Two days after Cedric’s death, news broke that Gerard Verner Welt was wanted by the police for questioning. There was only one person I could think of who would be bold enough to seek a warrant for an influential man like him, and that was Veronica. She was actively working to track down the source of the souped-up killers wreaking havoc across the city.
The most amusing part of the entire story was the different stances that each major newspaper took depending on who was running the editorial department. There were a few approaches they took to handling the news. To assist in that effort the police and the court refused to speak about the matter for the sake of protecting the integrity of the proceedings.
The ambiguity was what they needed to make of it as they liked. The Daily Reader – a monarchist supporting paper, went with a headline that danced around the fact that Welt was actively evading a warrant with ‘Verner Welt Sought for Questioning.’ This was followed by a blustery, outrage-filled article where vague accusations of misconduct were thrown around.
Smaller papers like the Walser Sun were more antagonistic; ‘Police Outlaw Monarchist Parties? Verner Welt Targeted by Establishment!’
On the other side of the aisle was the Walser Worker, a socialist and trade-unionist-focused paper. They didn’t mince words when it came to Welt, sticking with ‘Mad Monarchist Welt Evades Police! Restoration Party Silent on Rogue Leader.’ There was only so much material to play with – so their article was also light on facts and heavy on rhetoric as well.
Also: Welt wasn’t actually the leader of the party, but he was perceived as an important, senior member. Either way, it was the perfect bludgeon for the democratic papers to hit them with.
In the centre, there were several other news outfits like the Walser Guardian. They went with something plain; ‘Verner Welt Slips Police Net. Police Mum on Search for Politician.’
All of them had tried to get more details out of the police and the courts, including attempting to unseal the arrest warrant and the evidence that was used to get it. The problem was that WISA was one of the interested parties so that alone was enough reason for them to put it under lock and key. Short of breaking into the courthouse and seeing the physical document there was nothing for them to do.
The police also refrained from making extraneous comments about the controversy, releasing a prepared statement that said they were looking to question Mister Welt in connection with a series of recent incidents, and that the court found ample cause to give the go-ahead for their operation.
In short – there was no end of discussion and opinion about Verner Welt’s sudden and violent fall from grace. Depending on who you asked he was either the devil incarnate or a martyr for the restoration cause. Even the kids at the academy were starting to get in on it, mostly by taking the opinions of their parents and regurgitating them wholesale without any critical thought.
“I have to admit; my Mother works quickly.”
Samantha sighed, “Are you sure she’s involved?”
“I don’t foresee any of the police being interested in pursuing him like she does. It’s already causing new battle lines to be drawn by the politicians and the people. It took her three or four days to send the entire nation into a maddened fit. She was not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.”
For all of her faults, Veronica did not compromise when it came to getting results. I could perfectly picture the worried faces in the court and the police headquarters as this singular WISA agent trampled over their mock concern about political civility. Compromise be damned – she was going to get her answers one way or another.
“It just seems strange. Can one person really have this much of an impact?”
“They can. In troubled times like these, all it takes is one person to change the course of history. They will be speaking of this incident for decades to come. Funnily enough, it is so rarely the people who seek to make an impact that do so. Nobles worried about their future image are as common as they are hapless.”
“Wasn’t Adrian’s uncle trying to do that?”
I mentioned this to her before.
“What he wanted was to leave his mark on the city by demolishing Church Walk and turning it into a neighbourhood in his image. All of his claims about fighting crime or providing better living standards were merely theatre to convince the city council and their opposition. What he wanted most was to leave a lasting legacy.”
Demolishing parts of a city to follow some planning-based dogma was one way to have your name immortalized. I doubted that Cedric was seeking Robert Moses-style infamy when he came up with the plan though. Now he was likely going to be remembered for getting his head exploded in a smoking parlour.
“Do you ever want to put yourself into the history books?” she asked innocently.
My brow rose, “Not exactly. I’m not one to seek the spotlight.”
I was more focused on surviving day by day than making elaborate future plans to make people remember me. There would be nothing more humiliating than falling into a false sense of security and having my efforts turned into a monument to my hubris by Durandia’s meddling fingers.
A nice, quiet ride into the sunset was what I expected, and perhaps it was also what I preferred. I’d been keeping up this act as the arrogant noble girl for so long that I was starting to grow tired of it. Not that I could stop. It was second nature to me at this point.
“Really? Everyone stares at you when you enter that room, and that laugh you do sure is attention-catching...”
“I don’t laugh like that because it attracts attention. What kind of girl do you take me for?”
Samantha giggled, “Sorry, sorry. I wasn’t trying to accuse you of doing it on purpose. It’s just so distinctive that I can’t help but mention it.”
She was right about that. Laughing like an ojou-sama was an old cliché, and it was reserved for only the highest class and meanest ladies. Maria fit the bill. She was an absolute terror and fabulously wealthy. Was I even deserving of the honoured laugh when I was decidedly less aggro than the version of Maria from the game? It was meant to strike fear into the heart of the player, or admiration from people who loved that type of character.
“It was pretty darn shocking coming to this academy and meeting you for the first time. You’re larger than life. Everyone makes these crazy rumours about you, and they’re not even connected to the actual crazy stuff you do.”
“Let’s keep that between us, shall we?”
Samantha nodded.
Out of the blue, Adrian marched into the study room.
“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” I said.
He turned to face me with an irritated expression, “Goddess help me. There’s too much bloody work to do! I couldn’t wait to get back here and focus on studying. That’s how bad it is.”
“Work?” Samantha pondered.
“Since... the incident, I’ve ended up inheriting everything that my uncle owned on top of all of the other things I have to manage. I’ve got line managers from every one of his business ventures knocking at my door and asking if they’re going to keep getting paid. I’ve had to tell all of them that we’re going to continue as normal, but the paperwork alone to get his body released took me hours.”
“And then you had to visit your Father, I presume.”
“I did. Breaking that news to him is the hardest conversation I’ve ever experienced.”
He flumped down onto one of the chairs like a jellyfish and stared up at the roof.
“I want all of this to end already. I thought it was bad enough when my Dad got himself arrested.”
I knew it was bad when Adrian considered coming back to the academy a refuge from his other responsibilities. Adrian hated studying, and he chafed whenever a teacher tried to steer him in a different direction. A lot of them had given up since he always had such a negative reaction to their guidance.
For the time being his anger at the sudden influx of issues was keeping him from reckoning with the emotional toil that the death of his uncle was having. I could easily imagine him suffering some buyer’s remorse now that he was dead even if we didn’t have a direct hand in it happening. Even with acrimonious relationships like theirs, there was still a certain kind of trauma that was left behind.
“Why did Welt do this?” he murmured.
“I did not say this at the hospital – but I suspect that he felt pressured by the investigation, and emboldened by the prospect of having you take Cedric’s place. He is interested in collecting influential supporters. Family heads are the most desirable.”
“Stop trying to pin this on me.”
“I am not. The arrival of the police was the more important of the two. He wants to tie off any loose ends and get rid of disloyal people who know about his plans. Cedric fit that description.”
“Can we please talk about something else?” he quipped. He’d heard enough of this while he was dealing with the fallout.
“Fine, not that I have other topics of interest to discuss at the moment.”
“I could talk about my time back home?” Samantha offered.
“I highly doubt that Adrian will find the everyday labours of a farming family to be enrapturing listening,” I contested.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
He shook his head; “Anything at all is better than thinking about my Uncle. Please, by all means, bore me into a lull so that I can stop worrying about this mess for an hour or two.”
“Really? You want to hear about mucking out the pens and feeding the animals, and waking up at six in the morning?”
“Sure, why not?”
He was going to regret giving her the go-ahead for this. I could tell.
----------------------------------------
“I want you to send a letter to Ferrand and direct him to obstruct this nonsense for as long as possible.”
It was hard not to overhear the booming tones of one Gerard Verner Welt as he marched angrily down the corridors of a remote estate building along the coast of Walser. The large building he was hiding in once served as a sanitorium for those struck with the plague, but the advent of methods to fight against such diseases meant it no longer served a purpose.
Welt was angry for two principal reasons.
One, the courts had somehow found the nerve to issue an arrest warrant against him. Now the entire country was on the lookout for any sign of him. It was always going to be risky playing this game – but he did not expect it to happen so early in the process.
The second was the sanitorium he now called home. This was no place for a man of his station. The long corridors and occasional missing window allowed cold air to blow in from the coast and sea. It was perched atop a hill that would have offered picturesque views of the white cliffs if not for the destitution of most of the floors.
He was in no mood to sit by a shattered window on an uncomfortable wooden chair so that he could watch the clouds roll by. He felt like a villain in one of those detestable pulp novels, curled up in his menacing stronghold of solitude with a scowl on his face and nothing but evil intent in his peanut-sized brain.
In short, Welt continued to insist that the printing press was the single worst development in the field of literature. Some things were simply not meant to be brought and aimed towards the masses. It was an insult that some citizens chose to use their gift of literacy to read such sensationalist nonsense.
He could no longer move freely. His lawyers were working day and night to try and overturn the warrant and clear his name, but the overzealous response of the reaction force meant that they had good reason to keep up the pursuit. Welt began to wonder if it would have been easier to answer their questions and be released on bail.
“I’ll see to it right away, sir.”
His servant bowed respectfully and left to do as he ordered. Welt liked servants who took initiative and executed his instructions immediately, instead of getting caught up in formalities and waiting for him to tell them how to breathe properly.
Welt took refuge on the few floors of the building that were not left to rot. They were not warm, or well-considered, but at least the windows were still intact, and it was possible to live there in secret without missing too many home comforts.
“Sloan, are you here?”
He walked through the lonesome halls of the building, progressing down the floors until he reached the basement. This was where the magic happened, and where most of the experiments were conducted. It was well-insulated and kept outsiders from overhearing what was going on inside.
Landon Sloan was fiddling with a set of vials at his workbench near the stairs. He was a short-statured man in his late forties. He was almost never seen without a pencil in one hand. He would fiddle with it no matter the situation, even when there was nothing to write down.
“Oh, Welt – I was wondering when you’d decide to pay me a visit. Didn’t you come and hide here two days ago now?”
“I was busy and had nothing of import to tell you until now.”
Frigid as always. Sloan bit his tongue and tried not to get riled up.
“Aye. I saw your boys hauling him into the guest room. I take it that you wish to speak with him now?”
“Yes.”
That was his way of ordering Sloan to come with him for the visit to their new guest. He pocketed his pencil and put his experiment on hold for the time being, following along until they reached one of the locked rooms that could be found on the lowest level. They used to be isolation cells for the patients who caused trouble, but now they’d been turned into makeshift hospital rooms for the sake of their goal.
“Are you sure this bloke was worth all the trouble? You’re at risk of revealing your precious hiding spot to the police.”
“Two heads are better than one, Sloan. Unless you seek to contest his position as the foremost expert on these matters?”
“I’m not egotistical enough to try that – but the proof is in the pudding. Our new friend hasn’t done anything with that wealth of knowledge that is worthy of acclaim. He’s the sort that prefers to do nothing but write papers and keep his hands clean, suckling the teat of whatever University is willing to house him.”
“I thought that you intelligentsia were all about solidarity.”
“Please, don’t lump me in with him.”
Welt moved the matter briskly along and opened the door, revealing a desperate-looking man cupping his head while sitting on the edge of his cot.
“Mister Cambry.”
He glanced through his fingers at the two men; “You have an odd way of inviting a man of science to your... horrible torture dungeon. I thought those damnable cultists were back when those goons of yours dragged me out of my home!”
Welt bowed his head mockingly, “I humbly apologize for the distress caused. You must already know why I’ve brought you here.”
Genta stood from the bed and pointed at him, “You’re yet another mad fool who believes that you can control what lies beyond the veil. I was worried about this. You can spare me the grand speech about what applications you believe they may have, I’ve heard it all before.”
“You seem very confident about my intent.”
Genta tapped the side of his head, “I may have forgotten much of my own work, but all of my father and grandfather’s writings are still up here. I must insist – you simply cannot control these creatures! If not for their malevolence, then their instinct-driven nature. They simply attempt to fulfil their desires with no regard for what their summoners want.”
“And what of the summoning circles?”
Genta waved away the idea, “The runes utilised in those circles are far too primitive and simple for what you intend. To summon a Horr and use it like a human soldier - it’s frankly absurd.”
Welt smiled, “I appreciate your candour even under duress. To give your words due weight, a Horr is something like an explosive device. We can send them to a particular area, but the results will be unpredictable, and will not discriminate.”
“I suppose that’s an accurate description, yes.”
Sloan laughed, “See? I told you. Not a brave bone in his body.”
“And who is this?” Genta inquired.
“My name is Landon Sloan.”
Sloan had a sour face. He was not happy to see Genta Cambry.
“Are you honestly wasting your time listening to this edgy fool? If we were to follow his principles we’d have no progress at all.”
“Is he incorrect?” Welt asked.
“No, but it betrays his lack of ambition. His only use for this information is to warn others not to venture further. Listening to his hackneyed pleas for moderation is enough to make my stomach turn. For your information, Genta, we’ve surpassed the need for the Horr as weapons in themselves.”
Genta adjusted his glasses; “What do you mean?”
“Why worry about controlling an intra-veil creature when we can simply borrow their power? We don’t need them to be alive to do that. All we need is a physicalized body from which we can draw the required material. Simply transfuse some of its blood into a willing subject and...”
Genta roared, “Do you mean to say that you’ve injected their blood into another human being? Have you lost your good senses - man?”
“That we have. And the results have exceeded our most optimistic projections. They demonstrate a combat prowess factor that exceeds even the best-trained opposition forces. They have more magical energy than the most dangerous grade-five mages.”
Sloan was gloating about his successes, but Genta was not easily riled by the competitive nature of the man standing in his face. His outrage was reserved for the flippant attitude he demonstrated towards the subjects in question.
“You have lost your mind. You cannot simply take the blood of a demon and inject it into someone’s heart. There could be any number of unforeseen consequences!”
“Consequences or not – we can always replace them. Our current batch has been operating in the field for weeks without a problem. I’d say that a handful of lives are a worthwhile trade for the direct combat power they offer. This is a revolution in warfare with implications that stretch far beyond Sir Welt’s aspirations. This could transform Walser into the foremost power on the continent!”
Genta shook his head mournfully, “Walser already is. If there was ever a good time to cease seeking more, to find refuge in moderation, then this would be it.”
Welt cut back in, “Our enemies will not seek that same refuge. Even as we speak they sharpen their knives and develop new cutting-edge weapons. They only seek a window of opportunity, a moment of weakness, and then they will be upon us like a pack of starving predators. I will not shed a tear for the sacrifice of a few when it serves to protect millions of lives.”
But Genta could read Welt. He was too obvious.
“Stop talking rubbish. If you’re going to hold me hostage for this mad plan of yours, then at least respect my intelligence by being upfront about your reasons.”
Welt remained silent, merely motioning for Genta to follow them deeper into the laboratory area. He complied, tucking his head down and trying not to focus on the distressing sights and sounds that surrounded him. He was led into a room in the middle of the basement – which contained a refrigerated room once used to store blood and other perishable items.
A small window looked into the refrigerator, and what Genta saw confirmed his worst fears. There were three rows of glass containers on the only populated shelf. They were filled to the brim with a black substance that Genta was already familiar with. It was the black bile that filled the veins of the demons who manifested in the physical world. Describing it as ‘blood’ understated how toxic it could be.
“I hope you understand how unethical this is. Putting the wrong type of human blood into someone’s body can easily kill them. What possessed you to try it with this swill?”
Sloan’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t appreciate you insulting my research.”
“Research? You’re a no-good butcher, not a scientist. Any old fool can take a needle filled with poison and inject it into a victim.”
“You don’t understand the work I’ve put into this. Your prejudice is blinding you to the utility that this compound has!”
Sloan was two seconds away from slugging Genta across the jaw for besmirching his work, although Welt had no appetite for witnessing physical violence no matter how justified he felt it was. Genta turned his attention to Welt in a fleeting attempt to make him change course.
“That ‘blood’ contains highly concentrated magical energy, in fact, it’s so energized that it can break the bonds between the atoms in the human body and cause whatever tissue it meets to degrade.”
“And that empowers their magic.”
“Yes - but it also kills them,” Genta fired back with no small amount of snark in his voice, “Additionally, the composition of the bile is more viscous than human blood. It can clog the arteries and cause increased strain on the heart as it tries to push it through the body. If you don’t perish from having your atoms scrambled or your organs crushed, then there are also several other mysterious properties that pose significant dangers on top of that.”
“Mister Sloan has already come to those same conclusions. The compound we use is diluted to the point wherein the risk of heart failure is a non-factor.”
Genta had a lot more to say about the bile and the different elements that it was composed of, and how they impacted the human body if they were to hypothetically be introduced into the bloodstream or digestive system, but Welt and Sloan were already well past that point. They simply did not care about the lives of the people they transfused it into.
“I’m giving you two choices. You can assist Mister Sloan in refining this concept, and help us secure a steady stream of Horr bodies to extract it from, or you can sit in that isolation cell until we are through with our plan.”
Genta’s eyes whipped back and forth between the sneering visages of his new hostage-takers. This was nowhere near as dangerous as the adventure that Veronica took him on, but the risk was every bit as real. They could kill him and dump his body into the ocean if they felt like it.
The safest option was to play along.
“Fine. I’ll... try to find a type of Horr that’s safe to summon, easy to butcher, and contains what you want.”
Sloan sighed, “Charlie! Charlie!”
A young voice cried out, “What?”
“I’ve got a new job for you!”
A young man, no older than fourteen, emerged from one of the other doors and approached the group. He was the spitting image of Sloan, sans a few decades of wear and tear and the marks of aging. Genta’s heart sunk into his stomach as he realised that he was also deathly pale, with grotesque black veins pushed to the surface of his sheet-like skin.
“I need you to keep an eye on Mister Cambry here while he settles in. Welt sent the other guards away for something.”
Charlie scowled, “What happened to all of the exciting stuff?”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty more of that in the future.”
Genta tried to swallow what he was seeing, but that lead ball was too big to go down easy. He looked at Sloan, he was proud as any good father could be, even when he was face-to-face with the greatest sin of all.
“He can have lab three.”
“Okay. Come on then,” Charlie urged, “We don’t have all day.”
Too shocked to speak and quaking from silent outrage, he resigned himself to the fact that he was once again surrounded by the criminally insane. Genta followed Charlie away from the refrigerator and towards his new home.