VoidHerald
patreon
Commerce Emperor Chapter 17: The Hill of Fire
🕑 Added 2023-07-27 07:38:37 +0000 UTCPrevious Chapter
-----------
There were many legends about how the Assassin’s power worked.
Some whispered that the Assassin required a person’s name and face, then determined the cause of death. A stroke, accident, murder… they believed the Assassin could kill anyone, anywhere, with the correct knowledge. Others believed Assassins put a marker on their target, a compulsion that when triggered sent the victim to the afterlife.
From what I could tell, the truth was much simpler.
If the Assassin touched their target, they died. The end.
My magical sight had witnessed it all. Mersie’s hand brushed against the werewolf’s back, and his essence—all of what made the beastman what he was—flickered out like an extinguished candle. It was as if someone had pulled a lever to halt a mill’s turn. It simply stopped.
“I should have known a demon would target the cathedral,” Mersie muttered before observing me closer. “Are you harmed, Robin?”
“Nothing more than scratches, but thanks.” Unlike Colmar, I still had my head on my shoulders. “Your assignment?”
“Taken care of,” Mersie replied. “No demons.”
Florence’s plan became clear to me. Since the north watchtower was still releasing its poison, I suspected most of the Knots’ demons had actually been deployed there. Florence anticipated us sending the Knight to deal with the first active pyre; with our strongest pinned down halfway across the city, she could release the gas in another location with less resistance.
The woman was clever, I had to give her that.
Mersie’s eyes squinted as she struggled to see through the smoke and noticed Colmar’s remains. “The Alchemist–”
“Should be fine,” I replied. I hoped so, at least.
Mersie gave me a strange look. Anybody else would have doubted my words, but she trusted me. Maybe more than I trusted her.
However, the bloodthirsty, furious look she sent Chastel upon noticing him—followed by one of the creepiest smiles I had ever seen—froze the blood in my veins. She had recognized him even in his demon form. She had probably seen his claws tear apart her family and retainers many years ago.
“Rescuing Alaire is our priority,” I reminded Mersie. Chastel still held her hostage, her arms twisted and broken. Florence had explicitly ordered her fiendish pet to keep Alaire alive, but as Soraseo said, demons lied.
“You take care of her,” Mersie replied, her smile unblemished. “I’ll distract Chastel.”
Or kill him, her tone implied.
We charged onward at the same time, perfectly synchronized. We knew each other too well. Still, Florence saw us coming, with flames swirling in her hands in turn.
“Strange,” Mersie muttered to herself. “It’s the first time we’re fighting together.”
“I would rather dance,” I quipped back.
“We’re still dancing, Robin,” Mersie replied, two throwing knives flashing from under her sleeves. “The dance of blades.”
Florence raised her hands to unleash blasts of fire at us, but Mersie threw her knives first: one at the apothecary’s eye, the other at Chastel’s face. One of the demon’s hands caught the projectile with lightning-fast reflexes. His mistress, however, did not possess the same agility. Mersie’s knife hit her mask’s glass goggle and shattered it. Florence let out a snarl of pain, her previously fiery hands moving to cover her mask.
Astonishingly, Chastel’s head snapped in his mistress’ direction with what could pass for concern. That was all Mersie and I needed to strike. My fiery dagger cut through Chastel’s hands like butter. The monster shed no blood, nor did I feel much resistance. It was as if he had neither flesh nor bones under his skin.
In any case, it forced him to drop Alaire. I grabbed her before she could hit the ground and swiftly retreated a few steps back.
"Alaire?! Alaire, are you well?!" When I received no response and checked her pulse, I realized Alaire had passed out. The pain from having her arms broken, not to mention the smoke and gas, had caused her to faint.
Meanwhile, Mersie engaged Chastel in melee. She dodged a quick strike aimed for her hand, grabbed the demon's arm with both hands…
And nothing happened.
Chastel did not drop dead, nor did my magical sight notice any change in his essence. Mersie blinked in bewilderment before jumping back before Chastel could counterattack.
“I’m afraid I have no soul to take, dear Assassin,” Chastel apologized, his tone utterly insincere. “As I said: no cheating.”
It didn’t take me long to figure out how the Assassin’s power worked. Mersie’s touch magically severed the bond between an individual’s body and their soul. The latter moved on to the Soulforge for reincarnation while the former dropped dead, a husk emptied of all life and essence.
However, becoming a demon involved selling one’s soul to the Devil of Greed and letting their evil fill the void. There was no soul to send to the Soulforge since another already laid claim to it.
In a way, the person was already gone. The demon was simply a reanimated corpse, the rotting echo of a departed fool. All the good—if the likes of Sforza and Chastel ever held that in their heart—had left this world, and only their sins lingered behind.
“Good,” Mersie replied coldly. New knives flashed out of her sleeves, one for each hand. “I wanted to take my time with you.”
“Is that so?” Chastel asked mirthfully. “I guess that makes two of us then.”
He once again turned invisible and vanished from sight.
Mersie didn't appear surprised. She closed her eyes and bent slightly. I watched her roll to the side right before marks of laceration appeared on the spot where she stood.
She has rehearsed this fight for half of her life, I realized while leaving Alaire behind a pile of rubble, away from the flames and fighting. Mersie had seen Chastel in action before and learned her lesson.
Unfortunately, she wasn't facing one opponent. Florence removed the dagger stuck in her mask, her shattered glass goggle revealed red blood dripping on her exposed, hateful eye.
I closed the gap between us before she could assist Chastel, my dagger so hot it hurt to wield it. She dodged a lethal blow, but my blade still carved a line across her chest. I cut through leather before feeling the resistance of metal underneath.
Why would a demon wear armor?
As I dodged a burst of yellow flames, I realized that at no point did Florence transform into a monster. The fact she felt the need to wear equipment to protect herself from her own chemicals in close quarters could only mean one thing.
"You're no demon," I whispered, confirming my earlier suspicions. "You're a werewolf. The kind that can pass for a human."
I heard Florence shrug behind her mask. "Does it matter?"
A great deal, yes. “I wonder why a demon would follow a mere mortal.”
I heard Chastel laugh behind me. “There is nothing mere about Milady.”
I turned my head to see empty air behind me. I still stepped to the right on instinct, a reaction that saved my life. Invisible claws lashed at the metal plate covering my chest and penetrated deep enough to reach the clothes underneath.
“Don’t you see the beauty of her soul?” Chastel asked me, his grin briefly becoming visible amidst the smoke. “The frightful rage born of sorrow? It fascinates me.”
Florence appeared to flinch for a brief instant, before attempting to flank the Assassin with a burst of flames. Mersie acted quicker and threw another knife at her. Florence saw it coming this time and the two ladies swiftly started exchanging projectiles.
“I cannot muster the strength to hate anyone…” Chastel continued to ramble. I kept backing off, sensing his approach but unable to ascertain his position. “Come to think of it, I do not care much for anything. But Milady…”
Keep rambling, I thought while focusing on Chastel’s voice. It will be the end of you.
I heard a chuckle to my left. “She inspires me to do my very best.”
I sensed claws surging through the air. I swung my dagger in their rough direction, my blade cutting through something I couldn’t pierce. Phantom fingers closed on my arm’s armored protection, tearing off steel and leather alike. Another visible claw grazed my cheek deep enough to draw blood. Chastel might have gutted me had he been any closer.
Mersie wasn’t having any more luck. Florence had summoned a wall of flame around herself to keep the Assassin at bay, and though her apothecary equipment had taken hits, none of them threatened her combat effectiveness.
“Those flames won’t protect you forever,” Mersie taunted Florence. She paced around the fire, trying to find an opening.
“I do not fear a thief,” Florence replied with contempt. She waved her hands, manipulating the essence in the air the way only an experienced witchcrafter could. “You vassal heroes should never have existed.”
To Mersie’s astonishment, Florence’s essence caused the wall of fire to advance toward her foe. It was quite the feat of witchcrafting; I could hardly channel the poison from the berserk gas into my dagger, but Florence managed to alter an elemental force of nature without the help of runestones or a hero’s mark. Only those who had undergone the Second Awakening and extensive training could achieve a similar feat.
My ex-lover deftly backflipped—Mersie had always been quite… flexible—closer to me. Before we knew it, we were fighting back-to-back, flanked from both sides by an invisible demon and a wall of fire.
“They’re tough,” Mersie conceded. “Any suggestions, Robin?”
“Let’s take out one and then the other,” I replied. It would be so much easier once one of them bit the dust. “Florence is no demon, so your power should work on her. It will lure Chastel to you.”
Mersie nodded in confirmation. We separated to avoid a fireball thrown at us and immediately moved on to attack Florence by flanking her from two sides. We ran around her wall of fire, forcing Florence to split her attention.
Mersie stopped midway through her course to throw a knife at empty air. It appeared Chastel had chosen to focus on her over me after deeming the Assassin a greater danger to his mistress. Worse, it appeared Florence shared her associate’s opinion.
“Your mark is not meant for battle, Robin,” Florence chastised me while channeling fire through her gas mask’s filter. “What do you hope to accomplish here?”
“I admit I’m more comfortable counting coins than dueling an experienced mage like yourself,” I confessed while closing the gap between us. “Still, what kind of hero sits around while his city threatens to burn?”
Florence welcomed me with a blast of searing flames. Yet no matter how much she tried to mimic a dragon, she lacked their power. I had no issues running circles around her, waiting for her to need to catch her breath.
“Your class is fake, Robin,” Florence ranted, each word carrying berserk fire. “A counterfeit. A pale imitation of the Goddess’ true gift; shackled and restrained. Do you truly believe the likes of the Alchemist and the Artisan exist to support you, Robin? Quite the contrary. Their classes dilute yours.”
While I focused on the fight first and foremost, I did listen to her words. The memory I had glimpsed through my mark flashed back into my mind: that of people turned to gold at a tyrant’s mercy. That would be a gross abuse of the Alchemist’s power, twisted and wrong.
“Now it is up to us to continue the holy work,” Florence declared. She finally stopped to catch her breath, offering me an opening. “To purify this sinful world in the name of its true inheritors.”
“Is that what it is all about?” I pointed my dagger at her mask. “You’ll tear apart this kingdom so your followers and the northern beastmen can take it for themselves?"
“They deserve this land more than its current inhabitants for certain,” Florence replied with contempt, while struggling to dodge my dagger stabs. Since her chest was protected, I started aiming for the neck. “What did humans do with this kingdom other than stain it with blood? Greed, cupidity, and bigotry are the order of the day in Archfrost.”
She joined her hands and widened them into a wall of flame. I had no choice but to take a step back and run around it to avoid being charbroiled. I glanced towards Mersie and found that neither of us made any progress. Mersie threw knives at thin air and moved away to avoid invisible blows. Her hearing had to be incredibly sharp to sense Chastel’s blows coming through this chaos.
"Have we met before, dear Assassin?” Chastel's voice echoed around the plaza. “You seem to have come prepared."
I noticed Mersie’s hands tightening their grip on her weapons. “Does the name Salvadoreen mean anything to you?”
“Ah, yes, yes, you mean that party in Goldport? Such a posh gathering, the guests were so magnificently dressed.” Chastel’s shape briefly became visible through the smoke. While his camouflage was perfect, he remained a physical creature displacing dust in his wake. “Especially the lord of the house. I loved his leathered boots so much I bought another set for myself.”
The taunt… no, scratch that. I knew taunts, breathed them even. This wasn’t a taunt, or even an act of malice. I could tell that from Chastel’s nonchalant tone. The monster had slaughtered so many innocents they had all started to blur together.
The one detail he remembered from massacring Mersie’s entire family was how he liked her father’s boots.
Obviously, Mersie didn’t take it well. She suddenly traced a thin line along her arm with a snarl, drawing blood, before throwing the knife at Chastel. The demon caught it in midair before it could hit his head off course… and stained his own fingers with Mersie’s blood. The stain floated in the air, marking the demon’s position.
“Oh, I see,” Chastel noted. His attempts to rub the fluid off his hand only caused it to spread further. The traces were faint, but enough to help Mersie identify her foe’s current location. “Clever, clever.”
I would have congratulated Mersie on her quick thinking if I wasn’t too busy avoiding bursts of fire aimed at my head. What Florence lacked in aim and combat training, she more than made up for in power and fury. She lit up braziers and seared the cobblestones around us with utter disregard for her own safety. Her gloves had long turned to ash, revealing hands stained with burns.
“You think serving Belgoroth will bring you anything but pain, Florence?!” I managed to get close enough for a swing at her throat, ripping out the leather protecting it and leaving her neck exposed. Not deep enough to slash the flesh below though. “I saw him when the Blight manifested. He’s fury incarnate. He’ll kill and kill, until everyone and everything is dead.”
“Good,” Florence replied coldly.
Her response caught me off-guard, which nearly cost me my life. Florence’s fiery left hand lunged for my face, intent on melting my skull. I barely managed to stab her palm before it could reach me, the sheer heat causing my gloves to catch fire. Her other hand immediately tried to unleash a burst of flames in close quarters, but I managed to grab her arm and force it up, causing her fireball to go flying above our heads.
Yet Florence kept pushing me, trying to get her hands close enough to my head to land a killing blow. I was stronger than her, but it was hard to maintain a grip when her uniform was half ablaze! My skin burned beneath my gloves.
“All Lord Belgoroth does is strip away the lie,” Florence hissed with maddened eyes. “You’re a bright child, Robin. You’ve seen the real face of humanity, the savagery festering under the slum-infested cities and pretty castles!”
“Yes, I have…” I gritted my teeth while trying to push her back. I channeled whatever essence I could into my dagger. “It’s why I’m cutting it out rather than letting it fester like you do!”
“Your efforts are for naught, Robin! You may be able to sell and buy anything, but you will never change human nature!” I saw flames build up within Florence’s filter. Curses, she intended to breathe fire in my face. “You were meant to help us, not fight—”
Florence froze, her head snapped to the side. She had sensed a presence closing in.
Colmar’s headless corpse had silently risen behind her.
There was no bone to support his apothecary apparatus, no blood pumping out of his severed neck, no flesh underneath the leather and steel. Only dust and a gaping emptiness previously hidden from the world.
It’s one thing to expect it, I thought, only half-surprised, and another to see it.
“What–” Florence managed to say before Colmar’s hands slammed against her apothecary outfit. My friend’s magic traveled through her clothes, turning leather into cold stone. I removed my searing dagger from her hand as she found herself trapped within her own uniform.
Florence raged and screamed, but her flames could not melt stone. She was trapped inside her own unmoving apparatus.
“Robin!”
Mersie’s warning caused me to turn around just in time to see a floating red spot of blood rushing at me. Chastel, realizing his mistress was now in danger, had abandoned Mersie to rescue her. My friend raced after him, but the demon was quicker.
I only had seconds before Chastel reached us, so I put them to use.
Remembering what happened when I stabbed the werewolf earlier, I infused my already unstable dagger with the nefarious essence suffusing Florence’s gas. Cruel poison and wrath seeped into my weapon. I grit my teeth as I struggled against the pain of holding it.
“Get down!” I shouted at everyone, Mersie first and foremost.
I threw my dagger.
I wasn’t as good a shot as Mersie, but the bloodstain on Chastel’s hands made for the perfect target. The blade sang as it raced through the air before ending its course in the middle of the plaza. I heard it hit something—one of Chastel’s hands, or hopefully his head—and then a flash of bright light followed.
The weapon exploded in a mighty burst of berserk flame.
The blast threw me back among the dust and the ashes, tossed Florence onto her back, and caused Colmar’s remains to stumble. Mersie managed to rush to the ground upon hearing my warning.
As for Chastel, the blast tore him apart.
The demon became visible again upon destruction, so I saw all the grisly details. A hundred charred hands flew in countless directions amidst a rain of burned blood. Chastel’s head was severed from the cloak of fur that made up his body and tumbled among the ashes.
“Is…” I coughed smoke and ashes, my ears hurting. I heard a buzzing sound echoing in the back of my head. “Is everyone alright?”
“I am,” Mersie replied while rising back to her feet. “How did you… how did you do that?”
“I improvised,” I replied before moving to check on Colmar. The apothecary’s decapitated remains stood still next to his own severed head. “Are you… in there?”
“I am well.” Colmar’s voice came from his severed head, which his body picked up under one arm. The sight sent shivers down my spine. It was as if he had done it before. “What about Florence?”
It said something about Colmar that appeared more concerned for his enemy’s health than his own. Nonetheless, I moved to check on Florence anyway. She was still trapped inside her petrified costume, raging against her prison and yet unable to escape it. Blasting her way out meant suffering from a deadly recoil.
Good, she’s still alive, I thought. We couldn’t interrogate the dead after all.
“My, my,” a familiar, wheezing voice said, “this is quite the pickle…”
Speaking of the dead, I glanced at Chastel’s remains, utterly gobsmacked.
The demon’s severed head lay near his petrified mistress, the left half torched enough to reveal gilded bones under his fur. Chastel was missing everything beneath the jaw, including lungs, and yet I heard him breathe. His vicious little eyes glanced at his own bloody remains with the same eerie nonchalance he had shown us time and time again.
He’s still alive. I could scarcely believe it. The blast had torn him apart, and yet Chastel’s soulless spirit lingered in this world. But not for long.
If his wounds didn’t claim Chastel’s life soon, Mersie would. She grabbed the demon by the ears with a furious look, a knife in hand.
Even so, Chastel showed no fear in the face of death. He utterly ignored Mersie and instead glared at Colmar, who had switched to extinguishing the fires by turning stones and rubble to ice.
"My, my, and the priests call us abominations," Chastel mused. How he could speak without lungs was beyond me; though I could say the same for Colmar. "The cauldron calling the kettle black I suppose."
Except Colmar worked tirelessly to save lives while Chastel dedicated his existence to taking them. Quite the difference.
Mersie forced Chastel to look at her. Her beauty was twisted in an expression of cold rage. "You don't remember me at all."
“I do my heart’s best to remember all my victims, but no, I do not remember you,” Chastel replied. “I am truly sorry.”
The creepiest part was that he almost sounded sincere.
“Fifteen years ago, you and your acolytes broke into my family’s home.” Mersie raised her knife up to Chastel’s remaining eye. “There was a blonde girl, five years old. You thought she was me.” She applied the blade to the eyelid. “So you tore her apart.”
She stabbed Chastel in the left eye.
Though I held no love for the fiend, I winced a bit at the sight. Blackened blood poured out of Chastel’s skull and dripped down his burned cheek. Another man might have tried to stop her, but I had spent years plotting vengeance against Sforza. Some people deserved to die for the good of everyone else.
“You tore her apart with your filthy claws,” Mersie hissed, her voice dripping with fifteen years’ worth of venom and hatefulness. “A child of five. Sarah. My friend. You murdered her.”
Chastel didn’t scream as she twisted the blade.
He didn’t laugh, or whine, or beg, or react. His remaining eye stared at Mersie while the other bled, unblinking, amused.
Mersie’s jaw clenched in fury. The demon appeared determined to deny her any catharsis in his final moments.
“You murdered her while your acolytes killed my father and mother,” she spat at the fiend.
“I am sorry, my fair lady,” Chastel apologized with all the sweetness of rancid butter. “I shouldn’t have separated you from your family. If I could, I would send you to join them this very instant.”
“No, you won’t. But before you go to whatever hell your pact with the Devil of Greed condemned you, you will tell where to find your last acolyte.” Mersie moved her blade to his other eye. “I’ve managed to track down everyone present that night over the years. Every last one of you beasts. All except one."
She started tracing a line around the remaining eye with her knife.
"One-eyed,” Mersie said, her voice colder than ice. “White-haired. Knife thrower."
"Ah, Chronius?" Chastel chuckled, unimpressed by the threats. “It does not surprise me. He’s retired, you know? He exchanged his weapons for tools and blood for a farm.”
I scoffed. “One does not retire from your kind of organization.”
“They do, if they agree to keep their mouths shut,” Chastel replied calmly. “Yes, we let the old chap go. But we’ve kept an eye on him since.”
Mersie pushed her knife against Chastel’s head, emphasizing each word of her question. “Where. Is. He?”
“You’ll find him in Wisepeak, my fair lady, if you’re so eager to die,” Chastel taunted her. “Chronius is a better killer than I am. Truly a master of his craft. He’s not the kind of blade that rusts with time.”
Wisepeak? I struggled to believe it. Wisepeak was a center of learning in Erebia, infamous for, among other things, hosting the Inquisition’s training grounds. I could hardly imagine why a former cultist would start a new life there.
Except, perhaps, to make sure his old associates would think twice about pursuing him, I figured. Interesting… I wonder what’s the story behind it.
“Good.” Mersie dropped Chastel’s head onto the ground. “And now… you will die.”
“I sense much anger in your heart, young woman.” Chastel chuckled. “You would have made a good member of the Knots–”
Mersie stomped his skull under her foot, shattering it. Red mist consumed Chastel’s remains, until only a familiar, ghastly coin remained. I seized it and put it in my pocket. Eris would appreciate the gift.
As for Mersie… she stared at the horizon with a hollow expression. Only now that Colmar had extinguished the flames did I realize the northern tower was gone. Smoke rose where it once stood. Had Roland cast the whole place down to extinguish its pyre?
“Wisepeak,” Mersie muttered to herself. Her hand played with her knife; flipping it up and down as if she imagined throwing it on a moment’s notice. “Wisepeak. He’s in Wisepeak.”
The mad glint in her eyes worried me. I had seen it before when we last met at my home, when she recounted the slaughter she had witnessed in her childhood. It was the same rage that animated Florence.
“Mersie?” I asked, my voice hardly carrying over the wind. She turned to face me, smiling sadly. “Did it give you satisfaction?”
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.
She probably meant it, or at least desired for it to be true. I had no room to judge her, but somehow I had the gut feeling her suffering had only begun. It bothered me.
Now was not the time to discuss this, however. We still needed to restrain Florence and treat Alaire’s wounds. Colmar had moved on to do the latter after affixing his head to his shoulders. When I found him applying bandages to Alaire’s arms, a thin line surrounded his neck. From what I could gather, he had used his power to glue back his severed mask the best he could.
Colmar looked up when he sensed me approaching. Our eyes met, mine made of living matter and his of glass. I had seen nothing other than dust inside his head. Dust and memories.
He’s old, I thought. For even his bones to have decomposed… he has been walking the earth for at least a century.
“You knew,” Colmar said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He sounded a little relieved that I hadn’t rejected him outright.
“I suspected it,” I replied calmly. “How did it happen?”
Though Colmar did not breathe, he made a whizzing sound while tightening Alaire’s bandages. “I told you, Robin,” he said grimly. “There was once an apothecary who thought he could save everyone from the plague… until one day he realized everyone was dead.”
Colmar looked at the corpses on the plaza. Most were our enemies, yet they would haunt him all the same.
“Even himself,” he whispered.
----------
Next Chapter
Comments
Pierre Steiner
Honestly battles are one of the hardest parts of a story to write in my experience as a reader, there is so much to consider, so much precision work and details to sprinkle everywhere. I would rather the context and plot advancements linked to said battle be flawless and logical, not forced or otherwise unbelievable, than the battle to be perfectly executed and every move to be well polished. I think this one falls very clearly in the first category : if a few minor details might benefit from being more subtly introduced, it's way more than good enough
Void Herald
Thank you :)
George R
awesome story
