BlueShear
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Chapters 13-14
🕑 Added 2024-10-07 04:57:21 +0000 UTCThe city lord’s office was an exercise in self-delusion. Like a prince making to disguise himself as one of the unwashed masses, who couldn’t fathom the idea of shedding the creature comforts of home, the room exclaimed it was one thing, but very clearly was another. It was no secret that the man had been relegated to his current position from one on high—in the esteemed employ of some duke or another from the kingdom’s capital.
Something Jun knew simply didn’t happen unless you royally messed up. And so, it was almost in spite of that fact that the man in front of him insisted on flaunting his wealth, well, basically every chance he got. What meager wealth he still owned, that was, cut off from his family’s coffers as he was. Though, instead of refined antiquity, like what might’ve been seen nearer the capital, his office decor fell more in line with the frontier aristocracy. Attempting to claim status through a showing of strength. An effort that’d been met with… limited success so far.
Many of the sealed exhibits lining the walls displayed delicately engraved weapons—made in a facsimile of the frontier style—taxidermied spirit beast heads, and armor made from beast parts. Though, even to inexperienced eyes, they didn’t come off as all that impressive. The swords appeared thin and brittle, the armor was clearly meant solely for decoration, and the beast heads mounted proudly on the walls were so large as to make the thought that the city lord had any part, whatsoever, in their retrieval, ludicrous to the point of outright absurdity.
Jun doubted the man had ever even held a bladed weapon, let alone took any part in slaying the beast whose singular tusk was larger than his entire body was long. A man after his own heart in that way, he supposed, though Jun never claimed to be anything more than what he was: a merchant. Whereas this man was rather adamant the world see him in a very particular light.
“Ah, there you are. So nice of you to grace us with your presence. I’m sure you must’ve been awfully busy with… whatever it is you do. My apologies if this scheduled appointment with your city lord proved too much of an inconvenience for you.”
The city lord—a plump, round faced man with an unfortunately large nose and a voice reedy enough to be mistaken for a young boy’s—did not rise to greet Jun as he entered his office. Instead choosing to maintain his rigid, straight-backed posture—pudgy fingers, sheathed in gaudy rings, steepled before him. As if he were a headmaster reprimanding a troublesome student.
The lord smiled thinly, though Jun could clearly see the flickers of outrage barely held in check. The man, petty to a fault, pointedly refrained from inviting Jun to sit. That said, he didn’t let something so trivial as propriety stop him. At that moment, he was in no mood for games. He was obligated to attend the city lord, not go along with his every whim. Plopping himself into the vacant chair across from the lord, he responded.
“Apology accepted, city lord. Is there a specific reason you’ve called for me?”
For the briefest of moments, a look of unrestrained fury consumed the city lord's features, before it vanished just as quickly as it’d come—leading Jun to almost believe he’d imagined it. In hindsight that was probably the moment when he should’ve bottled up his anger and let things lie.
Normally he wouldn’t have dared to act out so brazenly. He acknowledged that there were a great many things this man could do to make his life more difficult after all. In all of their previous encounters he’d applied the appropriate amount of tact, and, generally, brown-nosed with the best of them. Now though? He had far more pressing concerns on his mind than the injured pride of one arrogant man. When the city lord replied it was with a voice strained by tension, as if he was actively forcing himself not to shout.
“Yes. As it so happens, I do have cause. It’s regarding the matter of the elysian crystal mines. I really do believe it prudent we revisit the topic of further compensation-“
“Is that all?” Jun scoffed. “Please, we’ve already been over this. Unless something’s changed in the week since I last saw you, I believe it’s safe to say my father still owns the land. Seeing as it was my father who bought the land. From you, as it so happens, unless I’ve somehow misremembered things. Something no amount of negotiation after the fact will ever change.”
Truthfully, it was Jun’s land, bought and payed for. But, for a young boy with no real backing, the advent of a powerful man of “mysterious means” had helped to give many of his negotiation's credibility. It was an irritating reality that, without that buffer between him and the powerful, he would not have risen nearly as high, nor as fast, as he had—regardless of how competent his business sense was.
“You WILL NOT, speak to me in such a manner, boy! I do not care who your father is. So long as he is not here, I will be spoken to with the proper respect I am owed!”
The plump man punctuated each explosive statement with a thump of his fist on the table—each successive blow causing the desk to groan and splinter. Jun promptly checked himself. It was hard to remember sometimes that this man was a cultivator. That he was also a haughty, petty, and vain fool should’ve only served to make Jun more cautious, not less. Besides, it wasn’t as if it were his fault Jun was in such a dour mood. The looming threat of his mother’s possible abduction hung over his head like a guillotine blade. In that way, could he really be blamed for feeling stressed? That said, it would be foolish to take all that out on this man of no insignificant influence.
Jun made to bow his head in feigned apology. Only to find himself momentarily taken aback by just how much that simple act rankled. Thankfully his hair covered his face with the motion—hiding the ugly grimace that twisted his features. Normally biting his tongue and swallowing his pride came as naturally to him as breathing—it was often the most politic thing to do. Prudent. Wise. After all, what was a little pride in the face of progress? Even a single step towards his goals was worth any amount of kowtowing. Or so he’d believed.
Now though…? He wasn’t so sure. Suddenly, there was this icy pit at the center of his chest which rejected this reality with a fervor he couldn’t place. A cold hand which shoved back against what he could only see as pragmatic. A necessary action made inimical to his very existence by some strange instinct he didn’t fully understand.
“Apologies, city lord,” Jun managed through gritted teeth. “It has been quite the ordeal of a day, and my nerves are a bit frayed. I hope you can find it in you to forgive my impertinence.”
The man looked somewhat mollified at this obeisance. Jun had to strain to hold back a snarl.
“Yes, well,” the man cleared his throat. “I suppose a young man such as yourself must have all sorts of things that weigh down your mind at times. Gods know, running an entire city single-handedly is no small feat, let me tell you. I believe I can understand where you’re coming from. Though I would watch your tongue when speaking to your elders, boy. Not all of those you meet will be as forgiving as I.”
“Of course not, city lord,” Jun said—bowing his head again.
He didn’t know how the man failed to hear the grinding of his teeth.
“Now, back to the mention of further compensation. I truly do feel as though I’m owed a sizable portion of any of the profits made on this mining operation of yours. They were my lands to begin with after all, granted to me by his Royal Majesty King Alphonse the second, in all his unknowable wisdom.
“I would be remiss in my duties as city lord not to take full advantage of this new stream of revenue, don’t you think? Especially seeing as it represents a great opportunity for the elevation of Fort Mathis as a whole. Surely you must understand that the city’s needs must come first in these matters, no?”
And by city, he of course referred to his own personal coffers. Jun tried his best to maintain a civil tone.
“Excuse my forwardness, lord, but I must decline your generous request. I see no reason that the city cannot prosper as things stand. I’ve already spoken to the heads of the merchant's guild, the explorer's guild, and the laborer's guild respectively. And I can assure you that, not only does the status quo provide higher paying wages for the people of the city, but trade agreements are even now being drafted on our merchants’ end.
“By this time next year, our small outpost might very well become the single largest elysian crystal supplier this side of the Boundless Empire. I cannot see how such a precedent would be in any way detrimental to the city.”
The man smiled condescendingly, as though he were speaking to an ignorant child.
“Ah, but you see, that’s where you’re wrong. While, yes, it’s possible that the populous might stuff their pockets with a bit more coin in the coming weeks, that speaks nothing of the higher priorities. Infrastructure, upkeep, expansion for the gods sakes! These things are not cheap, I’ll have you know. And if we’re not careful, this “burgeoning industry” you’re creating could be preemptively crippled by poor city management.”
Jun bristled, his ire rising. From inside his jacket, Ivory trembled. Perhaps it was only his black mood that read the cause of her agitation as coming from a reciprocal anger.
“Is that a threat, city lord?”
“No! No. Of course not! Let’s just call it a… friendly warning. Too much focus placed on the wrong priorities can weaken the foundations of any endeavor. As a young man of business, you should already be well aware of that much, no?”
Jun breathed deeply, trying desperately to keep himself in check. It was irritating. It was infuriating. But perhaps he could stomach the cost. The sooner he could be done with this greedy lord, the sooner he could refocus on the things that truly mattered.
“And how much of a percent would this upkeep require, would you say?”
Jun could feel himself losing out to the storm of emotions raging within him. He hated to bow to this man’s demands. To anyone’s. This man was the same. They were all the same. He built and they took. He climbed and they shoved the ladder out from under him. If only because they could.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’d say… thirty percent sounds reasonable. A city can’t run on hopes and dreams after all,” he chuckled.
THIRTY PERCENT! Thirty percent on top of the rather generous tax he was already paying? Jun had to restrain himself from screaming. To understand just how criminal that was, one first had to understand how valuable of a resource elysian crystals were. And to understand that, one needed something of a grasp on how the frontier’s economy worked.
When one thinks of the frontier, it’s likely many things come to mind. Untamed wilderness, unparalleled dangers, but the most prominent of all had to be the near limitless opportunity. It was a place where lesser resources, labeled scarce by the greater cities of the empire, were no rarer than weeds in an unkempt garden. Beast parts and natural treasures abounded, while beast cores remained the very life blood of frontier society.
A highly valued commodity across the entirety of the boundless empire, they were the frontier kingdoms’ most lucrative export by far. The total accumulation of spiritual energies a spirit beast has amassed over the course of their often-prodigious lifespan, was it any wonder at all they were so highly sought after? For practical purposes, a beast core could be described as a very small, easily transportable battery which holds a great deal of potential energy.
Primarily bought and sold for their ability to power rune and inscription-based technologies, many convenient household appliances therefore rely almost entirely upon beast cores. The inscriptions which make up the circuitry for said devices—from spirit lanterns to your everyday baking ovens—only functional through the use of a special ink which incorporates powdered beast cores as a reagent. So universally versatile that they’ve long since become intrinsic to the idea of human comfort worldwide.
Which, of course, led him back to the matter of elysian crystals. The only resource known to man that, when ground down to a fine powder, is able to properly process the wild energies of raw beast cores. Essentially leading to a relationship where, without the beast cores, there is no power. But without elysian crystals, that power is nigh unusable.
“With all due respect, city lord, I feel I must decline.”
The man’s eyes widened, and the look of catlike satisfaction immediately slipped from his features. To be replaced by that flicker of incandescent fury he’d noticed earlier. Only this time, it didn’t appear to be going anywhere, anytime soon. The lord spoke in a sharp, clipped tone.
“I don’t think you know what you’re saying.”
“Oh, I believe I know very well what I’m saying.”
No, you may not have my money. No, you may not have my land. And no, you may not have thirty percent of my yearly profits you greedy oaf.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Jun continued. “I have other, more pressing business to attend to,” he said before he got to his feet and turned to leave.
“BUT IT’S MY GODS DAMNED MINE! YOU LIED TO ME YOU LITTLE BRAT!” the man exploded, no longer able to contain himself. “IF I HAD KNOWN ITS TRUE VALUE-!”
Jun turned sharply and cut him off there.
“Then you no doubt would have chosen differently! Yes! We’ve been over this! But what you still can’t seem to wrap your head around, is the fact that you didn’t, and now it’s too late! Hells, you didn’t even try to check! You were so blindly confident in your own stupidity that you just sold it to me, no questions asked. And, given how blatantly you overinflated the base price, I bet you even thought you were getting the better of the deal.
“I’m not sure about you, but I personally can’t help but think that’s—oh I don’t know—entirely your own fault? But hey, perhaps you can use this as a valuable learning opportunity. Maybe next time you’ll underestimate your own intelligence, and overestimate everyone else’s. You might find that things proceed far more smoothly that way.”
And with that, Jun left the room—slamming the door behind him, and leaving a slack jawed city lord to gape in his wake. The man far too stunned to even think of a response.
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Interlude
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An Eye for an Eye
Finneas P. Rowen & Nialla Tallvar: Mortal Avatar
“THAT LITTLE FUCKING-! THAT SNIVELING, GODS DAMNED-! AARGH!”
In a fit of rage, Lord Finneas snatched a hefty tome from atop his desk and hurled it across the room with all of the strength he could muster. With a succession of glass shattering, wood splintering explosions, the book easily careened through several display cases before eventually embedding itself in the furthest wall. In turn, any swords, bows, or ornately wrought armor pieces unfortunate enough to have found themselves in its immediate path were destroyed just as utterly as if they too were made of glass. Although so consumed by his anger was the city lord, that he barely even noticed the loss.
With two hands, he snatched up a resting decanter and threw it against the wall with another unintelligible scream. Upon contact, the vessel detonated—thoroughly splattering it, and just about everything else in sight. The city lords hunched shoulders rose and fell with every deep lungful of air. The pitter-patter of wine dripping down from the ceiling accompanied only by the crunch of breaking glass as he paced—desperately searching for something, anything, with which he might further vent his rage. He was just about to call for his assistant—thinking a round or two with a third ring beggar might be just what he needed to assuage his anger—when a soft voice interrupted his dark musings.
“Please forgive the intrusion, but I believe I might have something of interest to share with the lord,” came a young, feminine voice from an oddly shadowed alcove in the otherwise well-lit room.
The city lord nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. Though, despite the sickly unease worming its way through his gut, he didn’t allow for even the hint of worry to show in his reaction. One had to be very careful when dealing with the House of Ruination. You never truly knew what the mad cultists were thinking. That disrespectful employers have been known to expire on occasion—and rather gruesomely at that—just about as soon as their contracts did, was more than enough to incentivize civility. Quickly, he smoothed out his features, and then, ignoring the mess he’d made as if it weren’t even there, he turned.
Turned and nearly kicked himself for being such a damned fool. This was no world class assassin. It was just some brat. A filth smeared urchin who’d, by some unknown miracle, slipped past his security’s notice. Looking like she hadn’t bathed in several months—her hair so unbelievably matted, tangled, and greasy that underneath, the color could have been anything from a light brown to a wheat blond—she stood barefoot in his office, as if it were the most natural thing in the world! It was ridiculous! What did he pay his men for if not to prevent this very thing from happening! If those fools were too inept to keep out any old beggar child that wandered in off the street, then they didn’t deserve to breathe, let alone fritter away all his hard-earned money!
He was just about to say as much—to lay into this waif, his incompetent guards, and anyone else he even suspected of being responsible—when he met her eyes for the very first time, and the words he’d been preparing died on his lips. In an instant he understood that, standing next to this supposed “child,” he was likely in the most danger he’d ever been in his life. It was a truth so obvious once you looked past the grimy façade, that he wasn’t sure how it hadn’t been apparent from the very beginning. And with the way she’d simply appeared, with no one the wiser? Well, he could only conclude that he’d been correct the first time. What else could she be but an elite assassin from an upper tier guild? Having narrowly avoided complete and total disaster, Lord Finneas responded with as much dignity as he could manage.
“Is the deed done?” the city lord intoned, relieved to find his voice even and steady.
“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t say done so much as… incomplete, I suppose. As it stands, the request you’ve made has proven quite impossible.”
Silence reigned after this proclamation, as the city lord tried to decipher her words.
“And that’s… supposed to be good news? You said you had something of interest for me. Should I be overjoyed that you were unable to fulfill your end of the contract?”
No matter how hard he tried, the city lord couldn’t help the notes of exasperation that bled into his voice.
“Some is good. Some is not. Really, it depends entirely on who’s asking.”
The city lords jaw worked silently for a few long seconds.
“I’m asking! Obviously,” lord Finneas took a series of long, soothing breaths. “So, which is it then? We’re you able to put an end to the man or not? I would’ve thought a single person to be no match, given the resources your organization has at its disposal.”
“Oh! No. No, I have not killed him as it so happens. Though, neither is he alive. Our contract was annulled the moment it arrived. Is that not wonderfully ironic?”
The city lord froze as his mind raced with the possibilities.
“What are you saying?” though he was starting to suspect he already knew.
“I’m saying that my services are no longer necessary. Though, that should come as little comfort, since I’m now very certain they never were to begin with. I’m also sorry to say that, nowhere in its tenants, does the church reference anything even resembling a refund policy. Bad luck that. It was a clever trick, though, you must admit, that the man of your greatest enmity didn’t even exist.”
At first there was only blank confusion. And then a thrill of elation shot through his veins—so sharp and sudden that it was almost painful. His nemesis, that infuriatingly competent man, wasn’t just dead but he’d never even existed in the first place! The largest threat to his power base, gone up like a puff of smoke.
But wait a moment… how could that be? If the mysterious benefactor was fictitious, that would mean someone else had been calling the shots. But that didn’t make sense. Who, then, was spearheading operations? Not the boy, surely. Unless…? But no. That was ludicrous. What was he thinking! Of course, it couldn’t be him, because…? Well… because it was improbable to the extreme! Even if, by some miracle, the boy played a larger role than he’d first assumed, he had to have had backing of some kind.
With his long list of connections, as well as his improbable number of successes, he had to have had some help along the way. Finneas had been certain that the capricious upstart was the favored son of some Viscount, pampered Earl, or another—the scion of an esteemed and wealthy noble house. No mere child could have achieved so much in so short a time. It was impossible. Unthinkable. Preposterous. But…then again, he’d never known a member of the House of Ruination to lie. In fact, he suspected even insinuating as much would immediately land him on their list, free of charge.
As he mentally sped through the implications in his head, his hesitant grin blossomed into a victorious, toothy smile. If this was indeed true, he might’ve just found a way to retake what was his after all. And if things went to plan, he wouldn’t be forced to ask for a mere thirty percent of what he was rightfully entitled to. No, no, no. If things went as he intended, by this time next week…?
Oh, the look on the brat's face when he realized just who he’d crossed would be priceless. Before any of that, however, there were still preparations left to make. The city lord could already tell it would be a very busy day.
Calling out to his guard detail, the city lord turned and swept eagerly from his office. Practically skipping with a childlike delight, he never broke stride as his militia flanked him to either side. No matter what he tried, he found it nearly impossible to wipe the foolish grin off of his face. And so, after a while, he decided he wouldn’t bother. There was just cause for celebration after all. There would be a reckoning. Ooh, yes. Yes indeed. A reckoning. A reckoning! Yes sir. Oh my! A reckoning. A reckoning. A reckoning was nigh.
***
A reckoning. Nialla scrutinized the plump man’s retreating figure. That’s certainly one way of putting it.
Unbidden, a small giggle escaped her pale lips. An affectation of jubilance that didn’t otherwise crack her stony visage. Only when she remembered to will the phenomenon, did her face split wide into a toothy grin. This time, when the laughter bubbled up from her core, it came out unrestrained, unrelenting, and manic.
The sound cut off just as quickly as it’d begun—leaving the space somewhat hollower for its sudden absence. Human anatomy was really such a bother, she decided. So much inefficient spasming paired with unexplained redundancies. Still, she would have to work on that too, she supposed, if her many plans were to be realized.
And so, after giving the far corner a quick wink in farewell, and reveling in the burst of terror that ensued, it was with a deliberate twirl, skip, and girlish hop that the vessel housing the soul shard of Nialla Tallvar sank back into the other—the in between realm from which she’d first come. Her already muted presence vanishing in its entirety, as her body, fundamentally, ceased to exist.
***
From her precarious perch, wedged in the upper lefthand corner of the city lord’s office, Silvia Black—disciple of ruin, trained spy, and master assassin—nearly wept as the bead of sweat chose that moment to finally drip from her nose. Shuddering with every wave of relief that tore through her, she soon found her body tumbling after it in turn—all the will having suddenly gone out of her.
It would be many seconds later that the slumped and sobbing form of the master assassin stilled, and Black was finally able to properly compose herself. And in so doing, attempt to comprehend what exactly it was she’d just been made to witness. When just the mere thought of it nearly sent her into another round of convulsions however, she was quick to abandon that line of inquiry entirely.
And though a part of her, her conditioning, cried out at her own cowardice—demanded she track down the client and give her own account—she managed to convince herself that the dread entity, the one that shall not be named, had done a rather succinct job of it already. That she’d originally come to differing conclusions, entirely ceasing to matter all of the sudden. And so, it was in that moment she decided that this time… this time…? She could be a little less than diligent… just this once.
After launching to her feet, vaulting through the open window, then slipping free from the oppressive confines of the estate altogether, Black could actually feel her spirits lift with every step, every story, every kilometer she placed between her and that creature's lingering presence. After all, it was a terrible, all-consuming pressure that she’d sooner forget. Would forget, if she had anything to say about it.
Because, while sure, she might have pledged herself, heart and soul, to the ultimate ruination, the slow degradation of all things, she most certainly had not signed up for this.
