I can't remember how or why our House lost control of the city, but that didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that our castle was now surrounded on all sides.
That little noble brat had recognized me, and from the looks of things, every damn dog in this city probably knew my face too. But the real problem wasn't even that. The real problem was that my whole plan had just gone to hell.
There was no reason for the city lord to waste time searching door to door. If I were in his place, I'd just surround the castle and seal off every exit from the city. Then I'd announce a reward for information about my whereabouts and wait. Sooner or later, someone would rat me out, and I'd end up face to face with a man who'd be very eager to get payback for his mutilated psychopath of a son.
What were my options? Try to flee the city and go solo? Yeah, right. Come on, I didn't even kill the bastard. Maybe there's still a way to work things out. But for that, I need to be behind my own fortress walls. Otherwise, they'll just kill me and say it was self-defense. Then again, trying to get to Randall's grandfather wasn't exactly safe either. What if he figured out I wasn't quite his grandson anymore?
But where's our spirit, huh? We'll get through this.
It had been no more than twenty minutes since the fight. Not much time. I just had to hope they hadn't managed to cordon off the castle yet.
"One last question. Can you get me to the castle without being seen?"
The kid frowned, staring at the little cavalryman figurine in his hands. Yeah, not much of a payment for risking your life. I patted my pockets. Empty.
"I don't have money on me right now, but if you get me to the castle, I'll make it worth your while."
The boy nodded and tucked the figurine somewhere into his ragged clothes.
"Fine. But I lead. And she stays here."
She? Wait, he was carrying her with him this whole time? Ah, turns out the second "boy" wasn't a boy at all. Not that it matters to me.
The kid slipped out through a crack in the attic wall and gave me the signal a minute later. No guards in sight.
We snuck through alleys and backstreets, always ducking away from patrols, edging closer to the cliff with every turn.
"Shh. Too many soldiers ahead. We'll need to detour through the slums," the kid whispered after scouting ahead.
No choice. We turned off.
This part of the city had been hit hard by a magic battle.
Some houses had been half-melted by magical fire. Others were worse, leaning at crazy angles, held up only by makeshift wooden supports.
Some were just crumbling foundations. Others looked like their tile roofs had been sliced clean off by some colossal blade.
But more often, the streets weren't streets at all, just twisted paths between crudely nailed-together wooden shacks. We had to squeeze through gaps, stepping over piles of junk, cracked tiles, bricks, and who knew what else that crunched underfoot.
This place had once been a wealthy district. Now it was a dump.
We'd just reached the edge of the slums when a woman's scream echoed from a nearby alley.
"Don't go. It's a trap. Bandits using bait again," the kid warned.
"Then they're going to regret it," I growled and darted into the alley. I hate scum like that.
Two filthy thugs had cornered a busty maid in a classic black-and-white uniform. Wait a second. Those were the colors of House Condor!
"Come on, sweetheart, lift that skirt," one of the creeps growled.
I charged in and introduced their faces to my fists. Way too easy. Slow, weak. Compared to that noble brat, these guys were like punching snowmen.
"Bas…tard," one wheezed and drew a rusty knife.
Against a mage? Good luck with that. I hit him with a pulse of force. The knife flew from his hand so fast, his wrist gave a sickening crunch.
That was it? Kind of underwhelming…
"Should kill them. Bad people," the kid muttered behind me, making a throat-slitting gesture with the rusted knife.
"Let them crawl away to the abyss. Not worth getting my hands dirty."
The kid nodded, then calmly walked over and plunged the thug's own knife into his heart.
"What the hell?!"
"My lord viscount, you'd never see them again. But we still live here."
Bandits weren't exactly society's finest, but cold-bloodedly executing a helpless man? That wasn't my style.
Then again, he had tried to rape my maid. Might've even killed her after. That kind of thing doesn't deserve forgiveness.
I turned to the last thug, but fate had made the decision for me. He wasn't breathing anymore. Looks like I didn't quite hold back enough with those punches. Oh well. Not like I'm going to lose sleep over it.
Still a bit unsettled, I helped the voluptuous maid to her feet, trying to bring her around.
"M-my lord?"
"What's your name?"
"Ada, my lord."
"Can you walk, Ada?"
"Wh-what? Y-yes…"
"Good. Let's go."
"W-wait, my lord!"
"What now?"
"Your grandfather sent me. He demands you return to the castle at once. I went looking for you in the tavern…"
"Don't worry. We're heading to the castle right now."
***
We finally reached the artificial hill surrounding the magically raised cliff. And of course, the damned Lord had thought to cordon it off. The whole place was swarming with soldiers. At least a few hundred.
Thankfully, they didn't dare step onto Condor territory and were posted at the base of the hill. Still, even with my newfound magic, I seriously doubted we could break through.
With a heavy heart, I ducked back behind the wall of a nearby building, where my reluctant companions were hiding from view.
"Why are there so many soldiers?" Ada whispered, peeking around the corner.
"I'm more curious about the burning smell," the kid piped up.
"Burning?" I sniffed. "Huh. You're right, that is odd."
"I'll check it out. Wait here."
The kid vanished so quickly, I suddenly wondered if he'd run off to turn us in. Then again… I glanced back around the corner. Nope. No chance. Even if I disarmed them with magic, they'd just crush me with numbers. There were only twenty guards nearby, but if they raised the alarm, reinforcements would come running in seconds.
"So… why does my grandfather want to see me?" I took the opportunity to lean in and whisper to Ada.
She blushed and shook her head.
"I…"
"Shh." I cut her off. "Keep your voice down."
"I don't know. We're not supposed to know things like that," she whispered. "He returned from the capital early this morning and immediately sent out all the servants to find you and bring you to him."
"The capital…" I muttered. "The capital…"
Damn. The word danced on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't get past the memory block.
Bare feet slapped the ground. The kid was back.
"Sir, ma'am. I found out what's going on. It's the tavern. Some traveling knight killed the owner and accidentally set the place on fire. The city lord's there too. They're negotiating compensation right now."
"Oh, for the love of—" I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly which tavern he meant. The one I'd woken up in just a couple of hours ago. Hell, I'd bet a tooth that the fire was supposed to be the tragic end of a "dead drunk" me.
"How awful!" Ada gasped, fingers to her lips. "Why would he do such a thing?"
"They say the tavern owner didn't show him enough respect," the boy shrugged. Judging by his tone, that sort of thing wasn't unusual. "But that's not the point. They'll start putting out the fire any minute, and they'll need soldiers for that."
I peeked around the corner. Sure enough, a soot-covered guard had just sprinted up to the squad and led most of them away. Perfect timing to try and break through.
"Go!"
The moment they spotted me, the guards raised the alarm. A surge of magic. Their weapons flew from their hands. The ones who hadn't even drawn their blades were thrown to the ground and dragged across the dirt.
More soldiers rushed in to intercept. I dropped one, then another, but more kept coming. I looked back. The boy had already slipped through the cordon and stood frozen on the hill, unsure what to do. The maid, however, had been grabbed by an absurdly bloated man with a centurion's insignia. Unlucky for him, a discarded spear lay on the ground, right between his legs. One magical push, and the centurion suddenly had more urgent matters to attend to. Getting hit in the family jewels will do that to anyone.
Things weren't going nearly as well for me. Almost every guard had locked onto me as their primary target. I was surrounded, bodies pressing in from all sides.
I broke free from one grapple and summoned the nearest sword to my hand.
The soldiers hesitated for a split second, then closed in again.
Damn it. I dulled the blade into a blunt rod and slammed it into the nearest set of ribs. I wasn't planning on turning this into a slaughter. These men were just doing their jobs. But surrender wasn't an option either. Shoulder, leg, leg, arm… Crunch.
They tried to strike back, but even a small magic impulse was enough to rip their weapons away.
No wonder the kid had scoffed at the idea of "pitchfork uprisings." Even a second-rate mage like me had no trouble fending off dozens of armed men.
The guards kept falling, one after another, and I pushed steadily toward the cliff.
I had to reach the rock. Its base was already a small fortress. Gates had been carved into the stone, leading to a lift shaft tunneled deep inside. Without that lift, supplying the castle would've been almost impossible.
I slipped past the last few soldiers still standing and slammed face-first into a transparent barrier.
"Well, well. The little bird finally flew into the cage."
The city lord had arrived on the battlefield.
Shit.
I raised my sword and focused on my Source. If I poured everything into it, maybe I could blast through the barrier?
The sword shot from my hand and crashed into the barrier, only to bounce off with a loud clang. The blade bent. The barrier didn't even flicker. I called the weapon back to my hand and turned to face the enemy.
A liver chestnut horse. A plum-colored jacket and tight brown breeches, barely containing a bloated figure. Not quite in Baron Clemen's league of obesity, but clearly aspiring to it.
The name popped into my head unbidden: Marquis Short.
Despite the situation, I smirked. Even on horseback, the guy was still living up to his name.
"Smiling, are we?" he sneered. "We'll see how much you smile in my dungeon. I've already ordered the dungeon master to sharpen the hooks."
"You have a dungeon master? Seriously? Let me guess, he wears leather too? What do you guys do in there, bond over candlelight and spiked collars?" I laughed.
"Go ahead. Laugh. Soon, you'll get to experience our little games firsthand. Not that you have anything to fear. I won't kill you. I'll just remove a few unnecessary parts, so the cursed Condor line can finally die out."
A twisted grin spread across his swollen face.
"Keep dreaming!"
A thunderous voice rang out across the battlefield, and the barrier before me shattered into glittering shards.
From the now-open gates in the cliff emerged a wiry, silver-haired old man in a black cloak with white trim. A squad of guards in matching colors followed respectfully behind.
"You. Go to the castle," the old man said.
"No. I'm staying here," I replied firmly.
If a fight broke out, I'd be more useful here. Sure, I still didn't fully understand how my magic worked, but I could disarm enemy soldiers. That alone was a pretty solid trump card.
"Tch." The old man clicked his tongue and turned his attention to our enemy. "Marquis."
"Count," sneered the man in purple. "Your little whelp mutilated my son. I had to pay for a healer, and even he couldn't res..."
"Enough. I don't care."
"Your whelp..."
"Whatever my grandson did... I don't care. Spare me the pointless whining and get to the point."
"You want a duel?"
The old man said nothing. Just looked at him with withering contempt.
"So be it, you relic. Blades or crossbows?"
"Tch. Do I look like some snot-nosed brat? Blood-orb, like in the good old days."
With a wave of his hand, four servants staggered under the weight of a black case, setting it between the duelists. The lid fell open, and a pitch-black sphere covered in runes floated about a meter above the ground.
The marquis dismounted and took position across from the old man. Another servant casually removed the empty box. The runes on the orb began to glow blood-red.
A sudden jolt of memory reminded me that the orb wasn't nearly as dangerous as it looked.
In direct magical duels, metal mages could use any hunk of steel or iron as a projectile. Both mages would try to push it toward each other with all their strength.
The problem was, the steel sphere often ripped the loser apart, which hurt the country's military capacity. So one ancient king ordered the use of specially enchanted orbs... blood-orbs.
In theory, they were safe, enchanted to make it difficult to accelerate them to lethal speeds with metal magic. In practice, they still drew blood often enough that the current king had to issue new regulations...
The air grew thick with magical tension as both men concentrated. In duels like this, seizing initiative was everything. The more of the field you controlled, the faster you could react, and the higher your chances of victory.
"The House of Condor should have ended in the Age of Strife!" Short struck first. The orb kicked up a cloud of dust and shot toward the old man like a cannonball.
"It's not for a barely-ranked junior mage like you to decide the fate of my bloodline." The old man answered calmly, and the orb froze halfway across the field. "A marquis who never even became a proper mage. What a disgrace."
Short's face twisted in rage.
"If we're talking disgrace, turn around. At least my son's a full adept."
"Then why are you here whining to me about him getting his ass kicked?" The old man smirked, and the orb started to creep toward the fuming noble.
"Vultures. Scavengers. Honorless filth." The marquis roared, pouring in power, and barely managed to stop the orb at the halfway point.
"Then you're just carrion beneath our boots." The old man's eyes flashed, and the orb began to move again, just barely, as if pushing through syrup.
"Don't delude yourself... I can feel it... Your Source is crippled. You're weakening." Short was gasping now, and in a panic, tore open his jacket.
"It's strong enough to deal with a junior mage," the Count replied coldly.
The massive reservoir of power he'd been storing since the start of the duel surged forward, slamming into the orb and blasting it forward at the speed of a racing car.
It looked like Short was going to be flattened, but at the last moment, he yanked a medallion from his pocket. It flashed and expanded into a brown, oval-shaped shield.
The orb slammed into it and hurled the marquis backward, but from the way he landed, it looked like he'd gotten away with a few broken ribs at worst.
"Tch. And you talk about dishonor?" the Count scoffed.
Short didn't respond. He was down on his knees, breathing heavily. His servants caught the orb and sealed it back in the box.
The Count still stood like the cliff behind him—firm and unshaken. But a thin line of blood trickled from his hooked nose. The fight had taken its toll.
"We're leaving," Lord Condor snapped, whipping his cloak like a pair of wings, and we headed for the castle.
"I'll complain to the king. This time, he'll put you in your place!" The disgraced mage howled behind us.
"As you wish..." the old Count said with a mocking smile.
***
The rickety, loud lift groaned the whole way up, and after wandering through dark hallways, I finally found myself sitting at the dining table across from Randall's grandfather, trying very hard not to blow my cover over some dumb detail.
Neither of us said a word. The old man rang a tiny bell, and servants brought in food: sliced bread and a wheel of cheese. Simple fare.
I waited until he started eating, then cut a piece of cheese, made myself a sandwich, and took a bite.
"You're holding the knife wrong," the Count noted.
Damn it. Worse yet, I hadn't even realized it. I was holding the knife not like I usually would, but like Randall held a scalpel when dissecting peasants.
"My apologies," I said quickly. Memory suggested Randall always played the obedient grandson around his grandfather. Best not to give the old man any more reason to suspect something.
The rest of the meal passed in silence. I didn't slip up again... I think. Another ring of the bell, and the servants cleared the plates. The old man folded his fingers and stared right into the bridge of my nose.
Here came the hard part: conversation.
"So. For what you pulled, you should be getting a whipping and house arrest. But you picked a very lucky moment... and an unlucky one too.
As you know, I've just returned from the Capital. And change is in the air."
His eyes sparkled. His tone shifted to one of pomp and ceremony.
"The king is prepared to lift our family's disgrace and grant us royal favor, if we fulfill a royal commission."
"What kind of commission?" I asked, suspicious.
"A good question, since you're the one who's going to carry it out. And I'm already praying to the heavens you don't screw it up this time. Hmph. The task is both simple and complicated at the same time. The king is concerned about activity in the Wild Lands and intends to reattempt what our ancestors once tried — establishing a foothold near the Black Forest. Our house has been tasked with conducting reconnaissance and assessing whether a new outpost can be built on the former lands of Clan Raven. That's it.
The restrictions on recruitment have been temporarily lifted, but as you know, rebuilding a retinue takes time. I've already made arrangements with a mercenary group and sent them to the castle of your... hm... bosom friend, Baron Clemen."
I swallowed hard. I really didn't like where this was going.
"At least your disgraceful connections finally proved useful. His castle should still have reports from previous expeditions into the Black Forest. Get them, and study them thoroughly."
"Um..." I hesitated. Damn. How do I explain that waltzing into the lair of a man who tried to stuff a demon into me, and then poisoned me — is not a good idea, without blowing my cover?
"Baron Clemen and I... had a bit of a falling-out," I offered carefully.
"I don't care. Make up!" the old man barked. "This is our one chance to rise again, and I don't give a damn what you have to do. Get on your knees and beg that fat bastard if you have to. You'll do whatever it takes to complete the king's order. Got it? Whatever it takes. Fail, and I'll strangle you with my own hands!"
"...Understood."
"You'll meet the mercs at Clemen's castle, then head straight for the Black Forest. Hah..." He sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "What did I do to deserve such a useless grandson? I know you'll screw it up. I can feel it. If only I could send someone competent with you... but no. You just had to pick a fight with the city lord's son at the worst possible time. Now I have to send you alone. Did you catch all that?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me. Why the hell did you get into a fight with Kazimir?"
Kazimir, huh? Well, at least now I had a name to go with that little psycho.
"It just... happened."
"'It just happened'?! Is that what I'm supposed to tell the king when he asks about it?" The old man raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"He challenged me to a duel. And lost."
"Better. But did you really have to redecorate the city's pristine cobblestone with Short's bastard's ugly mug?" His eyes smiled, but his tone betrayed concern.
"No. But he murdered one of his own guards right in front of me."
The Count went crimson with rage and slammed a fist into the table.
"I saw you dull your blade and pull your punches. That alone warrants a whipping. But getting into a fight to protect a servant of the enemy? That's unthinkable. Understand this once and for all... anyone who betrays our House to serve that false Lord has chosen their fate."
His shouts echoed through the stone hall. I stayed silent.
Just because the local aristocrats were sadistic bastards who treated commoners like dirt didn't mean I had to do the same.
"Tch. Worthless blood. Worthless..." He paused, realizing I wasn't going to apologize, then sighed and calmed down. "But as I said, you got lucky. No punishment this time. Speaking of punishment..."
The Count rang his little bell, and a familiar figure stepped into the hall: Ada, the maid.
"I sent you to fetch my grandson this morning. It's now three in the afternoon. You were supposed to have brought him back hours ago."
"My apologies, my lord."
"Your slowness has cost our House dearly. Four lashes. You may go."
Up until now, I'd kept my mouth shut. But this — this was too much. So he's saying that if she'd gotten me out of the tavern earlier, I wouldn't have gotten into a fight with Kazimir? What a twisted load of horseshit. The logic reeked.
"What the hell? That's not her fault! She had no way of dragging me back to the castle sooner!" I snapped.
"Oh yeah? Then whose fault is it?"
"Mine!"
"Then be a man and take her punishment. Not that you would. You've always been a dishonorable coward." The Count sneered, fully convinced I'd back down.
Well, old man... get ready to be surprised.
"Fine. I'm ready. You still strong enough to lift the whip?"
For a second, the Count was speechless. But he quickly recovered.
"That's what servants are for. Bring in the master of discipline. With a whip. I'll prepare the post myself."
He stood and did something to what looked like a normal section of wall. Part of the floor rose up, revealing a strange device: rusted stocks and channels for draining blood. It stopped just above floor level and clicked into place.
Impressive, I'll admit. But what the hell was this thing doing in the dining room? And positioned so you could watch the torture without putting your fork down? These nobles were completely deranged.
"Tch. Rusted. We haven't used this in a while, have we, Randall? And we should have. You disappoint me far too often. I stand by my word, but you can still change yours. It's not too late to let the servant take her rightful place."
"Don't count on it." I said firmly. Somewhere deep in Randall's body, fear stirred. He was terrified of this thing. But I wasn't him anymore, and that fear couldn't break through my anger. This old lunatic expected me to sit and watch a girl be whipped? Insane fossil.
Not that I'd mind giving her a little spanking. That figure of hers certainly deserved it... Okay, off track.
The hinges groaned, and in walked the executioner: leather apron, straps, whip in hand. Huh. Guess I was right about the "Dungeon Master" look. Leather and belts. Weird fashion.
Well, now that the torturer had arrived, it was time to step up.
I pulled off my black doublet and white shirt so they wouldn't get stained, then walked to the device.
"Wait." The Count waved a hand, and the rust vanished from the device, revealing clean metal underneath.
The stocks snapped shut on their own.
He turned to the executioner.
"Four lashes."
"My lord, but..."
"Strike. That's an order."
The whip hissed through the air and cracked across my back.
"Tch. Harder. That didn't even break the skin."
"Agreed. A woman could hit harder," I added dryly.
The second lash kissed my back like a serpent of fire. Blood began to drip.
"Better. Still weak, though," I muttered.
"Tch! Give me the whip," the Count growled.
The third blow was worse than both previous combined. Blood streamed down the channels.
The old man lowered the whip and studied me, searching for signs of weakness. He didn't find any.
"Tch. Fine. I still need you in one piece."
He dropped the whip onto the stone floor. The stocks sprang open.
Someone rushed in from behind and pressed something cool and soothing to my wounds. Judging by the scent, it was Ada.
"The young master needs to see the healer," she said urgently.
The Count frowned at her impertinence but said nothing.
"Sit back down, Randall. I'm not done with you yet."
My back burned, but it was bearable. I'll admit, bending over wasn't pleasant. But the knot of fear Randall's body felt toward his grandfather — that was gone. Now I was sure: if a fight broke out, this body wouldn't fail me.
And more than that, I could feel it. Today, within these stone walls, I'd gained someone personally loyal to me.
The maid who'd just been spared an unjust punishment hovered anxiously at my side, clearly shaken. But it had been worth it. For the price of three lashes, I'd earned a powerful advantage.
I sat across from the old man again, not bothering to cover my bare chest. Let the geezer be jealous.
But his next question reminded me I'd relaxed too soon.
"Where is your bloodblade, Randall Condor?" he asked, voice low and probing.