Chapter 47: Red Obsession

When Dulcina returned to the ruined east wing with her men in tow, she mentally prepared herself for the worst.

Most of House Elathion’s best knights were out scouting the port at the moment, leaving the castle undefended with but Bronze Core squires to guard it. The miasmic mist of the corrupted lake, combined with the hellish smog from the still-burning ruins, would obscure any visibility between those patrols and Castle Elathion. It was unlikely any of them would return to her aid anytime soon.

That unfortunate coincidence, combined with the inexplicable failure of the Castle's magical wards against intruders, led Dulcina to a suspicion she had not dared voice for some time.

Armael… I swear that bastard will pay.

The Seneschal was the only one who could accomplish this. There was no other explanation. However, bitter as this revelation was, it gave House Elathion another potential source of information to interrogate.

Dulcina intended to thoroughly squeeze every last bit of knowledge from the old man before she crucified the traitorous worm atop her castle’s north-facing walls. 

The sight of the Hellgate shall burn its damnation into his eyes before I allow him to expire.

She would have to survive the current ordeal first. Her forces were ill-equipped to face any opponent in the Jewelled Ranks. Both Captain Lauren and Matron Elen were in no condition to fight. Her options were few.

If Father failed to defeat Maelric Halsworm, or if any of the twin minstrels were alive, it would mean a swift defeat for her. Whatever fate awaited her after that would not be kind.

However, to do nothing while her House was under siege was unacceptable, and to flee was the act of a coward, unbefitting of a Heiress.

Eri might still be fighting. Her father might still be fighting. Therefore, she must fight as well.

The elemental storm that tore through the grounds had subsided. Dulcina could not sense her father’s mana, but Maelric’s was similarly absent. Her forces moved cautiously through the ruin, looking for any sign of movement.

There was a flicker. Dulcina’s heart sank when she sighted crimson hair.

One of the desert twins came into view, walking casually over the uneven rubble with an unconscious Eri held in her arms.

“Let him go,” Dulcina warned, raising her blade.

To the Heiress’s surprise, the minstrel actually responded. “Or what? You’ll try to kill me with that little steel twig of yours? Don’t bother. That rapier will break before it punctures my skin.”

Dulcina readied her Artes. The men behind her were nervous, but they followed her lead.

The minstrel chuckled. “Relax, girl. I’m not an enemy. See here? The stupid boy’s alive, thanks to me.”

“He nearly died because of you,” Dulcina countered.

The woman laughed, her mirth unrestrained. Her expressiveness — so unlike the cold indifference of before — caught Dulcina off guard. “‘Nearly’ is not the word I would use. The boy has no sense of self-preservation. Is he always so reckless? It’s a quality I find most endearing.”

The woman purposefully shifted. Her loose attire fell away from her neck. Dulcina saw twisting scars born from cruel insertions, but the woman’s neck was void of the slave collar.

The Heiress relaxed, but only by a fraction. “You are free?”

“Yes. Thanks to the boy.” The woman stroked Eri’s hair affectionately. The motion angered Dulcina, but the minstrel's following words stopped her insults. “He was lucky that the Fates decided he was worth more as a piece upon the board, rather than removed from it. Alas for him; the Great Game continues.”

Dulcina frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Just ramblings. Do not mind me.” The woman shook her head. “Your father is back there, by the way. Burnt himself inside out, but my sister is tending to him.

“And what of Maelric?”

The woman’s smile widened. Her eyes shone with a feverish light. Despite herself, Dulcina took an involuntary step back.

The minstrel turned, showing them her back.

Hanging from her waist — stuck upon a cruel iron hook — was the severed, animated head of Lord Maelric Halsworn. The hook had gone through one cheek, painfully puncturing through the roof of his opened mouth and then curving out of his right eye socket.

The ‘man’ was obviously in great pain, his left eye red with blood-tinged tears and his mouth shaking in a fruitless effort to scream or beg.

The squires behind her flinched. It took considerable effort for Dulcina to remain composed.

“That answers your question, no?” The minstrel’s voice was teasing, as if the horror she inflicted was a matter worthy of jest. “My sister and I will be staying in your home for some time. I hope you will let us indulge in your hospitality, Young Lady of House Elathion.”

“You presume much for someone who just destroyed part of my home,” Dulcina coldly said.

“I would argue that the boy here was the one responsible for most of its destruction, but I see your point,” the woman conceded. Her tone was still light and nonchalant. “Still, I believe someone as intelligent as you could see the worth of adding two Ruby-Core Chosens into your retinue, unfortunate as our first meeting might be. Your Lord was certainly strong, but his protectors were quite lacking.”

“You must think me a fool if you believe I will trust you.”

“I could kill you.” The woman said easily. The men behind Dulcina readied their blades. Their display did little to intimidate. “That I have not should tell you we are not enemies. In fact, we share similar foes — filth and scum that hold power they should not possess. They will not stop, not after this. Their insulted pride will compel them to come after us with ever greater fervour. Is that not cause for an alliance?”

Dulcina realised what she was asking. “You are asking for protection.”

The woman shrugged. “My sister and I are strong, but the world has changed much since we were last fully conscious. These half-blooded bodies are not entirely our own, and the enemy — these twice-cursed ‘Duskcrowns’ — has already chained us once. A few decades to rest and reorient ourselves to this new era would not be remiss.”

Dulcina studied the woman. After a moment of tense silence, the Heiress voiced her decision. “Put Eri down first and lead me to Father. If they are both alive and well, then we can discuss the details of your service, as well as your sister’s.”

“Wonderful. Just know that it is ‘service’ we offer, and not ‘servitude’. My sister and I will bow to no master ever again,” the woman warned.

“House Elathion abhors slavery or serfdom. You will be compensated fairly,” Dulcina said, though internally, she grimaced at the cost. Ruby-Core Chosens were not cheap, and given the sheer skill and exotic magic the twins wield, the wage demanded might be exorbitant, especially for a recovering House.

Despite her steely composure, some parts of Dulcina’s discomfort must have shown. The woman laughed. “Don’t worry, I will not ask for much. Room and board alone are fine for now. After the long years of suffrage borne under noble arrogance, my sister and I care little for opulence or wealth. Hot baths and daily meals will suffice, so long as we retain our freedom to go or stay as we please.”

That was… generous beyond belief. Almost ludicrously so, especially for what the twins brought to the table.

It seemed House Elathion found itself a stroke of fortune yet again.

The red-headed minstrel set Eri gently on the ground. Dulcina took cautious steps towards her and examined him. “Is he alright?”

“Merely exhausted. I healed his wounds already,” the woman replied. She grinned at Dulcina. “You may call me Deyara, and my sister Peythra. We look forward to working with you, girl. I see many interesting years ahead of us.”

~~~

Lord Draevan groaned as he awoke. 

Someone was stroking his head.

“Don’t move. You pushed yourself quite far earlier.”

The man frowned at the foreign voice. He opened his blood-crusted eyes.

A pair of quiet green eyes, framed by blood-red hair, looked down at him.

Like the tactless Hound he was, the first thing Lord Draevan said was, “Didn’t I kill you already?”

The woman blinked. She huffed in amusement. “I got better.”

Another pseudo-Immortal. That meant Elder Blood. 

I suppose I should count myself fortunate for still being alive, then. She must have been holding herself back in the fight earlier.

The man was not daft enough to miss the slave collars on the twins’ necks earlier, nor their current absence.

It made him all the more uneasy when he realised he was lying on her lap. The man sighed. “Get me up. This is no position to be in for a Lord.”

“Is my lap not comfortable?”

“Quite the opposite. It’s too comfortable. I dislike it.”

“You dislike comfort? I suppose a man like you would.” The woman hummed as she placed a healing hand on his forehead. “You overloaded your mana earlier. The sheer energy you summoned cooked you inside out before damaging your Core. It’s rare to see such a self-destructive School of Magic, especially one created by a Chosen.”

“I am surprised to find myself alive, to be honest,” Draevan admitted. “I had gambled everything to slay Maelric.”

“The damage to your Core would have been permanent, had you not a Lifeweaver to mend it,” the woman quietly warned him. “Are all humans this reckless? Though I suppose your species always had a tendency for violence, both towards others and against oneself.”

Her words were not light in their meaning. The term ‘Lifeweaver’ alone carried weight that beckoned disaster. 

There was only one species in the entire world that could claim the title of ‘Lifeweaver’, and they were supposed to be extinct.

Lord Draevan did not want to think too hard on the implications of her words yet. “Where’s Maelric?”

“Dead. Or close enough that it doesn’t matter.” The woman pointed to a headless, limbless corpse in the corner. “Your daughter is fine, as is the boy. In fact, I dare say your House came out quite well for an assassination attempt.”

“So says my assassin,” he murmured. He closed his eyes, momentarily giving in to weakness. “So, it’s over. The battle is won.”

“It is,” the woman assured him, petting his head like he was a child. “Rest now. You did very well protecting your family.”

If only he could believe that.

Draevan forced himself up. “Not yet. I still have one last matter to settle.”

A Lord’s work was never done, especially when traitors were involved.

~~~

“Oi, brat, wake up.”

Eri turned away from the hand slapping his cheeks. “Mmghh… Five more minutes, Mom.”

There was a pause, then a sigh.

The next slap came much harder.

“Ow!” he yelled, now much more awake. “Where, what, why—?!”

“In order? The infirmary. The matter with the assassins is still not over. And I already told you not to call me that,” Matron Elen answered as she shook Eri around. “Come on, get up. I know you’re already healed.”

“I can’t take a nap after I almost died?” Eri groaned. He blinked a few times. 

He was indeed in the infirmary — or rather, Kalisa’s lab, which doubled as the castle’s infirmary. Gunther’s corpse was still hanging in display from the ceiling. On a bed nearby was the heavily bandaged form of Captain Lauren, severely wounded but alive. Chained to another bed was Cedric, who looked to be out cold.

Eri shook his head to clear off the fog. He could barely remember anything since he passed out moments after the witch left him alone.

His body felt terrible. His mind was hazy. Even so, when he turned to face Elen, he paled immediately. 

“Elen, y-your arm—”

“Yeah. Gone,” Elen shrugged, the movement strange without her left shoulder. “Don’t worry, I can still fight. We’ve got other problems to worry about.”

“Is it Maelric? The twins? Or is Lord Draevan dead?” Eri asked with increasing dread.

“Eh, no. Lord Draevan and Dulcina are finally going to go confront that piece-of-shit Seneschal,” Elen said, slightly sheepish. “I thought you would like to go watch. You were the one who set a surprise for him, after all. It would be a shame to miss the payoff.”

Eri sighed. “Fine. But you’re going to have to carry me there. I can barely feel my legs…”

“Maybe that will teach you to be less reckless after this.”

“I’m not the one missing an arm… Ow, ow! Okay, I’m sorry!”

The two bickered as Elen carried him up the stairs. Though their banter was lighthearted, their minds were weary.

They could sense it — the long-awaited conclusion to House Elathion’s ordeals.

It was time to put an end to this.