Vol 8, Chapter 9

◆ Memory, Many Years Ago ◆

Eagle's Cliff. Cold evening corridors of the castle.

A keyhole. Dim light seeping through it, the stubborn scent of lavender perfume, and an unpleasant female voice.

"…so you will confirm the official stance of the palace, Count Condor. Your daughter's death was a suicide."

Grandfather's reply could not be heard; he spoke too quietly. Randall pressed his ear to the keyhole, but even then he caught only faint fragments. Something about Robert… Who was Robert?

"You must. It is necessary for lasting peace in the Kingdom. The balance of power must not be disturbed, and your house swore to serve the interests of the realm…"

Randall pulled back from the door and leaned closer to the keyhole. The woman's voice carried well enough, while his grandfather's words were indistinct anyway. Shifting about, he tried to glimpse what was happening inside. His grandfather's hunched back, the bed, someone's voluminous gown. The snow-white bedding was drenched with wine, the same wine his mother had loved.

"You have the audacity…" His grandfather raised his voice.

"I do. Robert must never know. If this remains secret, then I will not go any further. Follow the terms, keep your head down, and above all, do not prepare your grandson as an heir. No tutors, no lessons, no training. If I even suspect a hint… then his father will be unable to protect not just your son, but your entire house."

"A fine threat, considering only two of us are left." His grandfather's voice was weary but loud enough.

"Even so, the line has not ended. When my son becomes king, I promise to lift House Condor from disgrace and help it reclaim its place. You know my terms: I care only for the good of the re—"

"You care only for yourself!" The sudden shout made Randall flinch.

"Perhaps. Then care for yourself as well… or die."

The door swung open unexpectedly, knocking him to the floor.

"Mother?" he blurted.

But no, the woman standing over him was a stranger.

Curling her lip in disdain, she said:

"Things would have been much simpler if Robert had agreed to have you killed."

Gathering up her gown, she stepped over the fallen child with disgust and left.

"Randall, to your room." His grandfather's harsh shout rang in his ears.

He turned. Through the open door, everything was clearer than through the keyhole. The bed was not stained with wine, but with blood.

"This…"

"This is for the peace of the Kingdom," his grandfather answered irrelevantly, as if trying to convince himself.

"Then to the Abyss with such peace!"

Tears blurred his sight.

The patter of short legs gave way to the rumble of steam engines.

"Well?" the assassin asked impatiently.

Silently, I drained the last of the potion in one gulp. A kaleidoscope of memories spun before my eyes.

The sealing ritual. Forbidden grimoires. Suspicious acquaintances; far too many suspicious acquaintances. Experiments… But not the most important thing.

In Randall's life, there seemed to be no Prince Dastan. None at all. The closer I came to the present day, the more obvious the gaps in memory became. To the point of absurdity: I remembered learning new things, but not how, or from whom. To put it simply, nothing has changed... Well, except that the memories have become clearer... It was as if I was reliving them. 
At last, after minutes that stretched into years, the visions subsided.

"Well?" the girl dragged out impatiently.

I held out my hand and beckoned with my fingers.

"The core. I drank the potion, as promised."

"Haha, true; we agreed you'd drink, not that you'd tell me what you remembered. Wait."

She sank into the shadow beneath the table and vanished.

I shrugged and prepared to return to my machine-gun schematics, but… set them aside. I couldn't focus.

"Astarot, do you have any guesses why I can't recall anything about Dastan?"

"Pff." The demon snorted. "It's not a guess; I know exactly… he took those memories with him."

"With him… to the afterlife?"

"If your world is named the 'afterlife'... then yes."

"Wait, what?"

I shot up from my chair.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Did you ask, mortal? Seemed obvious to me. You're here, he's there."

"I thought he died, or dissolved, I don't know. I still have his memories!"

"And he has yours, except for the ones you took. Ever perform a ritual to transfer memories into a soul? No? Then he has ALL your memories."

"Damn it! So back home, in my body, for over a year now, there's been a world-hating psychopath with a taste for butchering people? Wait, wait, stop… He doesn't have magic, and he's in the body of an e-sports champion. He can't have done much damage, right? …Right?"

Seeing me pacing in circles, Pete looked up from his work and moved as if to approach, but I stopped him with a wave of my hand.

"Damn it… my friends are still there. My mother. Abyss take it! I thought I'd simply disappeared, but I never imagined someone was walking around in my body who could hurt them! All right… all right… if he does something, he'll just end up behind bars, yes… Yes, no reason to panic," I muttered, pacing in circles.

"Then maybe you should talk to him?" the demon growled mockingly. "Ask about Dastan's plans, and at the same time check in on how your friends and family are doing."

"What?"

"Talk, mortal. A ritual will be required, but nothing difficult for you. However… there's no guarantee he'll agree to tell you everything."

"We can try, but first we need to deal with the core and the weapons production."

"I don't care, mortalis."

A polite cough behind me pulled me from my thoughts.

Beneath the shadow of an arch, the assassin sat atop a round crystalline object within which burned a sinister red flame. Wait—that looked familiar.

"Hold on, that's MY core? Dastan decided to blow me up with my own core?!"

"Yep. So, tell me what you learned."

"I'll tell you right after I disarm it."

"You can't. It's impossible to disarm."

"Hm. Fine then, we'll just drop it on the undead army before it reaches us."

An obsidian blade flashed before my eyes.

"Nope," the girl sing-songed, toying with a naked dagger.

"What?"

"It has to explode somewhere in this region. Otherwise, he'll realize something's wrong sooner than we need. Bury it near the city, but far from the workshops, and that'll do… Now, what did you learn?"

"Nothing. The potion didn't work."

"You're joking?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Plain truth."

"A pity."

In an instant, the core sank into shadow, vanishing from the workshop as though it had never been there.

"What the hell?"

"If you know nothing, you're useless. Why should I risk breaking the deal with the King? Why draw his suspicions earlier than necessary, and for what?" she asked, spreading her hands.

"You—!"

My claws sliced through the empty space where the assassin had stood a heartbeat before. Damn it. No, I wouldn't catch her like this.

"Wait! There's a way, all right? I'll use it, but give that thing back before I lose my temper."

"Too late," came the voice from the shadows. "I need information, not promises. You want to avoid the boom—lay out his plan. Otherwise, no deal. You have twelve days."

"If you—"

"What if I? Believe me, the King would love to kill me too, but neither he nor you can catch me. So your threats mean nothing. Twelve days—that's how long my round friend and I will wait before paying a visit."

The presence faded. Damn. What could be worse than someone with a nuclear bomb who could teleport?

"Is everything all right? I thought someone was here." Asha's voice reached me.

"What are you doing here? You haven't recovered yet; you should be in bed."

"That's too boring. Besides, I promised to work for a full year. If I keep slacking off, you might fire me early. Then I'd have to return home… and I doubt my father would leave me in peace."

I nodded thoughtfully. In about three months it would be a year since we first met. Back then we agreed she would work for me exactly a year, and then be free. It was by that contract that she fended off her father when he demanded she return.

"Yes, just need to get through the winter, and then spring will come. You know, what if I… say, extend the contract for your inactivity? How about penalty days?"

"Oh, not a bad idea. In that case, can I go back to bed? Just don't count today as a workday!"

"Wait!"

"M?"

"Stop by administration and ask them to put more lamps in your room and replace the curtains with heavier ones. Tell them there mustn't be a single shadow at night, and in the daytime you should be able to block out every bit of light."

"Well… fine, I'll do it. Later!" Waving her hand, she left at a brisk pace—already a sign of poor health, since she usually moved only at a run.

It was unpleasant to admit, but the shadow assassin was a nasty opponent. She might not kill me, but others… Better to protect my close ones until I could catch her. But until then, I'd have to dig up what she wanted. Besides, I myself was curious what the King was planning. Surely nothing good.

"So then… Astarot, what do we need for your ritual?"

"Just a couple dozen lives… or a little magic."

************************************

◆ Eagle Cliff, Gymnasium, Mira POV ◆

"Position! Pirouette! Block! Left! Center! Right! Left! Left!"

In the former theater hall, now converted into a school gymnasium, the clash of blades rang out. Despite its weight, the longsword flew easily in the girl's hands, parrying every strike from her instructor.

She tried as hard as she could. Even dulled, the swords could still break bones.

Fox-like Sir Trey called out the location of the next blow in a sharp, clear voice.

"Right! Right! Left!"

Clashing steel and sparks. Despite his unflappable appearance, the knight was already tired. Each time he had to use just a little magic to return his blade to its trajectory faster and keep his arm from going numb.

"Left! Center! Right!"

Contrary to his words, the knight's blade darted toward her left side. The girl tried to correct, but she was too slow to raise a block. Strike!

The flat of the steel blade slammed into her ribs, throwing her onto the wooden floor.

"Hey, you said right, Sir Trey!" Mira protested, clutching her ribs.

"The first rule of combat: don't trust your opponent. Meaning me, since right now I'm your opponent."

"Yes, yes, I remember…" she grumbled. This wasn't the first time he'd caught her in a similar way.

"Then why make the same mistake again? You're completely unfocused today. Is it because Randall returned?"

"Returned is a strong word. He bolted straight to Reikland without even spending the night here."

"That must be disappointing." The knight snorted indifferently. "So, are you going to keep lying there?"

"I think I landed right on my tail…" she said pitifully, displaying the injured appendage. But as soon as the knight rolled his eyes…

"Ha!"

Her sword whistled toward the instructor's legs, but he simply hopped over the blade and tapped her lightly on the head.

"No, you've a lot to learn before your dirty tricks work. Still, this is the first time you've tried to use them. Did it anger you so much to be caught again?"

"That's not what angered me." She shook her head.

"Then what? Couldn't you have gone to Reikland with him?"

"Oh yes, and be a fifth wheel? Pour tea? Or worse, be stuck tending to that Ashiran girl with him—what a disgrace. He only circles around her because she's a junior Archmage! At least here I'm of some use…"

The knight nodded sympathetically. He could have said that it was likely not the only reason. But there were two reasons why he was willing to indulge the girl's delusion. First, he was a pragmatic man himself and understood that personal strength, lineage, and wealth always carried weight in choosing a partner. And second… it would have clashed with his own plans.

"You're right. Our lord is so busy he has no time for the useless. Such is the nature of power: it demands all of you. But in return, he has castles, riches, and servants."

"I'd rather go back to those times when we froze together in a tent…"

"Well, then you just need to become useful again. Become stronger. Wealth is nothing; the strong can claim it for themselves. Family trees are nothing; every house begins with someone of extraordinary strength. Strength—that's what you must gain. If your power rivaled an archmage's, you would easily reclaim your place."

"I'm trying… but it's not working out." The girl pressed her ears down in gloom.

"You know…" The knight lowered his voice conspiratorially. "If you want to become stronger, there is one way. Remember the book I helped translate?"

"Oh, you mean that book of Alex Hornet's… I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Well, it didn't seem to harm him, so think on it… Position!" Sir Trey cut himself short hastily. Best not to rush this matter. He had already hinted too bluntly.

The girl rose from the floor, brushed off her tail, and lifted her sword. Her movements were slightly distracted, which meant she was thinking.

Seeing doubt flicker in her eyes, Sir Trey smiled with satisfaction. The carefully hidden copies of Hornet's book were waiting for their time. Oh yes, he would have been a fool not to keep copies of the material while studying the diary. And an even greater fool to immediately start practicing the techniques himself.

Now fortune had turned his way.

It seemed he had finally found someone on whom to test this ancient knowledge before daring to use it on himself.

**********************************************
◆ Night of the Same Day, Dream ◆

Pitch darkness. The familiar triangular table.

This time, though, every seat was taken.

"Welcome. Again," Astarot intoned, as if honoring a tradition.

He looked considerably better than last time. His black horns gleamed like polished agate, and his scaly skin glistened in the darkness with a glossy sheen.

But it wasn't him that caught my attention—it was the third figure, swaying side to side with eyes closed, mumbling incoherently.

"Ran…" I stumbled over the word. It was strange, seeing the familiar face from outside myself. "Randall Condor!"

No reaction. Only the muttered chant continued.

"…bhura bhuva svaha nyan, savituri vare-nyam…"

I strained to listen but couldn't make sense of it. Gibberish, meaningless babble.

I shot a look at the demon, but he only shrugged.

"I've got nothing to do with it. I just let him fall in here in his sleep" he growls apologetically.

I rose from my seat and approached Dastan's pupil. I take him by the shoulder and realize… that, frankly, he's out of it. Completely gone—full-on rave mode, or, simply put, high. His skinny arms are slick with cold sweat, his eyeballs twitch epileptically, and only gibberish comes out of his mouth.

"Well, shit... So what are we going to do?" I asked the demon.

"Try again in a couple of days?"

"Of course, we've got all the time in the world. Can you snap him out of it?"

"Temptabo," he said doubtfully.

I stepped aside, letting the winged bulk approach the body. The demon tilted back Randall's head and peered into his eyes. Slowly, the drugged haze began to fade from them.

"Servus dominum daemonium humiliter salutat," Randall murmured, still sluggish.

"At least someone knows proper manners. Audivi verba tua," Astarot said, planting his fists on his hips with satisfaction.

"I take it you're lucid now?" I asked the alchemist.

"A thief, thief, thief…" Randall muttered.

As the stupor bled from his mind, his voice grew sharper, colder.

"I'm no more a thief than you are yourself."

"No, no, no, no! You! You're to blame!" He jabbed a nervous finger at me. "Why, why did you draw his wrath onto yourself?"

"Let's not dig through the past. Better we focus on the future." I spread my hands placatingly. "A little bird told me you were once close with Dastan…"

"Ah. I see. Hehehe." He laughed nervously, his whole body twitching. "So that's why you're here. Of course."

He forced a strained smile and staggered to his feet… only to bolt into the darkness.

"Catch the junkie!" I shouted, diving for his legs and bringing him down.

To my surprise, I couldn't hold him. He slipped from my grip like an eel and crawled swiftly toward the edge of the shadowy haze. I lunged to grab his legs, but my hands passed right through them.

A second later, he vanished into the gloom without a trace.

"Damn it, why didn't you help?" I snapped at the demon, who had simply stood by.

"I have no right."

"Great. Now we'll have to repeat the ritual and lose an entire day!"

“Mortal, it’s doubtful he’ll agree to return here again if he doesn’t want to talk.”

"Abyss! Can't you drag him here by force?"

"I have no right. What now?"

"What do you think? I'll go after him." I hurled the words over my shoulder and strode toward the haze.

"Stop!"

But I had already leapt forward.