They'd clearly done a thorough job on the old adit, only the entrance still looked like a regular cave.
Once, lead had been mined here, but now these halls resembled the dungeons of a royal castle. New corridors had been carved out, in some places even laid with marble tiles. Not to mention the carpets and the luxurious furniture in the rest areas. Cultists these days were clearly not struggling!
But I only truly realized just how well they were doing when I reached the laboratory. My eyes literally darted in every direction at the sight of the unique equipment, most of which Randall had only heard about!
In the middle of a room well-lit by a magic crystal stood a true masterpiece, a dream come true for any chimerologist. A rectangular slab of anthracite stone, about the size of a double bed, with a thin plate of transparent mountain mica suspended above it by an iron lever. The lever itself had numerous pegs etched with runes and even a slot for a magic core. It looked like a magical dentist's table, of sorts.
"Some devilish shit, Commander. Maybe we should just blow the whole place up?" a mercenary chimed in under my arm.
"Blow it up?" I exclaimed in disbelief. "I'll blow you up if it gets so much as a scratch. Watch it, you idiot!"
I darted to the table and connected a couple of magical lines. The mica plate immediately lit up. I placed my hand between it and the black slab. Through the seemingly transparent plate, what I saw wasn't my hand in its black doublet, but a human bone. A magical x-ray, for fuck's sake, in real time. An irreplaceable tool for chimerologists, and capable of operating in multiple modes: bone, flesh, blood. Whatever you want!
"See? If a bone's broken, you can tell in a single glance where and how. Do you even realize how much this helps healers? So don't even think about breaking anything. You'll lose your head in an instant."
The soldier mumbled something apologetic, but I was already engrossed in the other devices. Some I'd heard of, others I couldn't even identify. But one thing was crystal clear. This wasn't just thousands of gold coins' worth. Not even tens of thousands. You couldn't buy this equipment. Shit, even if you shit gold, this kind of hardware isn't for sale. You commission it, and artifact masters don't take commissions from just anyone.
It became painfully obvious: very, very serious people were behind this.
A whiff of smoke hit my nose. Son of a bitch! Did one of the soldiers really decide to ignore my orders? I looked around and spotted the smoke rising from under the door next to the lab.
I burst in.
The room was filled with smoke, billowing out from some kind of iron chest near a table. A medieval safe, huh? It had a heavy lock. Not that I gave a damn. A single touch, and I split it in two. A torrent of gold coins tumbled to the floor, covered in ash. Looked like confidential correspondence had been stored there.
I cursed and looked around the room. A writing desk, a leather folder, an inkwell and quill… and a note, apparently never filed away.
"Accelerate work on Project Beast. Expecting a progress report by week's end. P."
P. Great. And what does that tell me? Nothing. I opened the folder, automatically noting that it was bound in human skin. The pages inside, thankfully, were regular parchment. I hoped it'd contain information on the Beast project, but reality had something else in store.
"Furry Sluts for M"
I blinked, but the title on the first page was still there. What the fuck?
Furry. Sluts. For M. Did the zoophiles sneak in here too?
I flipped through the pages. Material selection… young girls… donor search. Rabbit. Hare. Cat. First trial: death. Method modification. Stage breakdown. Donor selection. Conservative techniques. Tail implantation… Ear replacement. Essence transfer. Stability loss. Madness. Disposal. Expenses. Third attempt, three stages successful, preparing subject for limb replacement…
That was the last page. The folder was fairly thin, looked like a recent project. My gaze shifted to the nearby cabinet, as tall as a man.
I flung open the doors. Inside were dozens upon dozens of thick folders, all devoted to experiments. Gods, I wanted to study them all, bury myself in those dusty pages. Not even because they'd be useful to me. Doubtful.
It was pure professional curiosity, a burning desire to see how they tackled various problems. I skimmed the spines. No sign of the Beast project. That one had likely been in the safe and was now destroyed. I grabbed a couple of folders at random and settled at the desk. Alright, what do we have here?
A project on heavy infantry with magical resistance. Subject: a middle-aged peasant with no Gift. Donors: brown bear and Arniyan snake. Extreme boost in aggression and sexual activity. Lobotomy. Failure. Castration. Success. During chimerization, discovered excessive claw growth. Preventive measure: pre-procedure nail removal. Phase two. Extensive bleeding due to reoriented rib alignment…
Ugh. Okay, let's skip to the end.
The project was deemed a failure. The reason: the implanted magic resistance prevented the use of healing to stabilize the transformation process. An attempt to use necrotic energy to temporarily suppress that resistance had failed. Methodology changes were deemed unpromising. Conclusion: the body of an ungifted cannot survive the necessary volume of alterations.
Every chimerologist's favorite dream: to turn an ungifted into a magical creature. Usually ended in disaster. A source is needed for transformation, at least an embryonic one. If not in the material, then in the donor.
Maybe that's how the chasm between mages and common folk came to be. One way or another, mages are closer to beasts. The Source is basically a magical core, even if it's peculiar. I set the folder aside and picked up the next one.
Project "Werewolves." No point wasting time. - i flipped straight to the last page. Partial success? Interesting. Let's take a look.
My eyes skimmed over the lines. Death during implantation. Death during the shift. Death, death, death, death...
Subject 21. Irreversible alterations. Intellectual degradation. Escape.
Wait. I flipped back a few pages and found a sketch of the altered subject. That was the creature that attacked our squad about five days ago. Although... not really a creature. A former human. Just a victim of circumstance. At least the theory that she had escaped from the chimerologists checked out. Sad, in a way.
I skipped all the parts about the suffering during transformation. Reading them made me sick. Even my professional curiosity began to fade. In any case, I ended her pain.
Another death. And another. Where was that so-called success? Ah, here it is:
Subject 37. Stable transformation every midnight. The body handles it. Side effect: loss of Gift. Intelligence and personality are minimally suppressed during the transformed state. Hm. Isn't that exactly what they were aiming for?
I kept reading. Ah. I see. In short, the plan had been grand. The idea was to create influence agents among certain aristocrats. Kidnapping, modification, ransom or return of a beloved little son or daughter. But then, at the critical moment, instead of a loving daughter waking up in your well-guarded castle, a beast did—one driven entirely by the urge to kill. What happens next is obvious. The project was shut down because they couldn't decouple the transformation cycle from the moon and bind it to a command. Subject 37 was returned to their family, though, either for a hefty sum or in exchange for some favor. A rather grim ending.
I looked up at the massive stacks of folders. How much more of this filth was in them? Ugh. I stood up from the desk, shoved the gold back into the safe, and checked my pistol. Time to have a chat with the freaks who set all this in motion.
I had barely stepped out of the office when I ran into Til.
"Commander, we've found a dungeon on the lower level... You should see it."
"Later. Don't touch anything yet."
Baronet Laurenz von Bor came to in his office. The door had been knocked off its hinges. Muddy soldier's boots had stomped all over his favorite rug. And he himself was tied to a chair with his own belt. His Source was splitting with pain. What in the abyss had made the demon break the contract?
With many years of demonology under his belt, Laurenz considered himself an experienced tamer. Not once had a demon ever broken free of the hook. The soul-binding spell had never failed. In fact, due to his constant use of it, his soul had grown strong, nearly on par with a warrior's. Any demon that tried to sever their pact with him paid double the price.
The Gut-Eater was considered a very powerful creature. So what had made it howl like a cur and run off in terror? Laurenz hadn't just been maimed. The demon had taken damage too. How? Why? What was that man? Was he even human?
A pleasant voice sounded from behind him.
"So. You're awake. I was just about to send for water."
A very familiar voice. No. It couldn't be.
"Ra... Randall? What are you doing here? Untie me! We need to get out of here!"
"Get out? From whom?"
Someone's hands spun the chair around, and the baronet saw the figure of his former friend. In the same outfit as the man who had terrified the demon. No... It couldn't be.
"But I get it. Even your demon ran from me. Your Source—does it hurt?" The Viscount sneered.
"This is impossible!"
Two concepts simply refused to coexist in Laurenz's mind: the weak theoretical mage Randall and the demonic something that had made the Gut-Eater flee. His head buzzed from the dissonance.
"Possible or not, right now you're going to answer my questions."
"Randall, my friend, wait! I don't understand what's going on. Were you hired to destroy the lab?"
"You don't seem to get it. I'm the one asking questions." The Viscount's tone turned cold. "And my first question is: who is your master?"
Laurenz smiled and relaxed a little. Whoever had attacked them clearly didn't have the full picture and underestimated the lab's importance. That meant things weren't as bad as they looked.
"Randall, Randall. I understand. You've stumbled into something way above your pay grade. I don't know who hired you, but you're a smart guy. Look at our equipment. Could a regular Count, or even a Marquis, afford this? Untie me, take me to your commander, and we'll figure out how to fix this mess together." His tone was patronizing.
But instead of an answer, the baronet got a kick in the chest and toppled over with the chair. Before Laurenz could catch his breath, a boot stomped down on his ribs. A crack.
"Seems you still don't get how serious this is. I don't want to resort to torture, so let's keep it simple, 'friend.' Understood?"
"U-understood..." Laurenz wheezed, coughing blood.
Randall righted the chair and asked again.
"Who. Owns. This. Lab?" The icy tone pierced straight through the nobleman. Viscount Condor had always been a little unhinged, but this time he'd outdone himself.
The baronet felt that if he didn't start talking now, he wouldn't be alive much longer. But there was a problem.
"I'll tell you everything I can, but... I can't give a straight answer. I was put in charge here under one condition: they implanted a demon in my head. If I blab, I'm dead!"
"A demon? Well then, let's have a look."
The Viscount grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back. For a moment, something else flickered in Randall's gaze. Something that froze the baronet like a hare before a fox.
"Shame. There's nothing I can do. You'll die if I try to interfere with it. Say what you can."
The Viscount wiped his hand on the dirty doublet in disgust. A few strands of light hair fluttered to the rug. Laurenz followed the fallen locks with his eyes and began speaking, carefully choosing his words.
After their little demonology circle got exposed, the baronet found himself in deep trouble. His low rank meant he'd be the one to burn at the stake, not the higher-born bastards like Randall. So Laurenz sold out everyone he could and fled far from the capital, into the wild lands. That move earned him some powerful enemies. Among the peasant-gutting enthusiasts had been the Duke's own granddaughter.
At first, things went well. Until he entered Baron Clemen's lands and was neatly intercepted by a group of unknown, high-ranking fighters. The choice was simple: serve or die. Laurenz hadn't hesitated.
A prepared cave, ever-growing equipment, more and more orders. When Laurenz began his work here, there was another man in charge. Then he was gone. Killed or transferred — Laurenz didn't know. He couldn't say much useful about that period at all. They worked. No details. Staff grew. Contact was by letter. Successful subjects were taken by the Baron's people, who also delivered the materials. Then came some Big Order. That's when Laurenz met Him. That's when the demon was implanted. And soon after that, I showed up and shut it all down.
"Describe Him."
"I can't. Not even a hint. I can only say this: it's not Baron Clemen. The Baron runs errands for Him, nothing more."
"Was your meeting with Him connected to Project Beast?"
Laurenz tensed up. His whole body froze, trying not to reveal anything.
"I see... Let's forget about that."
The Viscount pulled a device from his belt — a steel tube with a small lever on top. What was that?
"Is there anything else useful you can tell me?" he asked wearily.
Cold sweat trickled down Laurenz's back.
"W-wait, maybe I didn't explain it well enough, but this is a very important man. Someone you cannot afford to insult!"
"Haven't I already insulted him? Killed your people, captured the lab?" the Viscount smirked.
"No, no! It's all fixable! That was just fodder. None of them were serious fighters — second rank at best. Replacing that scum takes minutes! The mages, they're just hired help. Also replaceable! That Fire Mage who died? He was only keeping subjects in line. Master Ash's death at the demon's hands... sad, sure, but he was an alchemist. You could easily take his place!"
"Ha, are you actually offering me the job of a mage I killed myself? Are you insane, 'friend'?" Randall laughed.
"If I could tell you who really owns this place, you'd take me more seriously!" Laurenz couldn't help the wounded tone. Damn contract. How he wanted to slap that upstart Viscount with the Master's authority — but he couldn't. It stung.
"We can still fix this, believe me! I'll tell Him it was just an unfortunate accident and that's it. We'll keep the lab running. You can't imagine the kind of money involved! You always dreamed of something like this, remember? We both did. High-end equipment. Specialists. An endless supply of material!"
"Material... And how many lives did you destroy?" Something shifted in Randall's tone. Something dark.
"Since when do you care? You used to have no problem soaking a scalpel in noble blood yourself."
The Viscount said nothing. He stroked the strange device and stared thoughtfully at the rug.
"I get it, I get it. You're the one asking questions... There weren't that many. You know how hard it is to find the Gifted. Mostly, it was peasant rabble that went under the knife."
The Viscount shook his head silently.
"You... You want revenge for that Inquisition thing? I didn't want to do it, believe me! I had no choice! I regret it!" Laurenz cried. And the Viscount finally spoke.
"No. You did the right thing. Randall Condor was a very, very bad man."
The voice, cold as velvet, filled the room. Laurenz flinched.
"Was...?"
The Viscount tucked the device back into his belt and stepped close.
"You're not just useless. You're dangerous. I can't let anyone live who knew the old Randall."
Like a lightning bolt, realization struck Laurenz. No point begging. No point swearing loyalty. He was about to die. Damn it, how hadn't he seen it before? The thing before him wasn't Randall anymore.
"Ha-haah!" Laurenz laughed hysterically. "You actually summoned him!"
Cold hands closed around his throat. Death was near.
"I thought they couldn't ki..." Crack.
Consciousness faded. The last thing the failed demonologist heard:
"Good must come with fists."