With such a huge ruckus, the count’s men had to be both blind and deaf to not take action. Working under such an assumption, Claud had no issues with leading the target of an assassination into the city centre, since it was unlikely for these fellows to strike. Isolde’s assassins weren’t going to come back for round two anytime soon, unless they really wanted to strike up a conflict with Count Nightfall.

Unless, of course, they had Emperor Grandis’ written orders to allow this.

After getting Isolde to at least show some respect for her pursuers by wearing a mask and a cloak, Claud finally broached the topic that Isolde had been consciously avoiding for the past fifteen minutes.

“So, why was a team of mana-users after you?”

“You don’t want to know,” Isolde replied, repeating Claud’s words with the exact same intonation. Granted, his intention when he brushed off her implicit desire to make reparations was because he would feel bad cheating her, but the chances of her having that exact sentiment in mind when she said those words were probably lower than one percent.

“I got involved in this,” Claud replied. “I’m not going to discount the possibility that those grey fellows might find out about my butting in. I need to know who they were, at least, so that I could make some preparations if retribution for being nosy ever comes by.”

“In the first place, why did you even come to help?” Isolde paused. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“No issue.” Claud waved his hands airily. “It’s natural for you to be emotional after an attempt on your life. Anyone would be.”

“Sorry.” She looked away.

Claud breathed out slowly. “Look. Even if you don’t want to tell me why they were after you, you should at least let me know who these people were, and who they worked for. I believe that’s the minimum someone who saved the target of an assassination should know.”

“They’re…Claud. Can you keep a secret?”

“The word ‘secret’ is my second name,” Claud replied. “It’ll be safe with me. I swear this to the Moons.”

Isolde nodded, satisfied by his vow. “They’re probably the Shadows of Grandis.”

For a moment, Claud’s mind turned blank. The three words ‘Shadows’, ‘of’, and ‘Grandis’ carried meanings of their own, but he couldn’t quite put them together for some reason. The three words vanished from his mind a moment later, and the master thief was forced to ask her to repeat her answer.

“They should be the Shadows of Grandis,” Isolde repeated.

“Shadows of Grandis? Emperor Grandis’ personal spooks?” Claud asked numbly. “Those fellows, the hounds of the Emperor himself?”

“Yes.”

Claud closed his eyes for a moment. Sure, he had somewhat expected this possibility when he overheard the assassins’ conversation, but the Shadows of Grandis were…well. They were the stuff of nightmares in the Grandis Continent; the personal knife of Emperor Grandis himself.

A single Shadow could be the main antagonist of a storyteller’s work, and no one would blink an eye. They had a fearsome reputation, and for a single reason — the Shadows of Grandis was beyond the law. Any actions done to preserve the Empire’s peace or to execute Emperor Grandis’ order would be exempted from all laws save for the Emperor’s words.

Actions that were exempted included rape, mass murders, coups, systematic extermination, slavery…anything and worse, legality be damned. It was something commoners like Claud knew and feared, but so far, the master thief had the pleasure of not meeting one.

“By the Moons, Isolde. What did you do? Did you, I don’t know, steal the underwear of Emperor Grandis? Why would his personal killers pursue you like this?” Claud rubbed his head.

“I didn’t do anything at all,” Isolde replied. “And I don’t think Emperor Grandis cares about me personally. It’s probably Duke Istrel; dukes have the authority to command a small number of his Shadows. If the Emperor himself really cared, I wouldn’t have made it out.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Claud eyed her, and then sighed. “Yeah, you’re pretty much harmless. Won’t even harm a fly, even. So? With enemies like this, what are you planning on doing?”

“I wish I knew the answer to that question too,” Isolde replied, her voice quivering. “But I myself have no idea. I need to catch a person to prove my innocence, but that person just so happens to be someone who predates the Third Godsfall. What am I supposed to do?”

“What does Tot have to do with your current dilemma?” Claud asked. “As far as I know, the only thing he took was a Pure-Life gem and some treasure, right?”

“I need him to testify that there were pure-ranked lifestones that he didn’t steal,” Isolde replied. “Right now, the Emperor’s anger is directed at the fact that Tot indirectly caused Ruler Umbra’s death by stealing the…only pure-ranked lifestone the Istrel Dukedom had.”

“Shouldn’t Emperor Grandis doubt that angle first?” Claud asked. “Pure-ranked lifestones aren’t, by any means, rare for someone like Ruler Umbra, right? There’s gotta be lots of tax and resources flowing to him, given that he’s the overseer of Istrel, Lustre and Schwa.”

“That’s the point. The Emperor should be aware of the truth, but…”

Claud clicked his tongue. “Politics.”

“That’s making it sound too simple, but you’re probably right,” Isolde replied. “Politics. What’s going on at the highest levels of the Emperor’s court? And how did Ruler Umbra die? He had to have thousands of years remaining, right?”

Claud licked his lips at the incredibly long lifespan the late Ruler Umbra had. “What a waste of so many lifestones.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Ruler Umbra used so many lifestones, but he didn’t even get to live out his natural lifespan. What a waste, what a waste.”

Isolde glared at him, speechless. “Why are you focusing on that bit?”

“Hehe.”

“What do you mean, hehe!?”

“It is a waste. I’m just stating a categorical truth,” Claud replied, a smile on his face. “If he had that many years of life, why didn’t he become the Empire’s next penta-folder? Look at all that life energy, now gone with his corpse.”

“You…don’t really know much about Ruler Umbra, do you?”

“Well, I know that his son is Duke Istrel,” Claud replied, glancing down at his clothes. Everyone was sporting the same white armband on their left forearm; it had become a mandatory part of their clothes to the point that clothes with a white strip on their left sleeve was in fashion. Even though this was Count Nightfall’s territory, the count was a subordinate of Duke Istrel, which meant that his decree about mourning also held in this county.

The guards, however, probably didn’t care about the decree unless they wanted to earn a quick buck by selling white armbands to those who weren’t wearing them, at which point the decree suddenly became a fundamental law. Of course, anyone who looked like nobility wasn’t a target for extortion, but this Isolde was giving off mixed signals regarding her heritage.

“Well, Ruler Umbra is a penta-folder,” Isolde replied. “Which is why his murder was such a big deal to begin with. Didn’t you know?”

“A penta-folder?” Claud’s chain of thoughts shattered. “A penta-folder was killed?”

The two stared at each other helplessly. Isolde let out a helpless sigh. “I see details really aren’t your forte.”

“I am very detail-oriented when it comes to issues regarding my life and my future,” Claud corrected. “Anything else can go and sulk in the corner while I make myself satisfied. I don’t even know where Grandia is, other than some vague place in the centre of the Grandis continent.”

“It’s at…no, never mind. I get a feeling you really aren’t into information regarding things like these anyway.” Isolde rolled her eyes.

“I’m glad to reach an understanding with you,” Claud replied. “Anyway, the shop I talked about is here. You do have enough money on you, right? The artefacts here aren’t cheap at all.”

He stopped in front of a tower. Made out of purple glossy bricks, it stood out like a sore thumb in the drab cityscape. “Welcome to the Artisan’s Adherence, home of the finest artefacts in Licencia.”

“Shouldn’t they do the promoting?” Isolde asked, casting a glance at the guards standing by the entrance.

“They’re guards,” Claud replied. “Let them do their guard thing.”

He felt two separate gazes fall on him as he spoke, but other than that, they didn’t show any indication that they had heard his words.

“I-if you say so, then. Do you get a cut or something if you bring people to buy from this place?” Isolde asked. “You seemed oddly enthusiastic earlier.”

“You do remember your promise, right?” Claud replied. “You said that you would buy me anything you brought. Of course I’ll be enthusiastic. There’s some artefacts I’ve had my eyes on for a long time, something that was too expensive for me to buy.”

The smile on his face vanished. “And I’ve been feeling threatened in recent times. Today is a good day to drop some money.”

“I see.” Isolde nodded. “Expensive, eh? I like that word.”

Claud didn’t quite know how to respond to that overblown display of personal wealth, so he made do with the basics of communication — flattery. After laying just enough praise to not seem obnoxious, he called over a staff member, who was just overjoyed to see a customer willing to splurge.

“How can I help you, sir and ma’am?”

“We want to see the best artefacts you have for poison resistance and disguises,” Claud replied.

“What’s your budget?”

Isolde eyed Claud, and then coughed. “We’ll go with…a total of eight platinum.”

“Very good, ma’am.”

Claud exchanged stares with the staff member, who was probably wondering about his showboating when the wallet didn’t belong to him in the first place, and then chuckled.

“I just wanted to try showing off, okay?”

Isolde shrugged. “Well, you can try holding my money, then. If that makes you feel better.”

“Why do I get the feeling of being pitied?”