Chapter 4 - A Good Stroam
Warmth. Her chest aches. A water droplet falls onto her burning skin. She feels feverish. The knight turns over as her mind is pulled into a white fire. Her face grimaces as the heat rises higher and higher into the cool night. Painful shocks of energy thrum through her. Her mind screams as her mouth grunts.
Red eyes open from the pain coursing through her body.
Zarracen is where she last lay—inside the empty sub‑barracks. Dust from the lack of occupants makes her sneeze. The sound echoes through the empty room.
Creak!
The sound comes from outside the door. She sits up slowly, intent on not making a sound on the wooden cot. A relieved exhale comes from the other side. Five years ago, she would have burst through the door, intent on killing an assassin—or what she thought was one. But she is wiser now.
She listens, blocking out even her heartbeat to focus her ears on the grounds around her. The burning pain makes it difficult.
"Looks like what they say about Masters being able to hear a feather falling thousands of meters away," a voice says. Familiar, but she cannot place it.
"Can't wait to taste this dragon," another voice grunts.
Footsteps cross the grass, closing in on the direction she left her charge.
"We kill her, take the heart."
"What about the Emperor?"
"Blame it on thieves."
Fools. If they think the Emperor wouldn't raise this place to the ground… Regardless, their words alone give her permission to act. A smirk slides across her face. She'll kill them all for not letting her have a good sleep.
She stands silently, moving like a ghost toward the door, blade in hand. Disloyal knights to the crown don't deserve to live. In truth, she cares little for the crown itself. She has her own code—her own level.
The fools have their blades out, trembling. They know they are outclassed, yet they still try to steal from her. To steal from the Emperor. The power beneath the flesh of a dragon calls to all. Even they cannot resist it, despite the death awaiting them should they fail.
Zarracen makes short work of them. Some try to run—she throws a sword through their backs. Around her, they drop like flies. When the last body falls, a light flickers on in the barracks.
A face peers through the window before the light flickers out again.
"I need another bath," Zarracen spits on the ground, grimacing at being covered in blood once again. She was just cleaned, and they ruined it with their greed.
She stomps back into the sub‑barracks and draws herself a bath. She scrubs as much blood off as she can before sinking into the water. The warmth soothes the pain still thrumming through her. She closes her eyes and relaxes as much as she can while remaining aware.
Once her bath is finished, she stands, lets the water drain, dries herself, dresses, and returns to the carriage with her belongings inside the sub‑barracks.
Since they wanted to play traitor, she will play guard dog.
"Trard tahear," Zarracen casts the spell again.
She places her blade beside her and falls asleep. This time, she rests through the night.
Sunlight refracts off the tall spiraling buildings nearby as the sun rises. The beams shine onto her, and slowly she wakes. The burning pain in her body is gone. She stretches, feeling oddly rejuvenated. More than that—her body feels off. She stretches again, popping her back.
She stands and stumbles over her feet. A rush floods through her. She pauses. Zarracen steps forward. She can feel the ground. She can see farther than ever before. Hearing—she can hear the entire city. A murmur of voices, a cacophony of sounds rising to a crescendo as sunlight brings the city to life.
As a Tier 2 Martial Master, such a feeling isn't odd. She felt this when she progressed to this level—when Ulruk Praer, Captain of the Grand Knights of Valor, gave her the title. Did she progress to Tier 1? Has she finally achieved the next level she has strived toward for four years, only to hit wall after wall?
Her aura levels—too low. Her Videle unable to compact further into her body. A body said to be unable to take the strain. She sits, meditating. She hates this part of aura training, but it is the best way to understand what is happening.
Her inner mindscape brings forth the feeling of her aura. She recalls her former teacher's words—her only friend—on how to access the aura she unlocked through tribulations.
Zarracen feels it inside. The raging aura that normally burns a deep crimson red. Something is different. Before, her aura was somewhat stable. Now, it flickers.
Through her inner eye, she sees a constant flickering of colors. Her crimson red burns bright, but a whitish‑gold color intertwines with it.
It feels like aura—the white does. But the gold feels like what she feels when she turns her Videle into mana for spellwork. Parlor tricks. Yet this doesn't feel like hers. Her Videle is absorbing it, turning it into its own—but it isn't hers. It feels like the magic the White Dragon of Arcus used against her.
It is vast, eclipsing her own, but not taking control. A green orb is nestled near her heart, keeping it from overtaking her. Without it, she feels this Videle would consume her very soul.
She comes out of meditation and reaches into her chest, pulling out the trinket. An egg‑sized stone, green in color—though originally white. Wrapped in a copper feather, strung into a necklace by a silver chain. The girl who gave it to her injected her own Videle inside it.
Zarracen smirks. Again, this has saved me.
She is no fool. Without it, she would have lost to the White Dragon of Arcus—or been too injured to do anything but die. Now it saves her from some unknown curse and turns it into a boon.
"Eeeek!"
Zarracen's head snaps up.
Rustling and movement start immediately as a servant's scream signals to the knights that something is amiss.
She stands as partially dressed knights rush out of their barracks, looking toward the yard. They draw their blades hesitantly.
"Put your weapons up… idiots," she remarks, rolling her eyes.
"You killed twelve knights!" one responds.
"Fourteen, actually. There are two inside the sub‑barracks."
"Wha—"
"Confused? I'm not. They tried to kill me in my sleep for Emperor Iximdor's dragon heart. Unless you plan to die like them and leave this entire barracks empty, I advise you to put away your blades."
The knights look among themselves while one runs inside the sub‑barracks to confirm.
"Are you going to find an excuse for why they were in the sub‑barracks so late at night, or shall I call a sorcerer to make plain what I state?"
Zarracen knows that if a mage verifies the interaction, this barracks will come under an inquiry the members likely won't survive. Even though most knights are nobility, a few commoners among them would not fare well.
It cannot be swept under the rug.
"Of course. I'll send a runner to the nearby RIM station so we can clean this up nicely and you can be on your way," a woman says.
"But Knight Captain?" one knight asks, drawing Zarracen's attention.
RIM—the Realm Investigation Ministry. Created two hundred years ago under Empress Julia Iximdor, advised by Prime Minister Calyx Hunter. It oversees guards in each town under royal authority. Before that, nobles kept their own guards, leading to uprisings due to abuse. RIM became a cornerstone of the royal family's power to keep nobility in check.
Contacting RIM is a good choice for the short woman standing before her. The Knight Captain looks younger than Zarracen by ten years, though her brown eyes show age and experience. She clearly isn't going to let RIM run an investigation that gets her killed.
"Since you opened your mouth, you've volunteered. I expect you back with a Researcher within twenty minutes."
The man stutters but leaves in a hurry.
"Would you like to come inside for food and drink?" the Knight Captain asks.
"No. I'm fine here."
She sighs, running a hand through her short brown hair. Wariness and fear fill her eyes. A claw scar on her cheek makes the expression more dire.
"Name?" Zarracen asks.
"Apologies, Ma'am. I am Knight Captain Alondra."
"Grand Knight of Valor Zarracen."
No change in expression. She knew. Likely she knew of her cohort's plans—or had an inkling. Annoying.
"Well, Knight Captain Alondra, fetch me a carriage I can load them on, and a mercenary group to help move the cargo."
Perhaps she should have stopped for the woman on the road. Too late now. She should have known she couldn't journey far without a group—not without rest.
Even rejuvenated, she shouldn't. Yet Alondra isn't moving.
"Do I need to light a fire under your ass?"
"What?"
"I gave you an order. Fetch me a carriage and a mercenary squad. Can't trust my fellow knights—let's see if I can trust someone I can throw coin at."
"Of course, Grand Knight Zarracen. Amara—go!"
A female knight darts off like a bat out of hell. Zarracen smirks. She's feeling good now.
Fifteen minutes.
Good time. From his huffing and strained neck vein, it must have been a distance to the nearest RIM building. With the knight is a tall man with a neatly shaved beard and glasses he fiddles with. A long thin sword rests at his hip.
He wears classic RIM attire—black boots, pleated white pants, black dress jacket with a star insignia on the lapels, gold buttons down the front. Not a speck of dirt on him. Relaxed beside the panting knight. Strong—Tier 3 or 4 in aura or magic, if Zarracen's senses are right.
"Well, what happened here?" His accent is pure capital—every word enunciated.
Zarracen exhales, knowing how she must speak.
"I'm Grand Knight of Valor Galt Zarracen. His Majesty Bhaltair Iximdor sent several Grand Knights to slay dragons. I slew the White Dragon of Arcus. On my way to deliver the corpse and heart, I rested here—only to find several knights of this division attempted to kill me in my sleep and make off with the meat and the heart."
"And you dispatched these traitors?" he asks. Zarracen nods. "Do not worry. I, Researcher Moe Bates, will conduct a proper evaluation."
He pauses, looking around.
"The other bodies are in the sub‑barracks," she says. He nods and stalks off.
He investigates, using a magic orb to capture information. Zarracen leans against the dragon's cart, waiting for Amara to return with a mercenary group.
"Investigation completed. From the location of the bodies, it can be determined you speak true, Galt Zarracen. If you would like, I can have you conduct an explanation using a truth orb."
"All right."
She recounts the night again, adding details she left out. The truth orb glows blue throughout—symbolizing truth. He asks a few more questions before leaving.
"Geh!"
Moe is almost run over by Amara, who skids to a stop.
"I've completed your request, Captain!" Amara shouts, saluting.
She's energetic.
"Haaah," Zarracen groans as she takes in the people Amara brought. She didn't think she'd see them again.
But standing in front of her is Prawm.