Vol 4, Chapter 18

The body lay about a hundred meters from the checkpoint. The pool of blood beneath the torso had already congealed and now resembled dark red jelly. From a distance, the splatters on the stones looked like black flakes.

"He ran far," I noted, squinting into the distance. "So, it was you three on duty?"

The soldiers nodded almost in unison. Two of them wore ragged peasant clothes, while the third strutted in a new uniform of a brownish-green hue. The black-and-white colors of the House were present only on the sleeves.

"Yes, Commander," the uniformed soldier reported. "Me, Noah, and Bubble."

He pointed at each of them in turn. Fortunately, the last one didn't have the red nose I expected, but rather bulging eyes that made him look like he was constantly staring.

"And you? What's your name?" I asked, noticing the senior hadn't introduced himself.

"We've met before. Back then I had fewer fingers," the soldier said, waving his right hand. The skin on some of the fingers was much lighter than it should've been.

"Mmm, right..." I scratched my chin, still unable to remember where I'd seen him. "So, what's your name?"

"Kurt, sir."

"Tell me what happened here, Kurt," I ordered, slightly embarrassed. I genuinely tried to remember at least everyone's face, but it was nearly impossible with my head crammed with schematics and my subordinates numbering in the thousands. In my defense, I did remember the names of all the guards and officers.

"He arrived at noon. No cart, no transport. Alone. He carried that barrel over there." Kurt pointed to a shabby keg nearby that looked about ready to fall apart. "He came up to our post and..."

The soldier suddenly flinched and sharply raised his musket, aiming somewhere behind my back. I turned around, hand reaching for my holster... But there was no enemy. Behind me stood only Erin, who had briefly stepped away but was already back, now shaking water off her hands.

"What do you think you're doing? Pointing a weapon at me?" she exclaimed, genuinely shocked and beginning to grow furious.

"She's a Klaus," the soldier explained, still aiming at her chest.

"And our ally. I order you to lower your weapon," I barked, and after a moment's hesitation, Kurt complied.

"Those who raise a hand against a noble have them cut off," Erin said, arms crossed.

"Don't even start," I warned.

"The discipline of your men is abysmal. You look more like a bandit chief than a lord," she scoffed.

"Back in the Goblin Forest, their blond freak toyed with us. Killing us was entertainment for him. One after another. And I had nothing to stop that bastard..." Kurt's speech grew simpler as he became more agitated. His hand trembled, and it looked like he might raise his weapon again.

Of course, that would've been suicide. Even I had little chance, given how close the noblewoman was.

I patted him on the shoulder.

Goblin Forest, Klaus, and heads on pikes. At least I remembered where I'd seen this man—among the other peasants who fled from Bathory.

Back then, I'd been consumed by the demon and was acting even less rationally than usual. No wonder I tried to forget those days...

Meanwhile, Erin rested her hand on her sword hilt.

"You're going to let that insolence slide? It undermines your authority. If you don't punish him, I'll cut off his hands and tongue myself!"

"You're right. Kurt! No pay this month, and remember—the Countess bears no responsibility for the actions of other family members."

"You said that as if our House had something to apologize for!" she exploded.

"It does. That day, I beat Henry Klaus so badly they had to carry him off on a stretcher."

"You couldn't have beaten him fairly. My second cousin wields a sword far better than you," she scoffed.

"Ask him yourself if you don't believe me," I shrugged.

Erin sighed.

"In any case, there's a big difference. You have the right to judge Henry's actions because of your nobility. Commoners don't. They're only allowed to accept their fate. Such remarks from a peasant about your noble rival demean you as well. Don't you see that?"

"I completely agree with Kurt and believe Henry was a son of a bitch who got exactly what he deserved," I concluded.

Erin slapped her face in exasperation.

"We'll have to work on your principles for a long time if you want to resemble a noble more closely." 
"Or maybe work on yours?"
"Don't dream of dragging me down to your level," she scoffed. "I'm going to examine the body before you finally drive me mad. Keep fussing with the rabble if that's what you enjoy!"

"Ahem. So, what happened next?" I turned to Kurt once the girl stepped away.

"Well, he came up to the post. Carried a keg. I asked what was in it. He said apple moonshine, said he was selling it. Then immediately offered us a taste. Suspicious, right?"

"Maybe. So, did you try it?"

"No, of course not. We were on duty. Just sniffed it..." Kurt shrugged.

"We sniffed it, but Bubble went to grab a bottle," Noah ratted out his comrade.

The bug-eyed soldier began to protest.

"Hey, it was for the evening! You can't drink on post, but after... that's different!"

"Alright, I get it. What happened next?"

"Next, Bubble dunked the dirty bottle right into the moonshine. And the 'peasant' didn't bat an eye. Not a word of protest. That set off alarm bells. Then I heard scratching and scuffling from inside the keg. Like a rat had gotten in. The spy heard it too and started rambling to distract us. Just babbling nonstop. I told him to shut his mouth so I could listen properly, and he hammered the lid shut and tried to sneak past us. Even offered money. I ordered him to stay put, planned to bring another barrel and transfer the moonshine to see what was inside. But he bolted. So fast! One second he was there, the next he was ten paces away. Legs flying like wings on a fly. But the lads didn't panic — they fired. Someone even hit him. Must've been a miracle."

"I hit him, Commander," Noah declared.

"No, you missed. I hit him. You didn't!" Bubble shot back.

"I hit him!"

"Don't lie!"

Ignoring the squabbling, I turned to Kurt.

"And you didn't fire?"

"Kept my sights on the keg. Just in case."

"Alright, then we'll start with it..."

"Randall! Would you be so kind as to come here?" Erin called. "This isn't one of Short's men."

Flies buzzed over the corpse. Fat and green, they happily crawled over the congealed blood, taking off with a hum whenever Erin flipped the body with her sword.

"What makes you think he wasn't Short's servant?" I asked, uncertain.

The girl pointed her blade at a blue tattoo on the corpse's arm.

"Azure Guild mark."

"The Guild... Isn't it strange for them to brand their spies?"

Erin shrugged.

"No idea. But that's definitely the Azure Guild's symbol."

"Alright. Anyone here know how to ride?"

"I do, Commander," Kurt replied.

"Then take a horse and fetch Tamilla. Quickly."

"Yes, sir!" the soldier saluted and ran off toward the stables.

I crouched and examined the body. A completely unremarkable man at first glance. The kind you'd pass on the street without noticing. The most notable thing about him was the gaping hole in his chest from a large-caliber bullet. What were you doing here?

Didn't look like there was anything else on him. Which meant it was time to check the contents of that keg...

I called Erin over, and the four of us surrounded the spy's cargo.

"Take off the lid," I ordered. Bubble quickly popped it open.

A strong smell of moonshine filled the air. Milky, cloudy liquid filled the keg to the brim, making it impossible to see what lay beneath.

I drew my sword and stirred the liquid. Nothing suspicious at first glance.

I listened. Something scratched and tapped at the bottom of the keg.

"Pour it out into the ditch," I ordered.

"But... such a waste!" Noah groaned.

"I'm nearly certain it's all poisoned. So no regrets."

The soldiers sighed and together dumped the barrel. Alcohol gushed out, soaking into the ground, and the alcoholic fumes became unbearable. I sniffed the air. Honestly, I didn't sense anything unusual, but better safe than sorry. I certainly wasn't expecting any goodwill from a spy.

When we righted the barrel, we found the bottom was higher than it should be. A false bottom.

"Flip it and open it," I ordered, drawing my revolver just in case. Who knew what might come out?

The rear lid was smeared with grime and something that looked like manure. A marker for the informed, and a deterrent for anyone else. Most wouldn't bother with a filthy side if the top was relatively clean.

Bubble pried open the lid with a bayonet. A few strikes, and it came loose.

Instantly, a winged shadow shot skyward. I didn't even have time to react before it ended up skewered on Erin's sword like a kebab. A pigeon. Slow, but inconspicuous. Any city had hundreds.

The noblewoman disdainfully flicked the dead bird off her blade.

"As you see, the sword is still faster."

"This isn't a contest," I muttered and looked into the barrel.

Three more pigeons lay inside. At first glance, lifeless, but as I lifted one, I realized it was alive. Just asleep, drugged either by a special potion or that same moonshine.

"I think there's no doubt he was a spy. Ordinary people don't stash damn pigeons in hidden compartments of barrels," I concluded.

Erin nodded in agreement, and the sound of hooves echoed down the road.

Tamilla had arrived.

"So, why was I torn away from important matters?" she asked, exhausted.

I led her to the corpse.

"Take a look. What do you think?"

"Hmm."

Tamilla examined the body thoroughly, using her hands without hesitation. Finally, she wiped the blood off on the corpse's own clothes and frowned.

"Randall, do you know what a tattoo means among guild agents?"

"No idea," I shrugged.

"Lower-tier informants often don't know who they truly work for. They don't know each other. Just their handler. And even that handler usually knows nothing about the others."

"And what do tattoos have to do with that?"

"Hold on. But how do you control all those cells? Someone has to know ALL the handlers. Someone has to receive all the intel for a region. That means loyalty must be ensured. A magical tattoo is one way. With it, the guild headquarters can always track where the bearer is. Removing it? Only with the whole limb. This one was lucky — getting the tattoo on the arm is the mild option. If he betrayed them, he'd lose just the arm. Usually, it's placed on the neck. You get the idea, it's a lot harder to cut off your head and run than your hand!"

"Charming. So what was he doing here?"

"No idea. Maybe looking for me. Vitor Bull still wants to get rid of me, and now that I'm in the spotlight again..."

A pang of guilt hit me. Damn it, I really should have thought about that!

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry. I would've demanded the position from you either way. I can't just sit around doing nothing," Tamilla said with an encouraging smile, but quickly turned serious again. "What worries me is the fact that he had the tattoo. People like that don't go out scouting. They collect intel from whole networks of informants. I don't like this."

"Could Short have hired them?" I suggested.

Tamilla shook her head.

"No, the guild mark clearly shows he was Azure. They wouldn't let someone so high up in the hierarchy work for the other side."

Erin let out a long yawn, covering her mouth with aristocratic grace.

"Alright, so we've learned that we've learned nothing. I'm moved by your wisdom, Hardan girl. I'm going to sleep now. Haven't done so in days."

"Rest well. Try not to fall off your horse," I said.

With a leap, Erin jumped into the saddle and galloped into the city at full speed, scattering passersby.

"Hmm, what's that smell?" Tamilla sniffed and quickly found the moonshine puddles. 
"Wasting resources again?" she said with annoyance.

I waved her off, my eyes fixed in the direction Erin had disappeared. Something was bothering me. Something was wrong... I scanned the city rooftops. There it was!

The aerostat, which wasn't supposed to launch for another couple of hours, was already in the air, and at a great height.

Why? They were only supposed to do a test run. Just rise a few dozen meters and come back down. But now they were way above the city. What was going on? Steam engine failure?

Looking closely, I saw someone waving a red flag from the airship — the signal to cut power and land immediately. Strange. Stranger by the second.

I wanted to observe more, but a messenger interrupted me.

"My lord, a caravan of mages is approaching the eastern gate."

"On my way. Tami, coming with me?"

"I'll pass. I need to get back to work. Besides, just thinking about how much that magical labor cost the king makes my wallet weep."

"Suit yourself," I said, brushing off my coat.

It's best to look presentable when receiving distinguished guests.

***********

To say the caravan was grand would be an understatement. Whoever these mages were, they were traveling in luxury. No shabby wagons — several chimeras pulled a massive platform with a lavish tent on top.

Stern bounced nervously in place, clutching a stack of scrolls and a leather-bound notebook in his trembling hands.

"Nervous?" I asked, watching the majestic mobile pavilion slowly approach.

"Of course! I've never worked with such large cores... Frankly, I doubt many in this world have! I hope I didn't make any mistakes. This assignment is my chance to prove my worth to the King. I simply can't afford to screw it up," the mage said, flipping open his notebook to double-check the numbers.

"I hope so. Otherwise, we'll all go up in flames."

"Oh, no. That's why the King hired mages from the Commonwealth. They'll verify my work before building the ritual chamber, so it should be fine. But if my notes are unsatisfactory and they have to waste time redoing my work, the King might strip me of my knighthood. Maybe even send me back to the Commonwealth." Stern shuddered at the thought. "I really hope that doesn't happen."

"Then you should've worked harder and chased fewer city girls," I said sharply. The city was already buzzing with rumors about this mage-Casanova.

"My curse," the young mage admitted. "In my defense, they came to me..."

The pavilion opened, and a youthful mage with graying temples took to the air. He floated with the same grandeur as the caravan he led, his sky-blue robe billowing majestically. His face, rather handsome, radiated detached dignity and self-admiration. But halfway through, he faltered mid-air, frowned, and suddenly accelerated toward us.

"Oh no!" the young knight-mage squeaked, ducking behind me.

"ALBERT STERN! YOU SMUG BASTARD!" thundered the caravan leader, each word echoing through the air with literal thunder.

"You know him?" I asked Stern, who was now hiding behind me from the oncoming storm.

"My teacher. The reason I left the academy. He's... a bit mad at me."

"Yeah, I can tell."

"Stern, stop hiding behind others and die like a man!"

The mage tried to duck behind me again, but I stepped aside to block him.

"Viscount Condor. Who am I addressing?"

"Chair of Air Magic at the Commonwealth Academy, Wind O'Conol. Senior Archmage of the Air Element."

I squinted. That would put him roughly at Duke level in our hierarchy. Strong.

"Do you have a problem with this knight of the Kingdom?" I reminded him of Stern's official status.

"Problem? PROBLEM?! This flea-bitten scum defiled my daughter!" the Archmage shouted, pointing behind me.

"I am not flea-bitten, and she wasn't exactly unwilling. Besides, I wasn't her first," piped the knight-mage behind me. Not the wisest thing to say.

"Come out and face me like a man, coward! Or I'll drag you out myself!" Wind roared.

"Let's calm down," I said, spreading my arms. "You're both here on the King's orders. Do the job, then kill each other if you want."

"A mere mage dares command me?" the Archmage hissed, glaring down at me as if I were an insect.

Ohhh, that feeling. I hadn't felt it in a while. My blood began to boil.

"Believe me, you don't want to test just how 'mere' I am," I hissed right back.

The soldiers, led by Til, who had come to greet the caravan, read my tone correctly. The archmage suddenly found himself staring down the barrels of dozens of rifles.

Wind glanced at the soldiers, tense. And I wished,truly wished — he'd make the wrong decision. Even if it wasn't advantageous, I didn't care. I wanted to tear him apart. It had been too long since I unleashed that part of myself.

I'd love to blame the demon, but the truth? That was just me.

"Ahem. The insolence of Empire traitors' descendants is matched only by their greed," the Archmage said, removing a ring from his hand and offering it to me. "An artifact, just the kind people like you are so fond of. Cools in summer, warms in winter. Press the gem and it protects against arrows and some bolts. Take it, and give me that scoundrel."

"I don't sell people," I said, refusing the ring.

"Want more?" the Archmage asked in surprise.

"It's not about price."

"Everything has a price. Name yours."

"Honor isn't for sale," I snapped.

"Hmm. I heard you have problems with an enemy army. I can't intervene directly, but maybe you need a tailwind to speed your arrows... or a storm to pass over enemy lines. Accidentally."

"Until the ritual hall is built, he's under my protection. Period."

The Archmage fell silent, took a few deep breaths, and slipped the ring back on.

"Very well... Come out, Stern. I won't touch you. For now. The lord just gave you a few more months of life. Celebrate. Sleep with girls while you still can. And later... Want to hear what I'll do then?"

"Later I'll surpass you and kick your ass!" Stern's voice cracked.

Wind O'Conol laughed.

"You won't live long enough."

A deep horn sounded over the city.

Then another. And another.

The soldiers looked around.

Minutes later, the news arrived.

Enemy forces spotted on the horizon.