Being a redhead wasn't easy—especially for a male.
Welf's hair made him stick out wherever he went. And his skin that'd get scorched if he weren't careful? It wasn't ideal when he spent most of his life under the sun.
Or when he tried to blend in behind enemy lines—
"Look at this blade I've salvaged," a drunk guard hollered. "It must be from that famous blacksmith. You know, from the mountain tribes—"
"Nah, that pommel is too shoddy for Welf Haraldson's work," a friar talked him down.
Why did they mention his father?! The blacksmith pulled his hood deeper into his face, eavesdropping on the conversation.
The inn by the Inquisition's headquarters was the only lively place in Halaima.
No merchants, no townsfolk going around minding their business. Only the Church's soldiers or friars in brown or grey robes. But so self-centered that nobody bothered with him so far.
He couldn't exactly interrogate them, but he didn't have to—
"I'm telling you, it's real. Inquisitor took it from a noble. Look at the rune, and this taper."
The description sounded familiar, but the friar was skeptical. "Low effort replica."
Welf nursed a drink to seem less suspicious, but stealing a glance at the blade, he almost choked. It was the sword Konrad had broken a month ago—and he reforged it.
They called it a cheap replica?!
"I'll ask that boy where he got it, next I'm guarding the catacombs," the soldier scoffed.
Catacombs?! So Konrad was in danger after all.
Welf almost unsheathed his greatsword—but of course, he left it outside of town.
Lucky. He might've started a brawl with those pricks if he had it.
"You'll get yourself whipped by the executioner," another guard chimed in. "That bitch loves to play zealous, and already punished a shift for talking to the captives."
The redhead heard enough. He downed his drink fast—but had to hold himself back.
If he started to run now, he'd be suspicious. Not like those drunkards paid attention to him.
"She has to," the friar added. "The Inquisitor burned her entire family while she watched—"
"What? She's noble, too?"
"You bet, his father served the Halstadts when—"
Welf groaned, now outside. Where to go from there?
"The catacombs. Why does it have to be underground?"
He could almost hear Liliske's voice, trying to convince him to find the sewers and go from there. Because, of course—that's what he got for splitting the party.
Not like he'd let Eyna do the rescuing in a place like that. She was busy with Nimrod's deadline.
It wasn't hard to find the sewers; they were overflowing.
"And I'm going to save that idiot, wherever he is." Welf decided—and almost changed his mind, when he got a whiff of that awful smell. "You better appreciate my efforts, kid."
***
Konrad tried and tried, but couldn't pry those dimensional cracks open.
He perceived them better now, but even after hours of experimenting, he made no progress. The nauseating smells, the hunger, and his adamantite bracelet didn't help.
Also, concentrating on something so vague almost fried his brain.
"And there goes the Halstadt legacy," Father Alastair mumbled to spite him, too. "I thought you were a genius, but you threw everything away without hesitation."
The boy couldn't help scoffing.
"That's rich coming from a corrupt priest in the Church's prison."
He lost the last morsels of his focus—he was stuck.
"I didn't choose this life," Alastair wouldn't let his comment slide. "I was a foster child like yourself—but in my time, you either joined the Church, or starved."
The boy rolled his eyes. He had no time for dramatic backstories.
"How's that different from this? I never asked for the Halstadt legacy—a court scheme forced me into this in Aset. Even the king got involved, and look where it got me."
Blackmail and suffering—his way of life. Not exactly what Lu promised.
Why, sure, he wished for noble blood, and he wanted control, but he got the exact opposite.
Yet, he wasn't ready to give up. His surrender was a ruse, but with so many captives listening, he knew better than to elaborate on it. Father Alastair was the last person he'd trust.
"I guess not everyone could be as brave and determined as Lord Erwin Halstadt—"
Ugh, Konrad chose to ignore him, focusing on those dimensional cracks again.
How could he get through them? If he'd be able to unleash a mana syphon—how he named the new spell—he wouldn't have to worry about the vacuum it left behind.
Drain each dimension, and they wouldn't even notice, but for him?
It would give him enough mana to break a dozen of these bracelets. Or two. Two was fine, too.
"I should've taught you about history and politics," Father Alastair was still going on. "About the last war between the Church and the nobility—"
And his concentration shattered again.
"Hold on, what?" he snapped his head back. "I thought it was a war between Kasserlane and—"
"The nomads? They knew better than to attack a strong Lord like Ser Erwin. After his first year as the duke of Halaima, they'd stop their useless attacks so he could focus on his reforms."
"What reforms?" Konrad let the questions slip.
He didn't have time for this—he had to break two bracelets before Sister Stella was back, but—
"Other nobles—and the Church—treated the tribes no better than the nomads. It was Lord Halstadt who first attempted to negotiate with them. And that hurt the Church's interest—"
"You say it like you weren't on their side," the boy pointed out.
"Because I wasn't—I was Lord Erwin's court pastor," Alastair claimed. "Until the king's summons, I served the Halstadts, but they got ambushed and—"
"Summoning?!" Konrad yelled, then shoved his palm against his mouth.
How did he not think of that before?!
He could summon light and fire from other planes.
And he already confirmed that the symbol for mana worked with other runes, too.
Could he summon the essence itself from those other planes? Rather than trying to pry those fractures open, he'd invite it over—
"W-what are you—" the priest was in the middle of his story when he made him jump.
But he no longer cared. Mana, summon, aimed at the nearest crack, and—
It was like reaching the surface of the water after suffocating for so long below the waves. Like a deep breath of fresh air, mana coursed through his veins—and one of the bracelets shattered.
The other swelled to a pound's worth.
That was an entire day's progress—in a single moment.
But the rebound almost made his head explode. His nose bled, and he felt hungrier than ever before. His balance? Gone. He was lying on the ground, the priest trying to shake him awake.
Did he pass out? For how long? And why?
This felt like how he imagined Zoltan's failed fireball spell, which went out of control. But he didn't deplete himself; he overcharged. He set no limit for the summoning—
"Rookie mistake," he couldn't help but laugh. "That stupid bracelet might've saved my life."
And there was one more that held him captive—and a greedy executioner bound to visit soon.