Chapter Text
I'd be lying if I said my stay in the ruins wasn't pleasant, but I was running out of things to do besides training, helping with chores, or satisfying the curiosity of the expedition members.
Now I was exploring the hilltop fort; there was nothing interesting, the fortification was built with purely military purposes in mind.
There were rusty arsenals, rotting pantries, abandoned rooms, and dusty war rooms—nothing I hadn't already seen in the countless castles I'd visited.
From a balcony, I spotted Warfarin talking to Joel and Dafna. After learning the history of the place, she wanted to learn more about the vampires' past and perhaps improve her arts in the process.
The knights and Buldrokkas'tee patrolled the perimeter, Herschel and the other gargoyles examined the workmanship of some of my weapons, something I'd allowed after much insistence from them, as they were curious about the unfamiliar material.
The Liches reviewed their notes on the experiments we conducted in the brazier. I had to feign ignorance most of the time, keeping certain knowledge to myself, especially why the revenants followed my flame.
The fire of my world and that of Terra were completely different. The flames conjured by the Terrans lacked passion and life.
From the flame we came and to the flame we shall return until the day it is extinguished and the cycle begins again. Even though the fire burns us, we yearn for it, it seduces us, comforts us, but it always remains out of our reach, with pyromancies being only a drop of the power the Gods possessed, and it seems the spirits feel the same.
Another thing I hid was my ability to absorb souls. It was automatic, requiring no command or instinct, but I had to restrain myself, something I had never done before, to avoid absorbing the ancestors of the Sarkaz, not only because it would be a huge offense, but also because I didn't know what would happen.
Revenants are aware of their existence, they can communicate, think, and feel, something most souls are incapable of. How would they react to being absorbed? Would I be nothing more than a prison with legs?
Not to mention, of course, their ancestral hatred. Would I become a Berserker because of their influence?
“Greetings.”
I was pulled from my thoughts by a quiet female voice reverberating off the walls, almost a whisper. Turning around, I saw Yona, the Banshee, approaching, stopping beside me on the balcony.
“Hello, what brings you here?”
She remained silent, murmuring slightly before answering.
“Would you believe I just want to enjoy the view?”
I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow at the obvious lie.
“Next to the person who makes everyone of your race uncomfortable?”
“You caught me, I could have come up with a better excuse.”
The veil hid her face, but the tone of her voice and the movement of her hands indicated shame.
“Actually, I was curious about you.”
“Ah, you wouldn’t be the first.”
“I’m aware. Sarkaz have a particular connection with the earth and the dead, and you are an anomaly. You smell of death, like a warrior who has spilled rivers of blood, or a fresh corpse, and according to the gargoyles, the earth cries out your name, begging you to return.”
“And what do you suggest?”
I felt a pang of apprehension in my chest, fearing she knew the truth.
“I don’t have a correct answer, you could be a bloodthirsty warrior, a corpse that rose from the grave… Or…”
“Or…”
“The limits of the Arts are unknown; there are stories of people on Terra extending their lives, becoming essentially immortal. They say a Duke of Ursus is one of those people.”
“You believe I am one of those people?”
“And you are not? Normally, Casters only learn one type of Art, and you possess several. I theorize that in the distant past, you created or learned from someone Arts capable of extending your life, but now, they are failing and taking their toll. The hand of death encircles you, and the earth yearns for your return, for you have lived longer than you should have.”
“This is madness.”
“Perhaps it is, but I’d like an explanation for why my skin crawls whenever I’m near you.”
I feigned indignation, clicking my tongue to hide the concern I felt at someone getting so close to discovering who I am.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave; I’d rather not be burdened with more unfounded assumptions!”
“So be it, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Yona bowed politely, and I approached the exit, but stopped when I heard her voice.
“If it’s any help, I don’t consider you a bad person; after all, the souls around you seem to enjoy your presence.”
My almost nonexistent breath caught in my throat, and I glanced in her direction.
“What do you see?”
“Hm… Many giant men in armor, some with halberds, one with a giant hammer, another with a colossal, flaming sword, constructs of iron and fire, kings and queens, a four-armed angel, and much more, including a frog with a giant face? What a bizarre creature.”
Joy surged in her voice, and a small smile appeared just beneath her veil with each being mentioned as I recalled their names.
“I agree, he had a beautiful voice, and a taste for human flesh. Many travelers perished following his song.”
“It must have been a legendary encounter when you killed him.”
“I wish I could say so, but at that point, I was strong enough not to have much trouble against the Demon of Song.”
“So that was his name? It’s… fitting.”
She chuckled lightly, a gesture I returned before leaving the fort.
-XXXXXX-
The information was sent to the capital by messengers, and with that done, the camp was dismantled and we headed east, traveling along dirt roads to our next destination.
I found myself mounted on Torrente again, accompanying the wagons, but this time without Warfarin, who remained in Joel and Dafna's wagon, focused on her studies of blood and the Arts.
I, on the other hand, found myself longing for her presence, as her provocations and insistence were less irritating than those of the gargoyles.
“Please!”
“No!”
“We are willing to pay!”
“No!”
“Aren't you a merchant?!”
“Yes, but they are not for sale!”
I knew that letting the Gargoyles examine my equipment was a terrible idea. I delivered swords, axes, shields, and armor, all of the most basic, yet enhanced to the maximum with titanite.
Almost all, if not all of them, even those who needed dragon bones, found themselves in a similar situation after I discovered the most efficient methods of obtaining the material, whether by finding enemies with the highest chance of dropping them after death, or by using Bonfire Aesthetics to restore the contents of specific chests.
Due to the Gargoyles' skill as artisans, blacksmiths, builders, and in other similar fields, and their knowledge of rocks and ores, they were able to sense the power emanating from my equipment.
A simple battle axe could tear through a Sarkaz knight's armor as if it were made of paper, and a shield could turn a warhammer to dust upon defense.
“For the last time, I will not sell my equipment to you, not only because of the work, time, and resources spent getting them to where they are, but also because of the emotional attachment I have to them! Each of these pieces has saved my life countless times and guaranteed me victory in arduous battles, so no, I will not sell them! If you want something, then come to my shop when we return to the capital and I will forge something for you at a fair price!”
Their expressions immediately fell, overcome with sadness and disappointment like a bunch of children who didn't get what they wanted.
“You're cruel!”
Oh, believe me, this is far from the worst I can do. At least there were no conflicts, and I hope it stays that way. As if fate had read my mind, my heightened senses caught a familiar sound coming from the trees, the sound of a bowstring being pulled.
I quickly look around; Warfarin poked her head out of the wagon and sniffed the air, the riders' gallop slowed, and Buldrokkas'tee slowly brought a hand to his weapon.
FOOSH!
I immediately raised my hand, catching the arrow that ripped through the air, stopping it inches from my head.
Frowning, I turned slowly toward its point of origin, spotting a masked figure amidst the trees. His eyes widened, a feeling that worsened when I returned the arrow, leaving a slight cut on his cheek and opening a hole in his hood.
“AMBUSH!”
Ephram shouted, and the knights acted immediately, leaping from their mounts with weapons in hand. Buldrokkas'tee and I did the same, positioning ourselves on the sides of the road, facing the enemies emerging from the tree line.
Mercenaries, judging by their mediocre equipment and almost matching outfits. However, my biggest concern was the people behind us; apart from Warfarin, I didn't know if they possessed combat experience, although some carried weapons and knew how to use arts.
One mercenary, probably the leader, stepped forward, wielding heavier equipment and a larger sword, practically a cleaver. His helmet hid his face, but did little to conceal his stern voice.
“Surrender and hand over everything of value, and you’ll leave alive!”
“Do you understand the meaning of your actions?! We are under the direct orders of His Majesty King Baruch III! Your entire band will be condemned to torture and public execution if you dare harm us!”
The Mercenary Captain laughed at the words of the Knights Captain, and with a gesture, we found ourselves in the sights of several archers.
“You speak as if the king had authority in a place so far from the capital. Here, those with money and power are the ones who rule.”
“And may I know who paid you to attack us?”
“Hump! As if I would tell you, but if it’s any consolation, it’s nothing personal; you just had the bad luck of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The tension was palpable, the bowstrings tightened, and the defenders’ shields prepared to be raised. However, I acted faster.
“CLOSE YOUR EYES!”
I conjured Soul Rain, firing the shimmering cluster upwards, generating a blinding explosion. There was a mix of screams, those of the mercenaries and those of the expedition caught unprepared.
I removed the Grande Épee from my bag just as the soul arrows began to fall around us, creating chaos in the mercenaries' formation.
Ephram advanced quickly, closing the distance to the Mercenary Captain, who blocked the blow with his cleaver, making a crack reverberate through the air.
A blade of blood passed by my side, striking a mercenary in the chest, who previously had his leg pierced. He remained on his knees before falling forward, forming a pool of blood.
I wasted no time checking who sent the blade and charged toward the mercenaries, ignoring the dead and those screaming in pain on the ground as their bodies were pierced, and faced those who remained.
An arrow whizzed past my ear as I stepped aside, getting out of its path.
Simultaneously, a mercenary swung his sword toward me, a blow I easily stopped before piercing his chest, lifting him into the air before kicking him away.
I didn't bother to confirm his death, swinging my arm and striking another mercenary with the hilt of my rapier.
I heard a crack as I struck his chest, blood gushed from his mouth as he doubled over, allowing a second attack on his back, knocking him to the ground.
Just like in my first conflict in this nation, my enemies realized it was pointless to face me in direct combat, preferring to surround me with numbers and ranged combatants.
A masked caster sent a fireball, which I intercepted with my own, creating an explosion in the air. Perhaps they thought this distraction would be enough, as they all advanced at once.
CRACK!
Only to be surprised when their weapons shattered upon hitting me, courtesy of Iron Flesh.
Due to the proximity of the expedition, I didn't conjure anything extremely destructive, so I raised my chime and cast Force, throwing the mercenaries away with a shockwave.
As they moved away, I saw the caster preparing for the next attack. At least he was smart enough not to attack with his allies within the radius of destruction; however, he didn't move fast enough.
A Lightning Spear ripped off his left arm, causing him to writhe on the ground in a mixture of pain and the power of the miracle coursing through his body.
“Your weapons are broken and your allies are dead. I'm giving you a chance to flee with your wounded while there's still time.”
They stared at me with a mixture of fear, surprise, and confusion. Probably never expecting such a proposal, but after a second of hesitation, they stood up and left with their wounded, disappearing into the forest.
It was strange to offer mercy to an enemy. Usually my fights go to the death, but unlike many places I've visited, Kazdel has sane people.
Turning around, absorbing the souls of the dead, I watched the battle unfold.
Warfarin was hidden behind a wagon with two dead mercenaries at her feet, using her staff and arts to heal some wounded expeditionaries.
Buldrokkas'tee piled up corpses, his large shield blocking arrows, arts, and blows while his trident dripped with the blood of his enemies.
The knights also fared well, each more than capable of handling mercenaries, though notably injuries and damage to their bodies and armor.
Finally, Ephram and the Mercenary Captain ended their duel. For the former, it was as if the fight had never happened; he was unscathed, and if he was able to use arts, then there was no need.
The latter, however, was in worse condition, his body wounded and his armor in pieces, the price for underestimating his opponent.
“Holy shit! You're good, Captain, I can't wait to fight you again!”
“There won't be a next time for you.”
“That’s what we’ll see! RETREAT!”
The Mercenary Captain threw something against the ground, creating a cloud of smoke as his band retreated into the trees. It was a cacophony of shouts and footsteps, and when the smoke cleared, we were the only ones left.
We regrouped, tending to the wounded and looting the bodies of the dead mercenaries. Fortunately, there were no casualties on our side, and after burning the corpses, we continued our journey.
The peace and joy of before had vanished, replaced by tension and fear, for what guarantee was there that we wouldn't be attacked again?
Whoever hired the mercenaries would know what happened, but whether they would act or leave us alone was impossible to determine.
Initially, we thought this was just the work of another arrogant warlord, but as we approached our next destination, entering a rocky landscape, we realized that something bigger was happening here.
The City of האבן הלבנהwas once massive, a magnificent merchant fortification of white stone and majestic architecture.
It was still large, but now it was in ruins, far from its glory days and with a small, poor population.
Who destroyed it? No one could say, something lost in time, but now its walls were surrounded by what could only be described as the remains of a siege, with craters, trenches, banners, bodies, and more covering the ground.
People gathered on the walls as we approached. Ephram left his mount, but an arrow lodged in the ground before he could take another step.
“What business do you have here?!”
The voice was a woman's, but due to the distance, I couldn't see her face. Buldrokkas'tee, the Captain, and I exchanged a glance, but one thing was certain: we were involved in something much bigger.
END OF CHAPTER