by Neven Iliev
“Nothing, as per usual,” Cecilia shrugged. “We have no way of knowing that monster’s whereabouts unless he wished us to know. But, judging from the movements of his lackeys, he seems to have taken an unhealthy interest in dungeons, regardless of which side of the border they’re on.”
“Dungeons, you say? What could they offer to a man like him?”
The female officer briefly pondered whether it was alright to share her speculations, but decided it couldn’t hurt.
“Probably has something to do with Tol-Saroth,” she declared. “Sealed records regarding the sage’s research contained references to a stolen dungeon core he used in his experiments.”
“Huh. Are dungeon cores a thing that can be stolen in the first place?”
“Judging from how at least two of the smaller dungeons on our soil no longer have theirs, I’d say that’s a yes.”
“Alright,” he nodded as the news sunk in. “I still don’t see what the Empire would want with them. They only spew out monsters that can’t wander too far, so it can’t be for their usual function. Perhaps trying to mimic something Tol-Saroth did?”
Silus held his fist to his lips as the gears in his head started churning away at high speed.
“Tol-Saroth… Dungeon cores… Monotal was near a dungeon… The Calamity? Surely the Empire aren’t trying to weaponize that, right?”
“Of course, they are,” shot back Cecilia. “So what if thousands of their countrymen died? You think that’s going to stop those hypocrites from using it against us? Or the rest of the continent, for that matter?”
“I see… Then, could it be that the whole Monotal incident was their doing?”
“That’s my current hypothesis. That region used to be secluded, low profile, and sparsely populated. Hardly the worst place to conduct experiments on dungeons if I do say so myself. However, I doubt they’d willingly bomb their own people – they’re not that stupid. An accident or misfire is the most plausible explanation.”
“And of course the Empire would never own up to their fuck-ups,” Silus carried on, “so they used the Hero’s testimony as leverage to paint the Republic responsible for the disaster. After all, nobody would doubt the words of the one chosen by the bloody Goddess of Truth and Justice, especially after that miraculous resurrection.”
“And bingo-bango, they suddenly have ‘just cause’ to attack us,” Cecilia smiled humorlessly.
“I must say, this is quite the theory. It makes sense, but it’s more than a little far-fetched. Surely if the Empire was conducting any large-scale dungeon core research, the FIB would catch wind of it.”
The Gilded Hand might have been masters at the game of international espionage, but the rest of their nation, to put it nicely, lacked in the subtlety department. Otherwise, the Republic wouldn’t have known anything about the movements of the invading army’s VIPs. At the same time, this apparent dungeon core theft was more than a little suspicious.
“It is out there, yes,” his cousin agreed. “We’ve also found no hard evidence to either confirm or deny it. In my personal opinion, however, there is a non-zero chance that this scenario is frighteningly close to the truth.”
“Heh. A ‘non-zero’ chance, is it?”
“What? Did I say something strange?”
“Kind of. It’s just that, prior to the war’s outbreak, a friend told me he heard there was a ‘non-zero chance’ of the Sandman aiding our cause.”
The elven woman closed her mismatched eyes for a few seconds as she sorted through her memory.
“Ah, you would be referring to Milo Faehorn, yes?”
“Indeed. Did you know him?”
“Yes. I did. Professionally and personally. I can’t exactly take credit for predicting the Sandman’s involvement as I wasn’t being entirely serious at the time.”
“That still means you were at least partly serious, no? Actually, you seemed rather well-informed on Warlocks and demons and whatnot.”
“What is your point, cousin?”
“Isn’t it odd for a military strategist to spend time researching some random vigilante when there’s a war on the horizon?”
“… I admit,” she hesitated for a second, “I may have had a mild obsession with the Sandman back then. At least with the idea behind him. A vigilante with a mysterious past working outside the law in order to enforce it. It’s quite the romantic notion, isn’t it?”
“Heh. I guess you weren’t thrilled to find out he’s just another common killer.”
“No, I really wasn’t. Although I would hardly call him ‘common.’ Tell me, Silus, what do you think of him?”
“What, me?” he scoffed. “You know more about him than me by the sound of it.”
“Don’t play dumb with me, cousin. You’ve had the most interaction with him. Not to mention you’re a ‘people person’ to begin with. I’m sure you’ve already profiled him.”
Silus was unsure whether he should share his professional opinion of the shady mercenary since it was technically confidential information. Then again, Cecilia shared her thoughts regarding the Spymaster’s potential schemes, so he decided to return the favor.
“I have noticed certain behavioral patterns, yes.”
“And those would be?”
“For one thing, his primary goal is to make money without antagonizing the government or the populace. That’s why he offers his services in exchange for coin rather than resorting to thievery and robbery. A man of his skills would surely make a fortune in no time at all if he turned to crime. In fact, I suspect he already has, given how many underground organizations he’s dismantled. A man like that wouldn’t hesitate to break the law if it meant he could quietly amass enough wealth to make a dragon jealous.”
“Yet you seem to hold this suspected master criminal in rather high regard.”
“I respect how professional he is. So far he’s carried out every job we’ve given him to tremendous effect. Though he seems expensive on paper, I think he’s actually underselling himself in order to maintain a positive relationship with the government.”
“Repeat business is good business, huh?”
“Precisely. Which leads me to the second point – he is a shrewd and highly intelligent individual. Extremely resourceful and with a superhuman amount of foresight. It’s as if he sees a completely different world from the one you and I live in.”
“Ugh,” groaned Cecilia. “He’s not one of those people, is he?”
“No, definitely not. His origins are definitely unique given his size and the little we’ve seen of his appearance, but I seriously doubt he’s from another world. Those realm-hoppers are all weak-willed, idealistic fools. Even if they gain enough power to rival the Sandman’s, they wouldn’t wield it with the same ruthless conviction. You’d never catch our masked mercenary pulling his punches in a fight. And boy, can he bloody fight.”
“Is he really that strong?”
“He’s personally taken down about a thousand enemy soldiers and one VIP. Well, two VIPs now, I suppose.”
“I know, I’ve read the reports, but I doubt they paint the whole picture. I want your opinion.”
“Ah… Well, from what little I’ve seen… I guess he’s a lot like Hilda, only with more magic and less screaming. Or, more screaming, if you count the sheer panic his presence instils in the enemy.”
“Damn. Are you sure he’s not a Ranker himself?”
“No idea. Frankly, I’m just glad he’s on our side,” Silus lamented.
“But for how long?” Cecilia asked the unpleasant question. “He’s a mercenary. Surely the Empire will buy him off if the chance presents itself.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. He’s not only a professional, but also a real stickler when it comes to deals or contracts. That’s probably how he’s able to keep three demonic familiars in line. Or perhaps because of it? Either way, I don’t see him breaking off an arrangement he’s agreed to. Especially the rather lucrative deals we’ve been giving him.”
“That was my initial thought as well. His behavior fits in almost perfectly with that long line of master assassins, but the current heir to the title is staying as far away from this conflict as possible. There’s no way our Sandman is the current ‘Reaper,’ but I wouldn’t be surprised if he became one in the future.”
“I like how you just assumed a God can only appoint a single Hero at a time.”
“Come off it, Cecilia. Even you have to admit that a God having multiple Heroes is impossible.”
The lime-haired woman cracked a mischievous smile at that word.
“Not impossible. Improbable. While I do not presume to know or understand the wills of the divines, the only thing we know for sure is that only the worthy are chosen as Heroes. Just because they appear decades or centuries apart doesn’t mean there can’t be more than one ‘worthy’ individual at any given time.”
“Look, your conspiracy theories aside, this is the God of Death we’re talking about. It’s not exactly a secret that his Hero is chosen and trained by their predecessor, not Mortimer himself. Even if your outrageous theory is true there’s no way that- Why are we even discussing this?”
“… Apologies, cousin, I got carried away again. I guess I’m not quite as done with this Sandman as I thought.”
“It’s quite alright. I’m also guilty of chasing after patterns that might not exist, but we can’t afford to waste our time on such distractions. Even if the Empire’s advance has slowed and the Sandman’s disturbances caused confusion, they’re still within marching distance of our position. We need to keep planning and preparing for anything they can throw at us.”
“I think we’ve done all that we can, though. The only matter left unsettled is to assist the gnomish Artificer corps with the placement of their landmines. After that all we can do is sit and watch how the battle unfolds.”
Silus winced when Cecilia unintentionally reminded him of Jessiwick Wobblebang’s situation. Decanus Morgana had been in his office just the day before trying to coax him to send her away just before the Forest Gate shut down. Apparently, the redhead bonded with her fellow bomb fanatic and wanted her safe. Unfortunately, Miss Wobblebang’s team hadn’t finished deploying the explosive traps. Silus sympathized with Keira’s plight. She didn’t want to risk losing another friend to this blasted war, but his hands were tied. The most he could do was push forward the last-minute proposal to rig the mines behind the wall rather than in front.
For what it was worth, Silus agreed with the catgirl’s assessment that it seemed like a better use of those bombs than trying to keep the Empire off of the glorified stone fence.
“Yeah, about that,” he recalled another unpleasant thought. “I can’t help but feel like something horrible is going to happen out there.”
“Odd. I had you pegged as someone who doesn’t believe in things like hunches and gut feelings,” Cecilia casually remarked.
“Normally you would be right, but I can’t help myself considering the… religious beliefs of certain people. At first I disregarded the rumors about followers of the Goddess of Probability being heralds of incomprehensible bullshit as baseless hearsay and superstition. But as I look back on what transpired at Fort Yimin, it’s hard for me to deny that there might be some truth to that notion.”
It was somewhat of an unwritten law that, whether by fate, divine guidance, pure coincidence, or all of the above, no major event unfolded without a Paladin, Priest, or Monk of Chaos nearby. It was one of those trends throughout history that was impossible to ignore once noticed. Whether it was a nation sinking beneath the sea, a new Job’s discovery, or unearthing signs that humans had descended from trolls – no world-changing event took place without at least one of Kyle’s followers around. Compared to past examples, a quintuplet of immature dryads awaking from their centuries-long slumber to defend an elven fort was relatively tame.
“I mean sure,” Silus continued ranting, “we lucked out with the dryads back then, but that was with just the Fizzlesprocket girl. You’ll have to forgive me if I can’t help but wonder whether the ground would split open and swallow us whole when two of that maniac’s flock are present.”
The elf rubbed his face in exasperation before throwing a sideways glance towards the pleasantly smiling Cecilia.
“No offense.”
“None taken,” she graciously replied. “If I let a few stray comments get to me, then there’s no way I would be able to call myself High Priestess of the Sisterhood of the Receding Waffle.”
“Uh-huh. Out of curiosity, ‘High Priestess,’ just how large is your following?”
If this Sisterhood of the Receding Waffle was anything like Fizzy’s Order of the Gilded Chest, it probably consisted only of Cecilia.
“Just me and Mister Bosco.”
“Who’s Mister Bosco?”
“My stuffed bear.”
“I see, a stuffed bear. Huh. I never would’ve guessed. Wait, he’s not a sentient golem is he? I don’t think I can handle another one.”
“No, of course not. There’s no way, right? At least, I don’t think there is… Then again… that would explain why my lacy unmentionables keep disappearing. Curious indeed… I must investigate this further. Cousin, you will assist me, yes? I believe you’re more familiar with stake-outs than I am.”
Silus stared up at the ceiling as he seriously reconsidered his stance on what was ‘too early’ to start drinking.
Chapter Four
Hypocrisy
Part One
*Haaaaa-HOOOOOOOOOOM Haaa-HOOOOM HA-HOOOOOOOM*
A deep, loud tone resounded through the Rainy Woodlands, followed swiftly by several identical notes.
[The Echoes of War have filled you with courage. Glory to the Empire!]
[Increases resistance to mental status effects by 20% for 60 minutes.]
Private Cohen Thomson tightened the grip on his spear and clenched his shield-bearing hand into a fist. Behind him, a group of Priests finished their rather long mantra. Thomson hadn’t paid attention to what they were chanting in unison back there, but he didn’t need to. The radiant glow that enveloped him and his entire unit, combined with the familiar warmth of holy magic, told him everything he needed to know. The mental notifications helped too, of course.
[You are now under the effects of Greater Blessing of the Sun.]
[Maximum HP +300. Healing received increased by 20%.]
[The effect will last for 60 minutes or until it is overridden by another Blessing.]
Thomson cast a gaze up at the noon sky in a moment of bewilderment. How in the world were they receiving energy from the sun if it was hidden by so many thick clouds? Stranger still, how could the Priests borrow power from the Sun God Solus even though they were all supposed to be Apostles of Justice in service to Teresa? He momentarily dredged up a memory of a theology lecture from his basic training, and how it said something about the sun not picking favorites. Such idle thoughts were instantly forgotten when the Private saw his commanding officer making a move.
“Company! Forward!”
The Sergeant, an old war dog named Smith, raised his sword and his voice. All one hundred and twenty men in his unit, including Thomson, began to move. The Private passed through the forest undergrowth at the head of the formation while a column of his comrades followed close behind. With horns blaring behind him and the Rainy Woodlands rapidly thinning out in front, he and his fellow soldiers soon emerged onto a grassy, uneven clearing. For the second time in a few days, Thomson found himself unusually happy to see an area so utterly devoid of blasted trees.
“Form ranks! Form ranks!”
Following the commanding officer’s instructions, he and his comrades quickly rebuilt their rectangular formation just outside the cover of the forest. To his left and right, Private could see more and more Imperial companies emerging from the woods with a steady gait. There was no doubt more unit
s would follow from behind. Some three hundred or so meters in front of him stood a wall that, by all means, shouldn’t have been there. He was neither an officer nor a strategist and had trouble reading maps to boot, but he distinctly remembered hearing that the city lacked defensive fortifications. That was why the familiar sight of siege equipment was absent during their long march in the first place.
Leave it to those crafty twigs to build all that in less than a month, he couldn’t help but admire their resourcefulness. Almost makes me sorry we’ll be tearing it down.
He reached up to his forehead and lowered the visor on his helmet.
Almost.
The Sergeant began reciting a little speech in a loud, clear voice, but Thomson didn’t really hear any of the words. He was sure that guy was being all inspirational and stuff, but such gestures did little to raise his fighting spirit. After all, how could a mere man compare to the divine voice of Jonas Charlton? He was sure he could charge that little fence and tear it down with his bare hands if only he had the chance to hear that indescribable song once more.
Unfortunately, he was one of the few people around who knew this would never happen. Private Thomson had the misfortune of being among the people to discover the gruesome scene of Charlton’s alleged murder. He scoffed at that word. ‘Alleged.’ Apparently, the lack of a body led some to believe the Bard was still alive. Worse still, they called him a traitor who had faked his death and abandoned his post – a theory based solely on the absence of Charlton’s personal belongings. However, they could only say such things because they hadn’t seen what Thomson had. The savagely ripped up bedding and the ridiculous amount of blood left no doubt in the grunt’s mind that the Empire lost a national treasure that night.
Regardless of the facts, the ones in charge ordered everyone involved to keep their mouths shut under threat of dishonorable discharge. Deep down, Thomson thought his superiors were the dishonorable ones for trying to hide it, but he kept his mouth shut. There was also the matter of exactly who killed the genius performer and how. Well, the first part seemed rather obvious. Surely the damned elves behind that wall were responsible. Sabotage and terrorism were old hat for those filthy twigs operated.