Stella's interrogation had to wait—Konrad passed out as soon as things had calmed down.
With the adrenaline surge gone, his tortured body shut down immediately.
He woke up in the dark again—this time on the soft cushions of their borrowed carriage.
A definite improvement over the catacombs.
But only if he didn't think too much about how he'd gotten there. If Eyna had carried him the entire way, Welf would never let him live it down.
In any case, it wasn't the redhead's face he saw first.
It was Father Alastair's. Rather than bolting, the priest tended to his wounds.
Like when he was a kid—always getting into trouble, sparring with caravan guards.
Getting injured wasn't anything new to him, but the stakes had gotten much higher these days.
"So your trip to Aset wasn't in vain," the priest mumbled as Konrad stirred. "To think that the Green Mage decided to teach you—and you even had the talent."
"Right, the Green Mage," the boy scoffed.
Did he still need to keep Zoltan's scam a secret?
Better safe than sorry—he didn't trust Alastair, even with the Tower of Illusions far away.
The mouth-watering scent of roasting meat told him the others were close by. Eyna and Welf were tending a campfire, and Stella was there, too—
Curled up in a fetal position at the edge of the clearing.
"Not so scary now," Konrad nodded her way, noticing the rope hooked through her bracelet.
The mana drain remained as flimsy as it was when he snapped it on her wrist.
Which reminded him—he was also running on fumes.
"She's terrified of the flames," the priest explained. "Her father was a count under Lord Halstadt. But only until the Inquisitor set him, their manor, and the rest of the family on fire."
"Why'd she work for a monster who murdered her kind?" the boy asked, sitting up on the seats.
The movement made him dizzy—and made him realize how hungry he was.
"Not everyone has the luxury to choose whom they serve—"
The door flying open cut Alastair's explanation short.
"M-master, you're awake." A pair of purple eyes appeared in the frame, and a relieved—albeit weak—smile. "I'm so sorry I caused you trouble again."
Konrad sighed.
"You did not, Eyna, we've been through this," he scolded the girl, patting her silvery hair. Then he noticed the roasted meat in her arms, and forgot everything else.
His stomach growled.
The dark-skinned beauty shoved the plate forward. "It's not much, but please—"
He was already salivating, but tried his best to maintain the image of a responsible master.
"Did you eat yet? What about Welf?" It took all the control Konrad could muster not to devour everything before she answered. They skewered some fatty meat and roasted it over the fire.
"This is our second meal, Master. You've been asleep for a while."
Figures. And his mana was still at rock bottom—but recovery had to wait until he finished the meal. Welf poked his head inside too, grinning after he saw his first reaction to the food.
"Told you he'd be fine—we got by without Liliske's healing magic, too," he noted.
"Speak for yourself," Konrad scoffed, but his mouth was already full. "Anything happened while I was out? How long has it been anyway?"
"About fourteen hours, Master," Eyna claimed, and the boy almost choked on his food.
And he was still tired and aching everywhere. Welf continued in her stead.
"I went hunting and scouted the council on my way—they're no longer that fond of your twin."
"They were?" Konrad raised an eyebrow.
It wasn't the first time the redhead filled him in, but with so many things happening—
"Yeah, they mentioned some prophecy that said the spirits blessed one twin and cursed the other, and so on." That did sound familiar. Alastair told him the same thing.
"So they're no longer sure which one is which?" the boy asked.
This whole twin business felt so surreal, but if the others didn't seem surprised about it—
"I didn't stop to talk to them, because Nimrod declared us the Inquisitor's dogs."
"Guess which twin got all the brains?" Konrad rolled his eyes.
"It might be because of me," Father Alastair wrung his hands. "And Stella Nord."
"Who?" The boy tried not to choke on another bite, slamming his chest. And he was talking about brains. "Ah, the executioner—well, I thought a hostage would help us, but—"
"T-the Inquisitor," Eyna seemed shaken, "uses his pawns until they break, then gets a new one."
Familiar. Setting that bastard on fire wasn't enough.
"So what do we know now?" Konrad swallowed the last of his food—and reached for seconds right away. "I'm on the Code of Conduct, so the Church wants me dead, and the tribes—"
"I wouldn't say they want you dead, too," Welf noted. "But your twin sure does."
It wasn't like he expected happy family reunions.
He'd survived eighteen years without his relatives—he could do without them now.
"And did Stella, um, Lady Nord say anything useful?" the boy asked.
The response was three heads shaking in unison.
"Only what we already knew, Master," Eyna unrolled a parchment. "The Inquisition wants Halaima, and they're using the Code as a target list. They run the town and the villages nearby."
"Haiten, too," Konrad said—it wasn't a question, and the girl blushed.
"To sum it up, we have no money, no army, no weapons, only a useless hostage, and um," Welf didn't finish. He nodded at the corrupt priest, and the boy suppressed a laugh.
It was painful—and hopeless.
"Right, they stole my reforged blade. Sorry." He only had that chipped crap from the guards—and something else. "Can you make something out of this, though?"
Konrad pulled out a chunk of adamantite and held it out to the blacksmith.
Eyes wide, Welf caught his hand, poking at the ore in disbelief.
"W-where did you get this?!" he demanded. "Is it pure? It has to be. How?!"
The boy grinned. "You see that bracelet on the Inquisitor's puppy? They drained all my mana for days to turn it into adamantite. I have a ton—well, about ten pounds."
The redhead's expression soured.
"I, uh, can't work with it," he admitted, sobering. "It's so rare and expensive. Only a handful of blacksmiths know its secret in Kasserlane—and only one tribesman."
"Oh, do you know him?" Konrad crossed his fingers. Welf scoffed, his features realigning again.
"Do I know him?" He flashed a smug grin. "He's my father. Welf Haraldson of the Blood Moons."
Blood Moons? He never asked what tribe the redheads were from.
But now that he thought about it, wasn't his father also Lily's father?! And their tribe—
"Do you think your folks would lend us a hand?"
The blacksmith considered for a moment.
"You don't want to start a civil war between the tribes, right?"
"No," Konrad protested fast. "But given that stupid prophecy, I want to bring a large enough force that'd convince them to follow me, not Nimrod."
Welf scratched his head.
"My father isn't the chieftain, but he can throw his weight around. And he loves adamantite," he added, though he didn't sound convinced. "The tribe is a bit far from here, though, and—"
"I-I'm so sorry, Master," Eyna apologised. "I lost one of our horses in Haiten—"
"Haiten, huh?" Konrad's brain kicked into gear. "Let's stop there first—I'll come up with a plan."