Akino came to with the feeling that he'd been run over by a battering ram. His eyes opened on their own, but there was only impenetrable darkness around him. Panic tightened his throat.
Am I dead? No... His arms and legs were there, but the pain piercing every cell was fiery proof of life. He couldn't really move them. What... what even happened?
The memory hit him like a club. That white-haired bastard... His contemptible mug and the cowardly blow he'd delivered in a moment of weakness.
"That son of a bitch!" Pure, white rage flared in his veins, burning away the last remnants of weakness. "I'll kill that bastard! I swear by all the gods! But first... where am I?"
He strained all his strength, every surviving muscle, every shred of will. With a crunch and a groan like grinding stones, he managed to free his arm from under a heavy chunk of debris.
His trembling fingers felt his face — intact, though covered in blood and bruises. He managed to prop himself up on an elbow, and his mouth immediately fell open in silent astonishment.
The dragon's hall... wasn't just in ruins. It was practically gone. Just a pile of stones, melted remains of columns, a giant hole in the floor. But what he saw next plunged him into even greater shock.
The dragon — it... was dead. And more importantly — it had no head. All that remained of the mighty body was a headless carcass, black with soot and dried blood.
Tears of bitterness and powerless rage rolled down Akino's dirty, scratched cheeks. Hot and salty, they stung his skin.
"That... that should have been ME!" a hoarse whisper escaped his lips, echoing in the dead silence of the ruins. "ME! I! should have done it! I must..." He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. "...must do something! Yes! That... scoundrel... he took pity! Left me alive! To shame me!"
The fact that he was the one retreating at that moment had conveniently evaporated from his rage-distorted consciousness. His goal crystallized in his mind, giving him false, but so desperately needed strength.
"Yes! I... and only I... will become the new emperor!" Akino screamed into the void, his voice hoarse and broken, still sounding convincing to himself. "Katarina... she will reward me generously! With herself! When everyone finds out. When they learn the TRUTH!"
He struggled to his feet, brushing dust and small stones from his armor. The Fire Salamander leather lining under the steel was blackened and melted in places, but it had held.
It, a handful of potions, and his own animal vitality had saved him. Thanks to me, he mentally emphasized. Only me. Justice will be served.
Gathering his strength, clouding the pain with rage and sweet dreams of the throne and the Empress, Akino stepped forward, stumbling over stones. He was going to claim what was rightfully his.
By his own distorted, yet unshakable, right. The shadow from his figure, long and ominous, fell upon the headless corpse of Kalis.
In his mind, the game was only just beginning.
…
Saigo slept for almost two full days. Nightmares kept creeping into his head, tenacious and sticky like tar.
One moment the dragon was rummaging through his slit-open innards with a cold claw. The next, that baron — the psychopath was pompously circling the giant monster's corpse, adjusting his doublet. Then he saw himself, wounded, returning to the Kotto citadel only to see smoking ruins under an ashen sky.
But even in his dreams, Saigo met these visions with a stone face and icy calculation: kill the opponent, finish the job, avenge the clan. What had been drilled into him since childhood.
He threw off the silk blanket and stood up from the couch. His muscles creaked, the stitches pulled taut, but the pain was a dull, tolerable a background nuisance. Immediately, a wave hit him: a dozen servants, healers, and guards flooded him with questions about his well-being, offering food, drink, help.
Saigo clenched his jaw. His hand instinctively reached for his thigh, where his knife should have been, but it wasn't there.
"Everyone out!" a familiar, well-fed voice boomed from the depths of the hall.
"Linsi." Saigo instantly remembered: the carriage, the pain, this voice commanding people. The servants vanished like smoke, and the merchant, pushing a heavy chair, sat down opposite him, his plump hands folded on his stomach. His eyes shone with genuine delight.
"My friend!" Linsi began, gesturing expansively. "You accomplished everything... magnificently! It's hard to believe! I'd say what's happening sometimes feels like a dream to me!"
"To me, partly too," Saigo replied hoarsely, sinking back onto the edge of the couch. Weakness pressed down on his body like a blacksmith's anvil. "It was... mmm... difficult."
"Oh, I understand!" Linsi leaned forward, his breathing quickened. "But I crave details! Meticulous ones! From the first step into that cursed cave to the last breath of that vermin!"
Saigo shrugged. He told it. Dryly, without pathos, as he usually delivered reports.
The cave and the water dragon, the baron's group their pointless death. The encounter with Kalis. Its power and the battle: Fire burning his armor, darkness tearing his flesh, and ice binding his bones. The dragon's pleas for mercy. And the final spell—the black hole devouring space—he described as accurately and vividly as possible, but without embellishment.
Professionalism, after all; this was a report, not a tale from a old drunk.
Linsi listened, holding his breath. His mouth opened in a silent "O," then tightened into a thin line. His fingers tapped nervously on his knee; sometimes he hastily scribbled something in a small, leather-bound notebook. Surprise and awe were written on his face.
"You... you did well, my friend," Linsi exhaled when the story ended. His eyes gleamed. "And I appreciate it. Very much! So..." He snapped his fingers.
Two sturdy porters entered the hall, bent under the weight of a massive, iron-bound chest. They set it down before Saigo with a dull thud.
Linsi turned the key in the massive lock and threw open the lid. Inside, filled to the brim, gleaming with a dull golden light in the hall's semi-darkness, were ingots.
"One million in gold. My personal gift. Not counting the clan's fee, of course."
Saigo nodded, casting a brief glance at the treasure. For him, it was just the weight of cargo. The gold would go to the clan's treasury. Rats who thought themselves clever were killed in Kotto, without sentiment.
"Where are we?" he asked, trying to stand again, but his legs buckled. Weakness wrapped around him like an insistent, tender, yet tenacious girl unwilling to let go.
"Easy, easy, my friend!" Linsi raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Stay here as long as you need. Days? Weeks? Years! If you want take the estate for yourself. I have no... use for it now." He smiled broadly, already mentally trying on the imperial crown.
Saigo just shook his head. His gaze was fixed somewhere far away, beyond the walls of this luxurious prison.
"Can you deliver me to the clan?" he asked evenly. "Preferably, secretly."
Linsi froze for a moment, surprise flickering in his eyes. He had expected gratitude, admiration for his riches, perhaps a request for a new position. But not this. Not this monastic restraint and pull towards his own people. But he quickly recovered and nodded businesslike.
"We'll arrange it. 'If a man wants something who am I to stop him?'" A shadow of new respect sounded in his voice. This mercenary was far more mysterious and dangerous than he seemed.
Linsi was beginning to understand that. "Rest a bit more, I'll order a closed carriage today. A fast one, without coats of arms and with a reliable driver. By the next night, you'll be home."