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Commerce Emperor Chapter 26: Wrath & Greed
🕑 Added 2023-10-03 07:44:43 +0000 UTCPrevious Chapter
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By the time dawn rose beyond the horizon, I could hardly stand on my own two feet.
The night had been won, but at a cost. When the Blight started to manifest, Roland revealed his face to his soldiers and managed to rally them away from danger. Though our army remained partly split by the Volgova River, pegasus riders relayed orders to the troops and the famous Archfrostian discipline prevailed in short order.
Unfortunately, unlike with Snowdrift, where Marika managed to contain the Blight inside the Gilded Wolf’s confines, the chaos of the battle prevented us from doing the same here. The wicked essence swept across the Volgova River’s western side like a wildfire, corrupting the very land and air. Trees grew screaming faces and our own dead arose as shambling corpses to torment the living. I spent the rest of the night sending undead back to the Soulforge one strike at a time.
By the time our troops rejoined Soraseo’s own and regrouped in the Icewind Plains, the battle was won on all fronts. Dolganov’s death and our surprise night attack had thoroughly disorganized the Regent’s army, letting our soldiers sweep through the enemy’s camp like a horse stampede. We’d shattered the enemy force beyond recovery.
I wasn’t entirely certain whether this victory was worth the creation of a new Blight and Sebastian’s escape. Both events definitively soured my mood.
Moreover, we’d suffered casualties; especially from the beastmen ambush and the two golems the Knots deployed. Soraseo had brought down the first on her lonesome by targeting its joints after luring it away from the camp, but the second had rampaged through our infantry even after Cortaner tore off its head from its shoulders. Hundreds perished by the time he and Marika managed to bring it down, trampled to death by the blinded war machine.
I supposed it was the cost of war, but a part of me kept wondering what we could have done to improve our tactics. Had I been wrong to order Sebastian captured instead of killed? Roland in particular gave me the cold shoulder all night long over the matter.
He still invited me to his council in the morning, though he put me as far away from him as the war table allowed. The war tent struggled to accommodate the crowd of gathered lords, heroes, and generals.
“Eighty square miles, you say?” Roland asked the scout.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the pegasus rider said, his voice dulled by exhaustion. His breastplate still showed the cracks inflicted by a beastman’s mace. “The Blight did not expand eastward beyond the river, but most of the western riverside has fallen prey to its influence.”
A whole forest’s worth of cursed land, I thought. I sent a glance to Marika, who stared at her wine cup without a word. This would have been Snowdrift’s fate without her timely intervention.
I doubted she could appreciate that fact. Marika had fallen into a sour mood since the battle ended; seeing evidence of her ex-husband’s survival in his golem minions probably reopened old wounds.
The others barely looked any better. Soraseo showed bruises all over her graceful face—the first time I’d ever seen her wounded in action—and Cortaner spent most of the meeting holding his broken left arm while his armor’s spikes burrowed into it.
“I can trade away your injuries,” I informed him.
“They set the bones back in place,” the Inquisitor replied.
“My method is quicker and less painful.”
Cortaner answered with a shrug. “Pain is the point.”
I didn’t insist further. The man’s obsession with harming himself as a form of penance unsettled me to my core. It just felt so… impractical.
“Eighty square miles,” Roland whispered to himself. His assembled generals and bannermen had mostly fallen silent upon hearing the report. “What of the Walbourg reinforcements? The beastmen?”
“The beastmen retreated north towards the Winter Sea,” the courier replied. “As for the Walbourg reinforcements, our scouts noticed them south of the plains. They did not offer any aid during the battle.”
“How would they?” Duke Sigismund rejoiced. “With the Regent’s army shattered, they can no longer threaten us.”
“They are likely to return to Walbourg,” I conceded. Our entire strategy revolved around striking the enemy army before it could link up with reinforcements. With the main force crushed and the capital about to be besieged, I doubted Walbourg would fight for a doomed cause. Their forces were likely to swiftly return home and fortify their border.
“No war is won until the last enemy surrenders,” Soraseo noted wisely. “Our foe still holds the capital.”
“What good will it do without the possibility of relief?” the Duke replied with a snort. “My brother’s army has been shattered and his allies have retreated. What can he hope for other than to waste our time? Whitethrone’s ramparts might hold us back for a while, but it will fall to a prolonged siege.”
“Each day the Regent keeps the doors closed is one that keeps him alive,” I pointed out, eying Roland. “He knows you’re unlikely to spare him if you take the city.”
“I won’t,” our Knight replied coldly. Now that I had switched back his and Soraseo’s eye colors, his once innocent blue gaze now looked cold and icy. “I am through with traitors.”
“Nor would it be a good idea, Your Majesty,” Duke Sigismund agreed with a nod. “My brother does not learn from his mistakes. His survival will only encourage further rebellions.”
I couldn’t agree more. A man in league with demons and willing to sacrifice people to create soulbound golems did not deserve any mercy. Unlike Sebastian, I doubted the Regent could offer us any valuable information on the Knots’ activities either. He was a liability.
“I do not think a siege will last long,” I said. “Once the Regent’s supporters inside the city realize no one will come to break the encirclement, they will cast him down from his ill-gotten throne and deliver him to us like a gift. Perhaps with a pretty ribbon and all.”
Roland drummed his fingers on the war table with a stern look in his eyes. “My uncle’s followers will receive no mercy from me. They had their chance.”
“I understand how Your Majesty feels, but I suggest we stick to punishing the insurrection’s leaders,” I argued. “If all our foes believe they have a choice between fighting for their lives or the nose, they’ll keep fighting to the bitter end.”
“Lord Robin speaks wisely,” Duke Sigismund said, supporting my suggestion. “We should offer favorable terms of surrender, so long as my treacherous brother and the queen-mother are delivered to us.”
Roland’s jaw tightened, but thankfully his anger had cooled enough for him to listen. He nodded sharply and then examined a rough map of the region. The Blight stood out on it like a bleeding wound.
“A siege might take weeks, and the Blight still remains an issue.” Roland turned to his captains. “We must quarantine it with trenches and palisades of sharpened spikes before monsters can spill out into the countryside.”
“Your Majesty speaks true,” a captain commented. “Undead and possessed trees have already started harassing our outriders.”
“Can’t you witchcrafters do anything about the Blight?” another general asked Marika, briefly drawing her out of her morose silence. “If not destroy it, at least contain it?”
Marika shook her head. “I can improve the barricade with seals to prevent the corrupted essence from spilling away, but my lords’ land will be stained for generations.”
Unless Colmar’s method proves effective. I kept that information for myself though. The only thing worse than gloom was a disappointed hope. Failure would shake people’s faith in us further.
Which, considering what Daltia told me, might matter even more than I thought…
Besides, I had another plan to deal with this particular Blight. I would need to discuss it with Roland in private since it required his assistance though.
“Cursed beastmen,” Duke Sigismund grunted, his reprobation shared by most of Roland’s generals. “Without their ambush, we would have won this battle without any difficulty.”
“We should have exterminated them centuries ago,” one of Roland’s retainers commented. “You can’t reason with animals.”
The comment made my blood boil; all the more since the one beastkin I was friends with was perhaps the most selfless I’d ever met. Marika clearly held her tongue, while Soraseo’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“The Arcadian Freeholds did, my lord,” I pointed out calmly. “As did many cities in the Riverland Federation, the Stonelands, and even some of the Fire Islands…”
Duke Sigismund sent me a strange look. “What are you implying, Lord Robin?”
“Last night’s waterkin ambush indicates that the Demon Ancestors managed to recruit a few tribes to their cause.”
“Of course the beastmen joined with the demons, Robin,” Roland replied dryly. “We have been at war with them for centuries.”
“But is there a reason for us to stay at war with them?” I asked.
I uttered these words with the utmost seriousness, yet most of my audience stared blankly at me as if I had said an incredible absurdity. Even Roland squinted at me in disbelief.
Whereas the catkin, ratkin, birdkin, and monarchs more or less managed to integrate into some societies—albeit as second-class citizens—others like the scalekin, waterkin, boarkin, and others never stopped waging war on human civilization. Modern states pushed these hostile groups to the fringes of the known world, like the distant north or the sea, but they always returned to threaten the borders. Archfrost spent its entire existence at war with northern tribes from beyond the icy mountains. I’d spent my childhood hearing tales of beastmen raids and pillages.
My experience in the Riverland Federation, where beastmen were sometimes tolerated, had helped me grow out of this mindset… but it was Colmar’s discovery of his kindred’s origins that fully convinced me that Archfrost followed the wrong path. Those we considered foes were once men who had the misfortune of running afoul of a Demon Ancestor determined to enslave them. Beneath the fur and skin, we all shared a common origin.
I knew peaceful coexistence was possible. Difficult, but possible.
“Between Walbourg to the south, beastmen tribes to the north, and the rebel Regent to the west, we’ll soon fight a war on all fronts,” I argued. “We need to negotiate peace with at least some of these parties, or else we’ll push them into the Demon Ancestors’ arms. And yes, Your Majesty, that includes the beastmen.”
“With all due respect, Lord Robin, you do not know the northern tribes,” Duke Sigismund replied with great calm and a touch of condescension; the kind that experts liked to give the uninitiated. “As Stonegarde’s custodian, I’ve fought them half my life. They are hardly a step above animals when it comes to bloodthirst and ferocity.”
“Those we captured are intelligent enough to answer my questions,” Cortaner commented dryly. A sickening crack echoed under the war tent as his armor’s spikes finally managed to put his arm back into place. “Do not let your prejudices blind you to facts, Duke Sigismund.”
“It is not their intelligence that I doubt, Lord Inquisitor, is it their aptitude for moral behavior.” Duke Sigismund sighed. “We’ve tried to make peace before, Lord Robin. Two decades ago, I raised beastmen ruts in my household. I had my retainers teach them our language, culture, and even science in the hope of building understanding between our people. They fled at the first opportunity and turned this knowledge against us in future raids.”
“A few rotten trees do not represent the forest,” Soraseo said with wisdom.
“These trees were watered with grievances since birth, Lady Soraseo,” Duke Sigismund argued. “The northern tribes teach their young that we stole their lands, that we are weak, that we deserve to die. Warlords gain a following among them by promising raids and retribution. They have no incentive to change their ways.”
Roland cleared his throat and all gazes turned on him. “I understand your concerns, Robin, but the beastmen are a long-term problem. For now–”
“You are wrong,” Cortaner boldly interrupted the prince.
While Roland’s retainers glared at the Inquisitor for his disrespect, the prince simply clenched his jaw and asked, “How so?”
“I am well-versed in beastmen dialects, so prisoner interrogations proceed apace,” Cortaner stated, much to my surprise. While it helped in his work, few humans ever bothered to learn these languages. “The tribe that attacked us answered to a certain Zharkov.”
Roland’s tent exploded in murmurs at the name. Even Roland squinted in worry.
“Zharkov?” I repeated. “Zharkov Iron Tusk?”
Cortaner met my gaze. “You know him?”
“He’s a boarkin warlord who led a failed incursion during the year of my birth.” From what I heard, I was born the day his troops retreated, which my parents took as a sign of good luck. “He’s been a security threat to Archfrost for decades.”
“Zharkov has tried to federate beastmen tribes for decades now,” Duke Sigismund added with a grim look. “I was considering a preemptive strike against the beastmen before this conflict reared its ugly head.”
“He is about to become a major concern,” Cortaner stated sharply. “He intends to march south in the Lord of Wrath’s name.”
A general snorted ruefully. “An empty threat. The beastmen have never managed to breach the northern mountains since we completed the Stonegarde fortress. They will find no river to sneak through, no hole to crawl into its ramparts of steel and stone.”
Duke Sigismund wove his fingers together under his chin. “I left a sizable garrison when I left Stonegarde. Ten or ten thousand, no beastman army will pass. It would take a miracle for the fortress to fall.”
Soraseo’s hand clenched on her sword’s hilt. “Or a Demon Ancestor.”
A tense silence fell onto the assembly. Generals and knights exchanged glances, none of them daring to speak up as if afraid to invoke a curse.
None was more unsettled than me. Now that Daltia confirmed the Demon Ancestors possessed the power of their main classes and its vassals, I now had a healthy fear of what Belgoroth could achieve.
Soraseo’s class granted her an innate understanding of movement to the point she could sense incoming projectiles and react faster than the wind; while the Knight mark empowered Roland with superhuman strength and the ability to master any weapon he touched. When combined with the Cavalier’s ability to master any mount, this painted the portrait of an unstoppable warrior.
The Lord of Wrath may very well succeed where armies of beastmen failed. He could probably breach Stonegarde on his lonesome.
Roland rose to his feet. “Leave me, my lords,” he ordered his retainers. “I must confer with my fellow heroes.”
I eased myself into my seat as Duke Sigismund and the rest obeyed without arguing further. All of them could notice the barely suppressed anger in the kind prince’s voice… and the absence of his once-trusted squire at his side.
No one had dared to comment on it. At least, not to their prince’s face. I suspected rumors were already spreading like wildfire.
In fact, Roland immediately questioned Cortaner on the subject. “Have you interrogated Minister Leclerc? Does he know where his…" The prince's hands tightened into fists. "Where his employer is?"
"He does not," Cortaner replied bluntly. "The man was no more than a decoy meant to distract us."
"He tried to assassinate Therese during the battle though," I said. "Thankfully, the guards tasked with his surveillance caught him before he could go very far."
Speaking of Therese, I wondered how she was doing. She had taken it upon herself to oversee and comfort the battle's wounded. A kind move, and a sharp public relationship ploy.
"My interrogation confirmed our hypothesis that our foes sealed their memories in objects to avoid detection," Cortaner reported. “Leclerc stored his own in his wedding ring. He only had to take it off to forget his true allegiances."
"His wedding ring." Roland's expression soured even further. "Another lie on a pile of them.”
“He no longer has the luxury of lying to me," Cortaner replied. The Inquisitor's voice remained as stern as usual, but I detected a hint of relish in his tone. Since Leclerc had managed to fool his power once, he probably enjoyed turning the situation around. "I have extracted a list of Knot agents he promoted among your royal administration and compiled arrest warrants."
“Make those execution orders, and you will have my signature,” Roland declared with a baleful glare.
Cortaner held the prince’s gaze. “We need them alive to denounce their own accomplices and uproot the entire network."
You know something is wrong when Cortaner is the one arguing for mercy, I thought. Sebastian’s fresh betrayal had hardened our Knight.
“Now is not the time for heads to roll, Roland,” I pointed out.
A flicker of fury played on Roland’s face. “You wanted to take Sebastian alive at all costs, and look where it led us.”
“To your survival?” I retorted frankly, holding my ground. “I regret nothing. We did our best with minimal information and facing unforeseen consequences.”
“You have no lessons to give, foolish Knight,” Cortaner said harshly. “You remained blind to your squire’s duplicity for too long and your kingdom nearly paid the price for it.”
Roland recoiled as if he had been slapped, his mouth tightening. Marika glanced at Cortaner in disapproval.
“That was a bit harsh,” she scolded him.
“His actions last night nearly cost us the Knight class.” Cortaner crossed his arms. “We are lucky that Robin’s quick thinking prevented this hard-won victory from turning into an unmitigated disaster.”
Roland slouched in a chair with a gloomy look. He did not defend himself, so Soraseo stepped in to do so.
“Mistakes are easy to make and hard to atone for,” she said, her sharp features softening. From her tone, she spoke from experience.
“That does not excuse them,” Cortaner replied, his spiked armor reflecting the sunlight filtered through the command tent’s entrance. “If you want absolution, go see the Priest.”
After sending a glance to Roland, who appeared torn between anger and grief, I decided to change the subject away from recriminations.
“There is another detail I would like to share with you.” Once I had commanded my allies’ attention, I grabbed Dolganov’s Devil Coin and flipped it in the air. "Would you believe me if I said I danced with the Devil under the moonlight?"
Cortaner immediately tensed. “The Devil of Greed?”
“Well, we did not dance,” I said. “But we did talk.”
I recounted to them what happened in the frozen time, away from any observer. I’d hesitated to share the details since Daltia clearly intended to sow disinformation between us, but I thought it best to remain truthful with my allies.
My fellow heroes listened to my tale mostly in silence, though Cortaner asked pointed questions. I felt his power take hold of me as he did so. His magic not only compelled me to answer him truthfully, but it also granted me enough clarity to recount every detail.
“A golden time between two seconds?” Marika rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “I’m sorry, Robin, but I have a hard time visualizing it… and if what she said about our marks is true…”
“Don’t tell me that you believe her?” Roland snorted scornfully. “She is the worst demoness of all. All she says are lies and calumnies meant to divide us.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “I don’t trust a word coming out of Daltia’s mouth either, so we should put all her assertions to the test.”
Cortaner observed me sharply. “What bothers me is how much she knew of you personally, Robin.”
“She felt… familiar somehow?” I still struggled to put my finger on why. “Not in the way we heroes recognize each other. I feel more like I’ve met her before.”
“You share a mark,” Soraseo pointed out. “It might let her gain an understanding of how you think.”
“Maybe,” I replied with a shrug. “It’s more likely she used her agents to gather information on me and then tailored her appearance to destabilize me. I’m not excluding any possibility yet.”
“Demons lie,” Soraseo insisted. “Why would she help you, Robin?”
Cortaner interrupted me before I could answer. “What is the worst kind of merchant?”
“That one that doesn’t deliver on their promises,” I replied with the utmost sincerity. Cortaner answered with silence. “You disagree?”
“The kind that lies?” Soraseo suggested.
Marika, a blacksmith and exorcist extraordinaire, offered a better answer. “War profiteers. Those who sell weapons to both sides.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Cortaner nodded sharply. “I suspect the Devil of Greed does not care which side wins, so long as they fight.”
I glanced at the Devil Coin. How many lives had this cursed item claimed before it reached Dolganov’s hands? The heartbeat of that… thing Daltia fed her claimed souls to echoed in my mind like a dire warning.
“She wants souls,” I muttered. “She’s harvesting them for something.”
“It may be that all her schemes are in the service of a greater plan,” Cortaner suggested. “The poor and the desperate sell their souls more easily than the rich and powerful.”
I didn’t miss the implications, and neither did Roland. We exchanged a brief look. The Knot of Greed might have helped the likes of Florence throw Archfrost into chaos not for any tangible political gain, but simply to push more fools into their patron’s gilded embrace.
“What is she feeding souls to?” Soraseo turned toward Marika, our resident expert on essence. “Another demon? A Blight?”
“I’m at a loss here,” Marika admitted. “This is way beyond my expertise. I’d need more details.”
“We should consult an expert like the Mage,” I suggested. “He might offer more insight.”
“Whatever the case, the Devil’s words change nothing,” Cortaner declared. “If you have complaints or questions about our marks, you can take them to the Fatebinder when she visits Archfrost.”
Marika turned to the Inquisitor. “Doesn’t it bother you that our classes may not come from the Goddess?”
“No,” Cortaner replied without any hesitation. “The Four Artifacts are the Goddess’ tools and representatives. Whether or not they made our classes, they derive from Her divine will nonetheless. Our mission remains the same.”
“I have agreeme—I agree,” Soraseo said while quickly correcting herself. “We stand for the people of this land. The demons fight for themselves. The war continues.”
Roland nodded slowly. “Our priority for now is to retake the capital. Lord Cortaner is right. Anyone who has doubts can take them to Lady Alexios.”
And I would be the first in line.
We split up afterward, with Cortaner going to continue with the interrogations while Soraseo and Marika would help with the Blight containment. I prepared to leave the tent after them when Roland gave me a look. “Stay, Robin.”
“When you ask so nicely,” I replied once the others had left. “What is it?”
Roland glanced over the table, grabbed the first cup he found, and threw it at my face.
He was fast and an excellent shot, but thankfully I saw it coming from a mile away. I epically dodged the vicious projectile by sidestepping it. Droplets of wine flew across the tent in what felt like slowed time. The cup bounced off the ground, its target unharmed.
“Very mature of you, Roland,” I quipped. “If you want to practice your aim, we’re better off playing darts.”
"The customary punishment for striking a prince is amputation." Roland glared at the hand I’d punched him with. "I could have it cut off for what you did to me."
“It would hardly last until sundown,” I deadpanned. “I’ll buy a new one on the cheap before you could say 'cut'.”
My insolence did not amuse Roland. “You don’t fear anything, do you?”
“You’re wrong,” I replied. “I was very afraid of what you were about to turn into last night.”
This shut him up, but only for a short instant. "Is that why you stopped me?" Roland stared at his mark. "So I would not stain it?"
"Partly." A single Belgoroth was already one too many. "But mostly because I wanted to save your life."
His scowl softened a little, though he did not thank me. His anger vanished and he slumped gloomily in his chair without a word. I recovered the cup he had thrown, grabbed another, and poured us both some wine. After a moment’s hesitation, Roland grabbed one and sipped his drink.
“My mother, the queen, is in the capital,” Roland prompted. "She and my uncle Clovis have had an affair. You know that?"
“I heard the rumors.” The queen and regent were notoriously in bed, in more ways than one.
“She will bear him a child in a few months.” Roland observed his sorrowful reflection in the wine. “A bastard of royal blood that she hoped to replace me with.”
He wasn’t yet eighteen years old, and yet he spoke with the defeatism of a broken warrior thrice his age. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
"That is why I left the capital in a hurry. I knew that if I stayed, my drinks and food would start to taste poisonous." Roland looked away. "It is Sebastian who convinced me to make a move in Snowdrift. A bold move."
“The right move,” I reassured him. “You’ll make a better king than your uncle.”
“That’s what I told myself too.” Roland shook his head. “I never wanted the throne. I love Archfrost, but I never wanted the throne. If you could see it, Robin. It’s the most uncomfortable chair I’ve ever sat on. I can’t fathom why so many would die for it.”
“I think you do, or you wouldn’t be fighting one of your uncles for it.”
“I have a duty to Archfrost,” Roland conceded. “Every other candidate for the throne is worse than I am. If I don’t take it, ruin awaits our country.”
“You can always sell it to me if you don’t want it anymore,” I quipped. “I’ll give you a friendly price for it.”
Roland chuckled, which I took as a good sign. However, unlike Alaire, he did not seriously consider my offer. He believed in his own destiny and duty to rule.
“I agree with you on the beastmen question,” he said. “I wanted to develop diplomatic relationships with them once I ascended to the throne.”
I squinted. “Wanted? Past?”
“I am tired of being betrayed, Robin. Whether by friends or foreigners.” Roland sighed. “I thought Sebastian would be the exception, but he only proved the rule.”
“It’s hard being lied to by those we trust.” I should consider myself lucky that Mersie hadn’t tried to kill me yet. “The pain makes it harder to open up to those who deserve it.”
“You were surrounded by snakes in Ermeline too, were you not?” Roland turned to me. “How did you manage?”
“With patience. I bided my time until I could gather all the evidence I required.” Though Mersie made that point moot when she killed them all anyway. “I met wonderful people who helped make my stay bearable. I do not regret anything.”
“Even the betrayals, the lies, the disappointments?”
“No.” I sipped my wine. “They made me who I am today. I’ve made a pretty good life for myself. I have wealth, I have friends, and I’m happy.”
Roland’s brows furrowed. “I want the same thing, Robin, but… each time I reach for friendship, I take a knife to the back for my trouble.” I shook his head. “I’m clearly not good at making friends.”
I scoffed. “I’m here, am I not?”
Roland relaxed a bit. “I suppose I do owe you my life.”
“May I offer a suggestion?” I played with my cup. “You should befriend the princess you’re supposed to marry instead of keeping her at bay. Therese will relate to your situation better than most, and she is trustworthy.”
“I can’t…” Roland frowned. “I won’t love her, Robin.”
“But you can respect her. That’s what she wants from you. No more no less.” I’d heard that from her own mouth. While I still believed they were better off marrying for love than for duty, I’d decided to stop projecting on them. It remained their decision. “I can’t guarantee you won’t be disappointed in the future when it comes to other people, but you must persist. A true friend makes up for a hundred false ones.”
Roland scoffed, but mulled over my advice nonetheless. The more I interacted with the young prince, the more I saw myself in him. I too had been constantly on edge in Ermeline, surrounded by liars or criminals. That kind of environment ate away at trust and morals alike.
Yet while I lied like I breathed, Roland was an earnest soul. He yearned for justice, for truth. I couldn’t let the spark of kindness inside him be extinguished.
“Do you think I can live up to it?” he asked me as he examined his mark once again. “To the Knight class?”
“I sincerely do.” And I suspected the Knots invested so much effort into sabotaging Roland precisely because of his potential. “Sebastian escaping is a loss, I won’t deny it, but we’re in position to retake the capital and nip this civil war in the bud. A costly victory is still a victory, Roland. The Knots left a mess, but we’re turning things around."
Roland glanced at the Blight on the map. “We paid too high a cost for this victory if you ask me. Belgoroth’s corruption has befouled the land.”
“Maybe not for long.” I set my cup aside and presented my plan. “If what Daltia told me about how perception influences our powers is correct–”
“A big if,” Roland complained.
“If she told me the truth, then if everyone believes you are Archfrost’s king, you should technically own everything on your territory,” I continued, ignoring his interruption. “Its people, its land… maybe even its woes.”
Roland’s eyes widened in astonishment. “I could sell away a Blight?”
“If people can sell away the diseases affecting them, why can’t a ruler trade away a curse affecting his land?” My power worked in extremely specific and often mind-blowing ways. “At least, that’s the theory. I can’t guarantee success.”
“Hence why you didn’t bring this up during the meeting.” Roland scowled at me. “Did you try to buy Snowdrift’s Blight?”
“Frankly, the idea didn’t even cross my mind then,” I confessed. “The Blight is such a big and pervasive phenomenon, I thought I would be better off trying to buy the weather.”
“You are not far off the mark,” Roland replied. “You have seen two Blight for yourself. They are calamities. I don’t think anyone can own one, no more than you can own an earthquake.”
“Maybe not,” I conceded. “But you still own the land on which they are located. I’ve successfully transferred nutrients from one plot of land to another with the correct contract. Who’s to say we can’t at least influence the Blight in a similar way?”
“Your plan will only work if everyone in Archfrost recognizes me as a king with the Goddess-granted right to dispose of his territory as he sees fit,” Roland pointed out with skepticism. “It won’t work even after my coronation. So long as Walbourg remains in open rebellion, my rule will appear shaky.”
Here lay the crux of the matter. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Roland,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But have you considered negotiating with Walbourg?”
Roland’s hand curled on his cup so tightly it started to crack. “Duchess Griselda and her supporters seceded under false pretenses and plunged our country into a war it still has yet to recover from. My father died trying to retake our land, Robin.”
“I don’t ask you to forgive Griselda.” Especially not now, not with Sebastian’s betrayal still fresh on his mind. “However, consider the fact that a certain third-party instigated this entire conflict, or at least facilitated it.”
“The Knots’ involvement is likely,” Roland conceded sternly. “However, no matter who started this war, Walbourg still waged it. Must I remind you that they sent soldiers to support my uncle?”
“And what fair-weather support it was,” I countered. “You’ve heard the messenger. The Walbourg reinforcements arrived late to the battle and avoided a fight.”
“They will not die for a doomed cause, no,” Roland conceded. “Instead they will hole up in their provinces while we weather Belgoroth’s storm.”
“They have as much to lose as we do if the Lord of Wrath descends on the country with an army of beastmen.” I hoped not to breach the next subject, but I saw no other way to help Roland see reason. “Don’t you think the Cavalier’s support of the rebels implies some of their concerns are legitimate?”
“She’s a mercenary,” Roland replied, though with a weaker voice than earlier. His own Vassal Class’ rebellion ate at him. “She fights for coins.”
“The Cavalier mark wouldn’t have chosen her if that was the case, and you know it,” I argued. “Besides, the new Druid is near Walbourg too. If Belgoroth escapes and leads an invasion from the north, then we’ll need both of them to repel him.”
Roland remained unconvinced. “My uncle allied with demons and gave one of them leadership over his army. If Walbourg was willing to fight at their side–”
“I don’t think Walbourg is aware of the Knots’ influence.” I couldn’t see any hero joining Walbourg to fight side-by-side with demons. Their own marks would likely have killed them on the spot for it. “You’re well-placed to know that demons hide in plain sight. Even my informants among our enemies hardly knew anything of the golems deployed last night, except that they were weapons used to kill the Druid.”
“They still chose to deploy them,” Roland replied, unimpressed. “Forgive me if I do not find the use of soulbound war machines marginally better than allying with fiends.”
He got me there, but I did not let it stop me. “All I’m saying is that they’re an unknown quantity and it is better to make them our allies than our foes,” I argued. “It wouldn’t cost us anything to send messengers and begin talks.”
I could almost see the gears turning in Roland’s head, the debate within his heart. A part of him resented the rebels for opposing his late father during the civil war and living to tell the tale; the other saw the blood on the wall and considered the good of Archfrost over his own.
The anger and the duty.
The former almost won out last night, but without Sebastian’s fresh betrayal on his mind the latter had regained its strength. It only needed a nudge to flourish.
“I’ve told you before, Roland. You don’t have to shoulder that burden alone.” I smiled at him. “I’m the Merchant. Fostering win-win deals is what I do.”
And truthfully, I would be more useful negotiating an agreement with Walbourg than on the frontline. The last battle confirmed I had little hope of matching the likes of the Monk or the Knight in combat… nor should I. My class was meant to create and distribute wealth, not death.
“I must say I admire your confidence, Robin,” Roland said after some hesitation. “But there is a difference between what is ideal and what is possible.”
“Peace is possible,” I insisted. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“I am not so certain,” Roland replied. “As my uncle Sigismund said, we’ve tried to make peace with the beastmen, but their leaders gain power by opposing us, so they have no incentive to change their ways; no more than the families of those they killed. The situation with Walbourg is no different.”
I crossed my arms. “If no one will move on from past events, we will never make progress.”
Roland glared at me. “Would you forgive Florence for spreading the plague that killed your parents?”
My back tensed like a bowstring. “These situations are not comparable.”
“They are,” Roland replied sternly. “Half my barons have lost someone in the civil war. If I cannot grant them the justice they want, they will follow someone who will.”
I understood his position, though it annoyed me greatly. The country was at war and Roland couldn’t risk alienating his supporters; especially with the risk of the Lord of Wrath barging in at our door.
However, his caution might cost us precious allies at best or earn more enemies at worst.
“I am not against a compromise, Robin,” Roland insisted. “However, I cannot tolerate Walbourg’s independence. Any treaty involving this possibility won’t do. Griselda will have to bend the knee one way or another.”
“You are asking for her unconditional surrender,” I said. “She won’t accept it.”
“Most of my generals would call for her head on a spike for her rebellion. I am already showing greater mercy than most.” The worst part was, Roland was probably telling the truth. “Compromises cut both ways, Robin.”
I simmered in my seat as I examined my options. Roland demanded nothing less than Walbourg’s reincorporation into the realm and its duchess to bend the knee again. Very restrictive conditions.
However, he was willing to avoid a war and maybe discuss other conditions. If I could prove to Griselda that the Knots were behind the civil war, I might bring her to the negotiation table.
The task ahead would be tough, but not impossible. I liked those odds.
“If I can hammer out a compromise that you can present to your supporters as a victory, would you sign it?” I asked him.
“If you think you can hammer out an agreement with the rebels that would please everyone, then be my guest.” Roland finished his wine and set his cup aside. “If you are set on the task, I shall send you to Walbourg as my ambassador. This thankless task shall be punishment enough for punching me.”
I struggled not to laugh. “You’re quite vindictive, my prince, you know that?”
Roland cracked a smile of his own. “I hold grudges.”
I kept forgetting that for all of his properness and regality, he was still a young man at heart. I could forgive him for acting childish now and then.
“Do not promise too much, my friend,” Roland warned me. “I won’t sign a treaty I cannot support.”
“Don’t worry,” I said while rising to my feet and flipping Dolganov’s Devil Coin. “My deals are fair.”
I would not disappoint him. Roland needed more victories and fewer headaches on his mind.
Moreover, he still called me his friend. Unlike a certain squire, I would live up to his expectations.
You will fail to divide us, Daltia, I thought as I exited Roland’s tent with the cursed coin in my hand. We’ll mend the land you and your comrades have divided.
I couldn’t wait for Eris to come and pick up the cursed coin. We had much to discuss on the matter of Daltia, and I missed her presence. I know we weren’t steady, but she did make me happy. Besides, it would help me if she could deliver a message to Alaire in Snowdrift. I had the intuition her father would soon visit her one way or another.
I had barely taken a few steps beyond the tent when I found Cortaner waiting for me.
“We need to talk,” he said with a tone that broke no discussion.
“About what, the beastmen?” I squinted at him. “Are you done interrogating them?”
“No. It is about the squire.” Cortaner stared at my Devil Coin. “There is a detail that bothers me.”
“How did he manage to get a hold of the coin?” I guessed. The same information escaped me. “I’ve no idea. Sebastian said that the Devil Coins find their way to their holders, but I don’t see any legs to carry them.”
“Someone slipped the coin to our target.” As usual, Cortaner ignored my quip. “However, Sebastian Leclerc remained under close observation since we left Snowdrift. I am certain he did not carry the coin before the battle started. Whoever gave it to him did so while escaping all detection.”
“It could have been teleported to his location,” I suggested. “My power allows for such things with contracts and delayed signatures.”
“I considered that possibility.” Cortaner crossed his arms. “However, the Devil’s familiarity with you makes me consider another hypothesis.”
Something in his tone bothered me. “Which one?”
“There is another person who could deliver the coin to our target undetected and disappear just as quickly.” Cortaner looked into my eyes, his own peering through his helmet. “A person who you are very close to.”
My fist curled around my coin. I immediately guessed who he was referring to. “That’s absurd. Her mark wouldn’t tolerate it.”
“We already know the classes can be circumvented.” Cortaner observed me warily. “In any case, I am merely informing you of my observations. It is only a possibility so far. Keep it in mind.”
“I will.” Though I considered it more likely that Daltia used a variant of my contract power to transport coins around. “But it’s quite the paranoid leap.”
“Now that my power has proved fallible, I must reevaluate previous testimonies and assumptions.” Cortaner turned his back on me. “And so should you.”
The more I interacted with that man, the more he got on my nerves. Especially when he had a point.
Question all my assumptions? Yes, if the Knots worked their way around Cortaner’s truth-telling power, they could have done the same with mine. What did Daltia say when I questioned her on the subject again?
“Forgive me if I do not expect honesty from you,” I remembered saying. “Unless you would sell me your ability to lie?”
“I have already done that.”
Did she mean that she had sold her ability to lie in general, or to me personally? If she meant the latter, then this narrowed down the pool of suspects quite a bit.
I raised the Devil Coin under the sunlight and examined it closely. Its wicked, skeletal grin reminded me so much of Daltia herself and a certain nun who enjoyed collecting them.
…
Eris always showed up to recover the Devil Coins.
I knew recovering the coins was her job, but now that I thought about it… her timing was almost supernatural. Soraseo mentioned encountering Eris before the two of us met. I remembered her telling me how she had killed a demon and the Wanderer arrived soon after to pick up his treasure.
Eris stayed with me in Ermeline until we slew Sforza, I thought. She appeared right after we slew Fenrivos, and warned us right as Florence and Chastel launched their assault on Snowdrift.
It didn’t bother me earlier, but now… now something felt amiss. How did she manage to arrive just in the nick of time? She teleported to my location right after my soul trade too. I would suspect the Fatebinder to receive an alarm, but the Wanderer? How could Eris possibly know I was about to corrupt my class by accident and arrive so quickly?
Our date too. The former Druid lost his life less than two hours after we split up. It could mean nothing… or everything.
“I’m becoming paranoid,” I muttered to myself as I studied the Devil Coin. “But someone is out to get us too.”
The coin’s ghoulish eyes flared with a red hue, taunting me.
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Next Chapter
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A/N: not too happy with this chapter honestly; been suffering from insomnia lately and I feel it impacted quality. But well, it's done.
Anyway, next chapter will be the Cortaner interlude. Should shake things quite a bit ;)
Comments
George R
Thanks for the chapter
Diego Urbina
You know...why has no one considered Eris is a Demon Ancestor? Like the Demon Ancestor version of the Priest? She would then have the Priest, the Wanderer and the Inquisitor's power right? Then again, I can't recall the whole story off the top of my head so maybe there's evidence against it.
