Mercion couldn’t believe that Rieren’s plan had worked. That she had actually healed the son of one of the most powerful Archnobles in all of the Elderlands. That she had essentially gained herself an enormous boost to her reputation by just that one act.
He also couldn’t believe the door she had opened for him too.
See, Rieren wasn’t just helping herself and Rykion and the other monsters and whoever else Mercion didn’t give two figs about. What he did care for was the fact that her actions had also shown that Clanmistress Avathene—and by extension, Lord Mercion Ordorian himself—could be trusted to deal well with important, complicated matters.
That made it easy to convince Avathene that he had to try the same with the Aryoventos Clanmaster. He had been itching for days to get back at that dastardly rogue of a woman filching about the Aryoventos clan. Mercion had to get to her before she eventually got to him.
“Are you certain your evidence is sound?” Avathene asked before they were about to embark on their journey. “This is a grave accusation. You won’t be struggling against just this Remis Sharan, you will need to overcome the belief that the Clanmaster possesses in himself as well.”
Mercion saw what she meant. Convincing the Clanmaster that something was wrong meant first convincing him that he had been wrong. That would potentially be harder to do.
“I suppose it will all depend on how he reacts and sees himself,” Mercion said.
“That does not inspire confidence.”
“But still worth trying, yes?”
Buoyed by her recent success, perhaps even reliving just how grateful the Karlosyne Clanmaster had been, Avathene nodded. They headed off.
They went in a smaller group to pay a visit to the Aryoventos Clanmaster. No Amalyse or Rieren this time. Just Mercion himself, accompanied by Clanmistress Avathene and Oromin. Like with the Karlosyne clan, Avathene had already taken care of preliminary matters, so they weren’t impeded and only stopped when they reached the Aryoventos Clanmaster himself.
The sight awaiting him was so similar to the one Mercion had experienced with the Karlosyne that he had to briefly consider if he had travelled back in time or something.
As if he’d ever possess such a cool power with his Abyss-cursed body.
“So you truly couldn’t leave an old man to his grief,” the Aryoventos Clanmaster said as he rose to his feet.
He had been kneeling outside his felt tent next to a large casket. Various decorations adorned the casket’s top. Symbols of the meaning the Aryoventos scion had held in his life.
The Clanmaster really did appear as though he was still grieving. His face was a mask—quite literally. A complicated array of paint had drawn a grieving expression on his visage, a custom that the eastern clans upheld. Even his accoutrement was dishevelled. His fur-lined robes looked as though they had been hastily pulled on without much thought.
There was no sign of Remis Sharan anywhere nearby, however. That made Mercion a little suspicious. Where in the Abyss was that conniving, manipulating shrew? He was almost tempted to think she had run off, in fear of this exact scenario, but that felt too easy.
“Please, Clanmaster Thoros,” Avathene said. “You graciously accepted our request for an audience, which is why we are here. I apologize for taking up your time in such a situation, but the matter is urgent.”
“Is it?” The Aryoventos Clanmaster looked squarely at Mercion. Oh, great. This was not a good sign. “What do you have to say to me?”
Getting straight to the point. Man clearly had no intention of wasting time.
Well, Mercion could play the same game. “It is regarding your son’s tragic demise, Clanmaster. Have you considered why he ended up facing a monster near the first round battlefield?”
“My son goes where he wishes. I do not keep track of every single movement of his, nor seek a reason for all his actions. He is—was—his own man.”
“Of course. But there is a reason why he ended up where he did, which is a significant contributor to his unfortunate passing.”
Mercion was trying to be as diplomatic and kind about the death, probably more than said dead man deserved if he was being honest, but the Clanmaster wasn’t appreciating it.
“Why do you care so much?” the Clanmaster asked. “This is a matter of me and my son’s passing. Of my loss. Not some investigation you can play your hand at.”
Mercion schooled his expression into as grave a one as he could manage. Abyss, he’d had a lot of practice doing so, didn’t he? As a boy, he’d had more lessons than he could count on how to artfully construct his face to give the right impression. “I am treating it with the utmost respect that a situation like this deserves. But in the end, I believed you needed to see this.”
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Before the Clanmaster could voice any further protests, Mercion pulled out the note he had found. He offered it to the older man.
Still frowning, Thoros Aryoventos snatched away the letter and read it in a moment. “What in the world is this?”
“A letter I found at the location of your son’s murder, Clanmaster,” Mercion said.
“You expect me to believe this is real?” His expression grew more thunderous. “I should throw you out on your hindquarters for such an insult. That you would dare propose something like this when I am grieving.”
Mercion kept his frustrated retort to himself. Now, now, no losing his cool. He had to maintain his calm. At least the Clanmaster wasn’t denying that he knew the handwriting and who Mercion was insinuating had written that letter.
But it was also starting to become evident that Mercion wasn’t going to score a victory here.
“I am simply presenting what I discovered, Clanmaster,” Mercion said. “I felt obligated to give it to you, so that you knew everything. What you do with this information is up to you. I am only doing as far as my conscience asks of me.”
Thoros Karlosyne looked down at the letter in his hand. He couldn’t do much more than that. Even if he detested the evidence Mercion was presenting, he couldn’t exactly do anything to Mercion in retaliation for something that was essentially innocuous and performed out of goodwill. Especially not with so many witnesses around.
Mercion had a decent amount of practice dealing with such situations. Always good to have one’s rear covered when things went awry.
“Is that all?” the Clanmaster eventually asked.
Mercion nodded, then took a step back, bowing his head a little. “Allow me to express my condolences for the tragedy, Clanmaster.”
Avathene offered the same curtsy. “Please remember that the Ordorian and Stollen clans are, as ever, allies of the Aryoventos at all times. If you need anything, do not hesitate to call upon us.”
They took their leave graciously. Even if Mercion had at least come out of that without making anything worse, he couldn’t help but be unsatisfied. He wanted to punch a tree or something. No, actually, he wanted to punch Remis Sharan.
That was why she hadn’t been there. She had full confidence her pet Clanmaster wasn’t going to believe a wild claim like that, coming out of nowhere.
Still. She was determined to stop Mercion, by any means necessary. It appeared that he would need to resort to his backup plan. The one that Silomene had been so disapproving of.
***
Mercion was strolling towards the battlefield of the first round when his plan proved to be successful. He had made sure to take a route that would carry him through the exact spot where the Aryoventos scion had died. It felt fitting that he was confronted by Remis Sharan at that very location.
“I know you aren’t alone, lordling,” she said. Her fur-lined hood hid half her head and a short javelin had its tapered point aimed at Mercion’s heart. “What were you hoping? To set a trap? For me?”
“I felt as though it was worth a shot,” Mercion said. “And since you’re here, clearly it’s been successful.”
“That’s like saying you were successful when you left a snare for a hare but caught a bear instead. And now that bear is determined to maul you to death.”
“Is it now?”
Mercion raised a hand high and summoned his skill. Lightning Barrage taxed his meridian channels a great deal, as ever. His vision went double and a splitting headache made him wince.
But the storm of bolts hammered down with crackling fury all the same. That was all he had been aiming for.
Remis Sharan pointed her javelin at the sky. Maroon energy flickered out and spiralled around her in an inverted tornado. None of the lightning bolts got through her defence. They bounced off the vortex of energy, harmlessly striking the ground next to her. She slashed through her the glimmering, twisting barrier, then pointed the javelin at him again.
“You already done?” Remis Sharan asked.
Mercion had doubled over to recover, but he quickly straightened. It was painful. “Looks like you are a bear.”
She scowled. “That’s not what I meant.”
Remis Sharan slashed her javelin hard. Its glowing tip left a scar in the air. Mercion wasn’t certain what that was for at first, though he felt a strange stirring deep within him, like his very soul had ruffled in the breeze. When Sharan raised her free hand, lightning burst to life here, though shaded with her scarlet-magenta hue instead of Mercion’s whitish gold.
She frowned down at it. “Pitiful.”
Then she blasted him with the bolt. His own bolt. Had to be. Whatever class she possessed allowed her to use her opponent’s abilities somehow.
This was almost like Gorint Malloh reflecting his opponent’s attacks right back at them. Annoying. Speaking of which—
Mercion cringed, though he knew he shouldn’t have. A mirror appeared before him, blocking and bouncing the bolt right back where it had come from. That surprised Sharan, if momentarily. Mercion sent a silent note of gratitude to his ever-present companion. Thanks, Silomene.
Remis Sharan was still able to block with her javelin, the returning bolt dissipating harmlessly like all the rest. “Looks like I’ll have to come kill you with my bare hands.”
“Looks like it, yes.”
Tension started pushing down on Mercion’s shoulders. Or maybe he simply shouldn’t have used his skills again. He knew what sort of backlash they caused. If this turned out to be an actual brawl against someone like Remis Sharan, who was quite obviously much stronger than him, then he was in dire straits.
Unless, of course, the end of his plan materialized before anything tragic occurred. Which was what proceeded to happen.
Silomene emerged from the nearby trees and approached with a resolute look on her face. Her strides, her posture, her expression all proclaimed that she was ready for a fight.
Remis Sharan wasn’t impressed. “Oh, so you wish to die together, is it?”
Silomene didn’t answer, only walked closer to Mercion’s position.
“You do realize I have no quarrel with you, yes?” Remis Sharan asked. “You could turn your back on this impotent little lordling and go about your way. I’m giving you an opportunity to run. Take it.”
Shaking her head, Silomene placed herself squarely between Mercion and his would-be killer. He started backing away slowly. This was going to get ugly. The insults from Remis Sharan didn’t really sting. It wasn’t like he could contest his impotence, at least when it came to being a cultivator.
“See, he’s even running away,” Sharan said. The scowl of disgust made her face look even more pinched than normal. “And you’re protecting him. I don’t even know what’s worse.” Shaking her head, she focused on Silomene who still stood like a wall between Sharan and Mercion. “You know you can’t kill me. Quite literally. I cannot die.”
“There are other ways of dealing with you,” Silomene said. “Beyond simply trying to kill you, Sharan.”
Remis Sharan’s eyes widened. For Silomene’s voice wasn’t Silomene’s at all. Now that the jig was up, water dripped off Silomene’s form, revealing none other than Rieren Vallorne.