Demonic Conqueror: Heroic Valor - Chapter 21.1, 21.2

"Why can't you just admit it?" Katarina grumbled. "Waiting to choose my Class was for the better."

Her voice could barely be heard above the tumult of the crowd. Caelryn City's streets were fully-packed once again. Light from the midday sun shone down, vivid and jovial, as if this was a day like any other.

As if last night's bloodshed was no more than a fading memory.

Simon took another bite of the dried fruit-thing that was unfortunately his breakfast. Hardly appetizing, but the best that could be expected from a Valtian street vendor. "Just because something works doesn't mean it was optimal – or even a good idea. You should've picked your Class Advancement before we engaged Armand in combat."

"Don't give me that. You're the one always going on about the 'element of surprise'."

"For our enemies, yes. Bit less effective when it's your allies who need to suddenly adjust."

"Of all people, you certainly don't have any right to complain there. I've been constantly adjusting to your lunacy for the past two weeks."

They'd chosen an isolated spot for themselves where they could speak freely. Kat was adept at finding those.

She'd shown that again last night. After they left Armand's withered corpse behind, the newly-minted Arcane Rogue had led Simon to a no-questions-asked inn where he could sleep and recover with Transmigration's Body. Saved him the trouble of looking for one himself – the line between 'shady but safe' and 'secret deathtrap' was razor-thin.

Katarina chomped down on her own travesty of a breakfast, grimacing like it had insulted her family name. "Why did you insist we partake of these? The food stashed in your Inventory is much more palatable."

"Wanted to support local small businesses," Simon muttered, with a tone of regret. "Anyway, I don't see how delaying your Class selection helped. It took you several minutes to go through your Character Sheet mid-combat. We would've been in hot water if Armand wasn't so in love with the sound of his own voice."

Katarina grinned as though she'd trapped him in a cage of impervious logic. "Ah, but think of how the battle would've progressed if I'd been an Arcane Rogue from the onset. Fight begins. I swiftly unleash a Firebolt. It damages him once, perhaps. He heals, recognizes the threat, and our vaunted element of surprise is lost. Finding the opening to pull off your final Landmine maneuver becomes far more difficult."

"Or – and hear me out on this one – you don't immediately start off with a Firebolt. Instead, you gradually feel out your opponent, keep a Skill or two in your back pocket."

She frowned at him. "Why in the world wouldn't I start with my strongest abilities? It's a duel to the death; not some noble's gaudy mana exhibition."

Simon paused, his counterargument waylaid by curiosity. "The nobility hosts exhibitions?"

"Why wouldn't they? It's entertainment, and it lets them flaunt – two of their favorite things. Sometimes they even grant admittance to the lower districts, although I imagine that generosity depends on how inadequate the noble patron has recently been made to feel. Nothing bolsters an ego like masses of people cheering in your name."

Katrina tried one more bite of her meal. After admitting defeat and setting it aside, she exhaled, idly scratching her hair. "I attended one or two of those exhibitions myself. Wouldn't recommend. It's like they're screaming 'You'll never experience our majesty' at you. Still, they did manage to impress me at the time...though my standards have shifted since then."

She flicked her pointer finger up. Instantly and without effort, a crimson-red flame appeared above it. "Before, this wavering ember was the sum total of my prowess. Now?"

The flame swelled to thrice its former size. "It's as simple as breathing. My strength has already grown well beyond what I ever believed possible. And that's without spending my new Stat Points from–"

Silence reared its head as Katarina abruptly cut herself off. The fireball sputtered out and vanished. She lowered her gaze, shoulders tensing as if an arrow was aimed at her.

Simon prepared himself, sensing the mood change like a sledgehammer on glass. While they'd done an admirable job at distracting themselves with frivolous banter...

It was about time that they addressed the multiple elephants in the room.

"Armand...he..." Katarina grabbed for her dried fruit-thing, preferring its dubious taste to the memories flooding her mind. "What was he?"

Simon raised an eyebrow. Not the elephant he'd expected. "You'll have to be more specific."

"You know what I'm referring to. His appearance, his...form. Repugnant, nauseating – yet with the strength of monsters. I've never seen anything like it."

She exhaled slowly. "Was his metamorphosis caused by the jeweled dagger he stole? But if so, then Armand shouldn't have been the first. Duke Helmund is apparently producing those Artifacts for his guards. Word would've spread of guardsmen mutating into hideous creatures of decay."

A litany of thoughts spilled out of her. "Or is Armand somehow different? Did he kill more people, steal more mana, trigger an early transformation? And why is the Duke arming his soldiers with such horrid Artifacts to begin with? And why did it explode when you shot Fell mana at it?"

Katarina slumped back, thunking her head against a wall. "Too many questions, and no answers in sight."

"There's no need to obsess over all of that right now." Simon offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Our paths will cross with the nobility in due time. I'm sure we'll find someone who can share knowledge of Helmund's affairs." Willingly or otherwise.

"I suppose." She drummed her fingers on the wall behind her. "What about you? Any theories you've brewed up in that chaotic cauldron of a mind?"

"Nothing you haven't already considered." He pointed at his head. "Amnesia, remember? Everything you've seen is everything I know."

The lie fell easily from his lips.

A light bit of discomfort stirred within Simon. He didn't like being dishonest with Kat...but revealing his true thoughts regarding Armand and the jeweled Artifact dagger wouldn't help matters.

It wasn't like he was 100% confident in the conclusions he'd reached. Much of it was based on supposition combined with an outsider's perspective, allowing him to look past the inherent assumptions of a Valtian native. If he was wrong, then he'd merely be jumping the gun, voicing guesswork as truth despite his lack of hard evidence.

If he was right, then she would probably freak out – and she didn't need that. Not when there were still several elephants left to address.

Katarina deserved a mental break before being forced to adjust to his lunacy again.

"There's something else I wanted to discuss," Simon said. "Armand mentioned that Duke Helmund has been imprisoning Artificers? Who I presume are the people that create Artifacts."

Whether consciously or subconsciously, Katarina jumped on the opportunity to switch topics. "Correct. Helmund recently enacted a law forbidding the creation of Artifacts outside of his purview. All Artificers have been put under indefinite lock and key, and whatever wonders they fashion are subject to the Duke's scrutiny. This actually happened within my lifetime – around ten years prior."

"Can't imagine people were thrilled about that. Between the Water Artifacts, the Warding Stones, and whatever else I'm missing, Valtia wouldn't be able to function without Artificers."

"Indeed. From what I've heard, it was the closest that the major noble houses ever came to staging an uprising. Tensions waned fairly quickly, though. Duke Helmund ensured that the production of important Artifacts continued unabated. Little has changed since."

Simon tilted his head. "Then why commandeer the Artificers in the first place? It was an unnecessary risk."

"To seize ever more power for himself?" Katarina shrugged. "Seems characteristic of his ilk."

That's too convenient of an explanation. While Helmund is definitely power-hungry – he's the Duke of a nation, of course he is – he wouldn't have lasted this long by making waves for no reason. Corralling the Artificers serves no purpose when he already rules the Severed Isles with an iron fist. I don't see any upside to it...unless there's something to gain that wouldn't be obvious.

Katarina chuckled wryly at him. "Devising another scheme of intrigue?"

"Hmm?" Simon blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Sometimes when I offer you a new morsel of information, you turn very quiet for a spell. Then, when you start speaking again, it's either with more questions – or to inform me of some madcap notion you've conjured up."

"You're exaggerating."

Katarina crossed her arms. "The last time you remained silent and pensive for this long, you dragged me into a room, stabbed a map, and told me that you were planning to overthrow the world."

Simon raised a finger in protest, then slowly lowered it. "Only once."

"As in, you've only regaled me with that speech once, or you only plan to overthrow the world once?"

"The speech," he replied, exasperation sneaking into his voice. If he ever needed to subjugate the world multiple times, something had gone horribly wrong. "Although you may see a repeat performance eventually."

"I will? Why?"

"When we add more allies to our cause, I'll have to reiterate everything for their sake." Would need to buy a new map though. The original had taken a beating for the sake of dramatic effect.

Katarina groaned under her breath. "Warn me ahead of time so I can excuse myself from the premises. It was an impressive display of theatrics, and I'd rather not sully the memory by watching an encore."

A faint smile crept up the transmigrator's face. "You thought it was impressive?"

"Got me to follow you on this harebrained journey, didn't it? I've met my fair shares of crooks and charlatans, Simon. I can tell when someone is trying to sell me a bowl of sludge while calling it their grandma's secret home-cooked recipe."

Her grin returned. "I wouldn't be here if you hadn't spoken entirely from the heart."

That...was the nicest thing anyone had said to him since Grace's soup kitchen. Simon paused, searching for a suitable compliment of equal impact to give back to her.

A piercing screech rose above the din of the streets.

Everyone in earshot froze – which was no small feat. After one-and-a-half days spent in Caelryn City, Simon had witnessed four pickpocketings, two muggings, and an attempted stabbing. All of those incidents resulted in screams, yet none had slowed the crowd's uncaring pace by even a sliver. People here were too accustomed to sounds of distress for it to be noteworthy.

Except this hadn't been a screech of distress or indignity. This was one of terror. Pure, honest, and undiluted.

"IT'S COMING!" A man had fallen to his knees in the center of the street. Empty space rapidly formed around him, as if people were avoiding the carrier of an infectious plague. "I SEE IT! A MILLION EMPTY GRAVES! NO CORPSES LEFT TO BURY! JUST THE VOID, THE HOWLING, CAVERNOUS VOID!"
Simon felt his mouth go dry. Words rose to the forefront of his mind, begging to be spoken, but they died stillborn as the man let loose another scream.

"IT'S COMING...IT'S…it's..."

Deranged laughter erupted from his lips. "None of you will believe me, will you?" The man's voice dropped to scarcely a whisper, yet it could still be heard loud and clear. "It's coming, it's coming, and none of you care." He hugged himself, shivering, his nails drawing red from his skin. "You'll die more ignorant than newborn babes. I..."

His breathing intensified. "Can't be silent. Have to tell. Don't you see DON'T YOU SEE?! IT'S COMING! IT'S HERE!"

With a final screech that tolled like a funeral bell, he collapsed into a heap of glassy-eyed weeping.

All was silent. No one dared speak.

The moment was broken by a pair of guardsmen rushing in from around the corner. They hurried up to the fallen man, scooping him up like a bag of discarded litter. The crowd parted to let them pass, seeming to exhale with relief when the man was carried away, vanishing from view.

Then, just like that, people returned to their lives. Conversations were resurrected with admirable gusto. Street vendors continued peddling substandard wares. Pickpockets went back to tracking their marks.

Perhaps it would've even felt natural – if not for the air of forced nonchalance to it all, smothering everything in a haze of disquiet.

"Well, it was a nice day," Katarina murmured. "Chills my blood whenever this happens."

His neck creaking, Simon turned to face her. "Whenever this...happens?"

"It's a sickness." She flinched at the indirect reminder of her father's own infirmity. "Of the mind, rather than the body. Sometimes, rarely, mana affects the brain. Causes people to hallucinate. Drives them insane – and I mean truly insane, not your particular brand of audacity. There's no cure, last I–"

"How often does it afflict people?" he asked, with a tone of perfect serenity.

"Occasionally. I've witnessed it once or twice a year since my earliest memories."

She grimaced. "Make that five times this year, actually. Wonder if it'll get widespread enough for the nobles to develop a remedy. Considering their overindulgence of mana, they must be petrified of being reduced to stark-raving-mad doomsday prophets."

Simon looked back out into the street, staring where the man had fallen. Even now, people were avoiding that spot, giving it a wide berth.

What's more likely? he thought. That Valtia's mana interacts poorly with a small number of people, causing mental degeneration...

Or that it interacts with them too well? That these unlucky few see visions of the future which others are blind to? That the amount of people predicting the end times is increasing as Valtia's one-year timer steadily runs out?

"I see," Simon remarked. "And what, exactly, is done with them?"

"Guardsmen take them away. Supposedly they're kept locked in a secure facility, fed three meals a day, and allowed to live out the rest of their days where they can't disturb others."

Katarina sighed. "Personally, I think that's a lie to make the commonfolk feel at ease. It's likelier that the 'prophets' are killed and buried. There's nothing to be done for them – the hallucinations only worsen with age. Wouldn't wish that torturous existence on anyone."

Which meant that questioning them for more details on what they'd seen was a no-go. Whether locked away or killed off, they were currently out of Simon's reach.

At least he hadn't tried telling Katarina about Valtia's impending apocalypse yet. These unfortunate Cassandra prophets had poisoned the well. She wouldn't have believed him.

No one would.

An itchiness started crawling on his shoulders.

"I feel like earning some EXP," Simon announced, lacing his fingers together. "Care to lead me to your chosen target? The original one, before Armand Calloway darkened our doorstep."

--

"No."

Simon's voice was resolute. He waited patiently as the shock caught up to Katarina, converting her surprise into fury. "No?" she repeated. "What do you mean no?"

"We're not killing him," the transmigrator declared. "Find a different target."

Across the street, a sharp-eyed man was sizing up the local passerby. His gaunt face marked him as a victim of chronic malnutrition, and his fingers twitched with nervous energy, as if psyching himself up for an imminent burst of action.

A thief. One who lived and died by his trade. Every failed robbery added to the growling of his stomach and the thinning of his flesh.

Katarina pulled Simon around by the shoulder, turning him to face her. "You used Identify and Sin Scry on him?" she asked.

"Correct."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then explain yourself to me. Because I'd say that condemning someone to starvation is deserving of punishment."

Simon suppressed a frown. While he understood where she was coming from, that wasn't going to make the following discussion any less awkward.

For a moment he was tempted to invent some excuse to smooth things over, but promptly rejected the notion. He'd already lied to her about Armand; wouldn't be good to get into the habit.

"We disagree on the fundamental premise of your argument," he began. "Uriel didn't condemn you."

Katarina visibly swallowed her anger. "That man stole food from my father when we were at our lowest. We should have died. Almost did. And he knew that when he took from us."

"True. Doesn't make him worthy of death."

"That man–"

"Uriel," Simon interjected. "They all have names. Even the ones we hate."

"Uriel nearly killed my father and I. If we hadn't chanced upon a spot of good fortune shortly after he disappeared our last rations, neither of us would be here today. Now, admittedly, he's no Armand. He didn't hold knives to our throats."

She jabbed an accusing finger at Simon. "But I know you aren't one to overlook the consequences of people's actions. When someone is without means, taking what little they have can be tantamount to murdering them. You told that Waystation guard as much when you severed his finger."

"Notice how it was just a finger," the transmigrator pointed out. "And that was with Irving being far worse. He acted with malice, purposefully targeting those who couldn't fight back – and he loved every second of it."
"What else would it have taken for you to kill him?"

"Not much," Simon confessed. "Irving was borderline. Uriel, however, isn't even close. He doesn't enjoy hurting others. I didn't sense anything like that during Sin Scry."

The visions had been something of a dry palette cleanser. After Armand's nightmare-inducing Sin Scry – like submerging his mind in a nuclear waste dump – Uriel's dispassionate self-interest felt oddly refreshing. The thief hardly wept bloody tears over the people he'd robbed, but outside of the basic relief of getting to put food in his belly, he also hadn't been especially proud of it.

This was simply how he survived.

"He endangered you," Simon continued. "I get it. It's normal to want to get even. But I've made my decision, and you aren't swaying it."

"Thought you needed EXP," Katarina muttered.

"I do. Badly." Itch, itch. "If you have any other suggestions on who to target next, I'm all ears."

"That's a surprising amount of trust – considering you've opposed my very first choice."

Yeah, she's pissed. Katarina's fiery tone had waned to embers, but there was still a steely, harsh glint in her eyes. She despised Uriel, and she'd craved this vengeance. If Simon wasn't careful, this incident could spawn a minor grudge.

He also didn't have the slightest idea how to make people not hold grudges against him. His time in school and foster care had largely been the opposite. If inspiring enmity was a competition, he would've qualified for the Olympics. Nor did he have the charm necessary to turn this into some sort of teachable moment, where everyone came out smiling and feeling great about themselves.

Bereft of options, and with irritation gnawing at his thoughts – and shoulders – Simon opted to rip off the band-aid.

"I won't kill a man just to satisfy your resentment," he flatly told her. "If you believe that Uriel should die for wanting to feed himself, then I suppose I'll be Fell Harvesting half the city next. Yourself included. The two of you aren't that different."

Katarina jerked back as if she'd been slapped.

Simon expected her to snap at him, venting her frustrations. After being denied the revenge that she'd clearly been dreaming of for years...well, he wouldn't have begrudged her a few pointed remarks.

Instead, she turned away, averting her gaze as she leaned against a nearby wall. In a heartbeat, all the fight had gone out of her.

...I was wondering when this elephant would show up.

This wasn't because of what he'd said – mostly. The comparison to Uriel did sting, probably. But Simon recognized that look in her eyes, and it wasn't new. It had flickered there once before.

After she'd shot a slaver with an arrow to the skull.

'When?' Katarina thought, her feelings plain on her face. 'When did I grow so cavalier at the prospect of killing people?'

Relia the slaver. Armand the serial murderer. Two extremely justifiable kills. Their unambiguous nature had let her push down her reservations. As long as the targets stayed acceptable, she wouldn't have to worry about the path she'd chosen to tread.

Yet pushed-down thoughts never kept quiet forever. They always took their due eventually, demanding payment in full – and with interest.

Katarina didn't speak. It wasn't for a lack of effort. Several times she opened her mouth, ready to apologize, or argue in her defense, or who knows what. Nothing came out.

Excellent work, Simon. You've made the problem worse.

And there was still room to dig deeper. If she started asking him how he handled the mental burden of cutting lives short, he doubted that 'it doesn't really bother me' would be an appropriate or well-received answer.

"What other targets did you have in mind?" Simon threw out. "The day is young. We've got plenty of time to find an alternative."

"I..." Katarina hesitated. "I'm not sure if I should–"

"Being wrong once isn't an indictment on who you are. I still trust your judgement, Kat."

Slowly, her posture relaxed. Not entirely, but enough for now.

"Alright," she said. "Though...to simplify things for the both of us, let's not limit you to just one option."

--

She hadn't been kidding. This was a veritable EXP buffet.

Simon watched as another man walked up to the front entrance of a small, sturdy-looking building. Potential Target #11 was tall and bulky, scars lining his body like farewell letters written by his enemies. He had a face that might have been handsome if it wasn't filled with so much contemptuous disdain for the world.

The woman guarding the entrance – named Clarice, formerly dubbed Potential Target #2 – was just as roughspun as the man. They stopped for a moment to converse, trading barbs and greetings with casual ease. Neither seemed particularly fond of the other, but there was an undercurrent of camaraderie to their exchange.

Simon didn't waste the moment. Identify. Sin Scry.

Katarina nudged him as soon as the visions ended. "Your verdict?" she whispered.

"That's eleven for eleven." Simon resisted the urge to let out a low whistle; the noise would've drawn undue attention to them. "I don't know whether to be impressed or horrified."

The man now known as Vargas walked confidently into the building. Its front door slammed shut the instant he'd stepped inside, shutting tight with the sound of numerous locks clicking into place. Clarice resumed her silent vigil as she presided over the building's one and only entrance.

Inside, a group of unrepentant murderers were gathering to meet.

They weren't on the same level as Armand Calloway – not figuratively or mathematically. Each member of their band of brigands was much weaker than him, and they'd killed less people, at least on an individual basis.

It was still easy to decide that all of them had earned a visit from the reaper. Muggings, maimings, murder...their rap sheets went on and on. They even took a twisted sense of pride in their craft, luxuriating in the feeling of superiority it gave them over most commonfolk.

Their fate was set in stone. At this point, it wasn't a matter of morality, but of logistics:

How many of them could Simon slay in one night?

No single person would grant nearly as much EXP as Armand had. To receive adequate nourishment, Simon would need to sample a full course of the buffet – and in one sitting. When the others learned that their comrades had been slain, they would strengthen their defenses and be on the lookout for assassins, so coming back for seconds may not be feasible.

Their Estimated Levels range from 10 to 13, he thought. I'm Level 18. My unique Skills and bonus stats from Fell Harvest also give me an advantage, so I feel very confident taking any of them one-on-one. If Kat participates as well, then it's no contest.

Main issues are location and travel time. Unlikely that they all sleep in this building. They'll be spread out. Could track two or three of them home, but no more than that.

Unless I interrogate whoever I go for first. Make them lead me to the next bandit? Then interrogate that one too. Like connect-the-dots. Travel, interrogate, kill, repeat until they're all dead.

But if I get false info–

"In the interest of honesty," Katarina whispered, "you should know that I also have a vendetta against these people. They once attempted to coerce me into joining them. When I balked at the...initiation that would be required of me, they took umbrage."

"I remember some of that from when I used Sin Scry on you. They wanted you to murder an innocent, right?"

"Yes, and I..."

She trailed off, staring at him. "From what you've described, your Skill depicts the lowest depths our souls have sunk to. Why would it reveal a time when I refused to kill?"

"Because you were briefly tempted by the offer. According to Sin Scry, that momentary weakness ranked among your all-time worst offenses."

'It didn't have much material to choose from', were the words that went unspoken – yet loudly heard.

Katarina fell silent again. Simon let her process things, his attention returning to the bandits' hideout as Potential Target #12 arrived.

The next would-be villain was a young man who appeared no older than twenty. He looked far more nervous than the others, his gaze shifting and his posture crooked, as if he was a recent hire stumbling through their first day on the job. The woman guarding the entrance sneered at him, obviously looking forward to hazing the new guy.

Identify. Sin Scry.

Simon nodded to himself as the visions faded. Another one for the chopping block–

"Henry?"

The name burst from Katarina's mouth in a hushed utterance. Her eyes were wide as she gaped at Target #12 with horror. "What is he...no. He didn't."

"You know him?" Simon asked.

"For years. We weren't dear companions or anything like that, but we were friendly enough. He seemed a decent fellow – which is more than could be said for many in Caelryn. I enjoyed his company."

A note of dismay entered her tone. "If he's here, then that means he's agreed to their terms. A blood price paid for a seat at the bandits' table. One life snuffed out at their request."

She glanced over at Simon. "What did Sin Scry show you? Is he merely considering their offer, or has he already carried out the deed?"

The transmigrator hesitated to respond – which was all the answer she needed. Katarina clenched her fists for just a moment, letting the tension build before releasing it in a long, tired sigh.

"So be it." She sounded...defeated, as if one of her few nostalgic memories of the city had been poisoned. "That's twelve of them that have arrived. When I last left Caelryn, their numbers did not exceed eleven, so Henry should be the final member. How do you intend to cull them, Simon?"

Already jumping straight to the planning phase? Not that he minded. Simon was anxious to sweep some garbage off the streets.

He just needed to figure out how. Fighting them head-on was much too risky – he and Kat would be overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Hunting them down one-by-one was an option, but it came with a high risk of partial failure. If the bandits caught on halfway through, then some would escape and squirrel themselves away, like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

Simon peered closer, scrutinizing the hideout. "No windows?" he asked.

"None. The walls and ceiling are densely fortified as well – virtually impenetrable unless you're a warrior of exceptional strength. The only way inside is the door you see there, which they guard fiercely."

...Oh. Oooooh.

Simon barely held in his laughter. Is it really that easy? Well, I guess this wouldn't work without Channel Essence, but wow. Fortified walls and no windows. They've served themselves up on a silver platter.

Granted, there was only a slim chance that this method would actually yield EXP...yet he wanted to try it anyway. The opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up.

Time to test a hypothesis. "Kat, can you lead me to the nearest black market?" A savage grin spread up his face. "Or just a market. Either will do."

--

Thanks for reading!