles loathed the half-bloods scattered across the continent and treated them with scorn and ridicule like how they treated their ill-fated prince.

“They do.”

This was a lie, of course. The Flametail Tribe had yet to form an official alliance with him, though Bram wouldn’t call them his belongings even if they were already allied.

“W-Why would you bother with filthy—”

‘Thunk!’

The broadsword’s blade slid into the wooden plank between the baron’s legs, causing the grown man to yelp in fright like a child.

Normally, Baron Archibald wouldn’t have been so easily intimidated by such simple scare tactics. However, the pain from his lost hand combined with memories of the terrifying scene he’d witnessed above deck along with the more muscular Bram towering over him have made the arrogant baron forget the nobility that made him lord of an entire city.

“The better question, Baron, is why you’re here skulking inside the Red Forest, and not in Bastille stirring up more of the central nobles against me or back behind your walls in Volkshall where you belong… Why have you come to the Red Ruin?”

Hearing the uncharted dungeon’s name caused the baron’s eyes to widen, though he said nothing in reply.

“Who told you about this place that not even the dungeon scholars of the capital’s Grand Archive have a record of?”

A dungeon that once belonged to the gods held many secret treasures beyond the spoils from Loveless’ husk which Bram planned to claim after he’d finished his business with the Flametail Tribe. Such a dungeon would’ve already been teeming with explorers if it were known to the world. But as it happened, even Bram, with his significant resources and high ambitions, hadn’t uncovered the secret of the Red Ruin until he’d stumbled onto it. So how could a lowly baron, a man who found success by kowtowing to others, discover a secret at least two of the gods wanted to keep hidden?

In his mind, Bram recalled another question that nagged at him…who implanted a shard of the Midnight Stone into Loveless’ core…?

“Who told you about the Red Ruin?”

Once more, Baron Archibald’s eyes darted left and right, though they would find no escape.

“I d-don’t understand what—”

“They’re not coming.”

Confusion flitted across Baron Archibald’s face.

‘Boom!’

‘Boom!’

‘Boom!’

Half the cannons on the skyship’s port side fired, and the stench of flame powder filled the gundeck.

“I finally got these contraptions to work,” said Rowan.

Bram glanced over his shoulder.

The trickster had her face close to the nose of a cannon while inspecting the intricate patterns of enchantments engraved on its iron surface.

“To harness the elements in such a war-like manner, this age of sorcery is filled with interesting novelties.” Her face turned contemplative. “Not as interesting as the novelties of Earth, but still quite the eye widener.”

“Rowan,” Bram called.

She looked up. “Yes?”

“Did you hit them?”

“Can’t you hear the screams?”

They weren’t close enough for him to hear them, but he trusted her supernatural hearing. Then…

‘Boom!’

‘Boom!’

‘Boom!’

Even Bram was surprised by this second round of cannon fire, which wasn’t part of the plan.

“Rowan…”

Bram could hear them now—the screams and shouts of soldiers caught with their breeches down. Their brigantine must have drawn close enough for him to hear, “We’re losing altitude, Captain!” and ‘She’s sinking fast!” which led to the obvious, “Abandon ship!” the one phrase the prince hoped not to hear.

“…Were you aiming to sink their ship?”

“It doesn’t hurt to be thorough.”

Bram sighed. “There goes my plan to claim both skyships for our great undertaking.”

“You should know better than to be greedy,” she scolded him lightly. “You’ve seen what greed does to those foolish enough to be taken in by her sway.”

Her teasing gaze flitted toward Baron Archibald whose face was in such a state of shock that it almost seemed comical.

“I believe the baron’s ready to confess his sins.”

Rowan’s announcement drew Bram’s attention away from the porthole that had given him an excellent view of the nearby skyship whose deck burned while it descended rapidly toward the ground.

“Your chance to be rescued is gone, Baron…” the prince reiterated. “Answer my questions and you may get to keep your other hand.”

The baron flinched. He didn’t think Bram was bluffing. He was, but Baron Archibald didn’t need to know that.

“V-Vicomte Kleist introduced h-him to me a month ago,” the baron began in a shaky voice, “a D-Damascan who claimed to know of an uncharted d-dungeon with a goddess’ treasure locked i-inside it.”

There were many reveals to unpack in his confession, but the one that caused Bram’s heart to skip a beat was, “Damascan…”

It wasn’t uncommon for a Damascan to arrive in Lotharin since Damasca was quite close to its eastern border, but for one to show up in the Red Forest at the same time as all this chaos ensued, it seemed too much of a coincidence.

“Describe them…”

“An old man with a weathered face, and gray hair—”

“—Styled in a warrior’s dreadlocks,” Bram finished.

“Y-Yes…” Baron Archibald’s pallor seemed to worsen. “H-How did you know…?”

“Don’t most Damascans style their hair this way?” To Bram’s ears, it seemed he was trying to convince himself more than the baron. “I need more… What was he like — his voice, his manner, his—”

“Did he carry a staff?” Rowan interrupted.

The sight of her suddenly standing next to Bram caused Baron Archibald to flinch. Fear, not unlike what Bram saw on Loveless’ face when she realized who Rowan truly was, now appeared on the baron’s face.

“Y-you’re not really from House W-Wolfe…are you?”

“I doubt my answer would benefit a dead man.” Rowan’s foot tapped impatiently against the wooden plank. “Well, did this Damascan carry a staff or not?”

Baron Archibald gulped. Honestly, it looked to Bram like he was having trouble breathing.

“Y-Yes…I believe so.”

“Describe it.”

The baron spoke of a wooden staff resembling a tree branch with a green crystal woven into its tip. It was unmistakably the same one Kazem Bashar used like a cane.

Hearing this made Bram recall his conversation with Master Mina after they’d left Loveless’ lair.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” Master Mina had replied. “I have few recollections of my time under her possession. What little I can recall…I would rather not think about it.”

She’d turned away from him, the guilt clear in her expression, and Bram thought not to press her further. At least not yet. Still, from the lack of guile in her expression, Bram—and Rowan concurred later—had deduced that Master Mina hadn’t known about the Midnight Shard embedded in Loveless’ core. Indeed, she hadn’t seemed affected by its dark elemental energy like Bram and Rowan were.

“We thought the Stargazers blameless, but what if they weren’t?” Bram’s brow furrowed. “What if there were those among them who had different intentions from their purpose of seeking out the nymph…?”

“Ravi told us that all the Stargazers were accounted for,” Rowan reminded him. “If there were those among them with darker aims, then they were rewarded with horrible deaths.”

“Not all of them died…” The cogs in Bram’s mind began to turn. “The young sorcerers were turned into thralls, so they aren’t likely to be part of a conspiracy. As for Master Mina—”

“She was the sacrifice meant to give Loveless form,” Rowan finished Bram’s thought. “It’s not likely that she would have allowed herself to be taken had she known the truth of what would happen to her…”

“You and I already ruled her out…leaving only one other survivor in the expedition,” Bram continued, “the same diviner who’d first interpreted their coven’s visions…and set them on the path to the Red Ruin.”

Was it possible? he wondered. Could the elderly Damascan who’d helped us on our quest be the real culprit behind this incident?

Such disparaging thoughts whirled through Bram’s mind, causing anxiety to fill his chest.

But to what end…?

A hand touched his shoulder.

“There are still many things we need to know before we can understand. Until then, assume nothing.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

They heard the unmistakable sound of someone shuffling around, and both gazes snapped toward Baron Archibald who was attempting to crawl away.

“There’s nowhere to run—”

Bram leaped forward and struck Baron Archibald’s back with a well-placed ‘Drop Kick’ he’d once learned from his Lotharian wrestling instructor.

“—Baron!”

The forceful blow to his spine caused the baron to tumble forward and smack his head against the wooden wheel of a nearby cannon.

Baron Archibald groaned, but Bram, who had quickly risen to his feet, didn’t care that he might have hit him too hard. Truthfully, he found it cathartic to bludgeon one of the two men who’d been disparaging him in front of other nobles so savagely these last two months.

“Apologies, Baron, but we’re not done.”

The prince didn’t think himself cruel, but watching the baron who’d been a thorn in his side since he’d become Governor of Lotharin looking so pathetic lightened his mood…and this realization shamed him…but only a little.

I wish I hadn’t left my lute with Alkaid. I have the perfect song for this moment.

Feeling refreshed, Bram, with a gentler hand, began to turn the baron over so that he could see his face—and that’s when he noticed that something had gone terribly wrong. For just as the prince turned him over, Baron Archibald’s whole body began to convulse.

“Phoebus’ cock…”

Bram had noticed the baron’s worsening pallor earlier, but now his face was turning a nasty shade of blue.

“What’s wrong?”

Baron Archibald couldn’t answer. He continued to shake, his limbs twitching in awkward angles as if some unseen hand was pulling on the strings of a fallen marionette.

“Rowan!”

“I’m here.”

The trickster knelt by the baron’s head and inspected his condition.

“These symptoms…”

After a quick inspection, Rowan reached into Baron Archibald’s mouth and checked his tongue.

“I knew it.” A dark look flashed on her face. “He’s been cursed.”

A strange mark was engraved on the baron’s tongue, one of a snake wrapped around a four-point star. From its sickly greenish glow, Bram didn’t doubt that this was a killing curse.

“‘Tis a Curse of Words…possibly awakening soon after he’d told us of the Damascan.”

“Can you do anything?”

“Though all such curses share similar roots, each one is different and tailor-fit for the one who’d been cursed… Even I would need more understanding of its specific conditions to break its power.”

Bloodshot eyes stared up at the two who were watching him die.

“Your blood—”

“Cannot help him… Curses do not cause physical wounds.”

Baron Archibald’s hand—now marked with veins as blue as ice—reached up to grab Bram’s collar, but he was shaking so much that he grasped the air instead.

“He’s barely told us anything?!”

“Which makes this a crueler curse… ‘Tis as if they had every intention of ensuring his silence.”

“They…?” A candle flame lit up inside of Bram’s head. “Vicomte Henry introduced him to the Damascan…”

It was barely a clue, but one he could latch onto, and it was all he had now. In the next seconds, Baron Archibald’s convulsions worsened. Then his body expanded, stretching past the limits of nature’s intention, growing to a grotesque mass of skin and tissue threatening to burst.

“Bloody hell,” Bram cursed. “I think he’s—”

It happened so fast that he barely had time to clench his jaw. Rowan’s arms wrapped around him. In a flash, she and Bram arrived at the entrance of the gundeck. They’d barely stepped through its door when it happened.

‘Boom!’

The mass exploded—blood and guts scattered in all directions—and Baron Archibald was no more.