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[Villain] Chapter 73: Blackthorn’s First Visitors
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 12:09:01 +0000 UTCThe ominous clouds that shrouded Blackthorn for a week finally parted as if signifying the start of a new age. In the wake of a week-long storm, the once dry and barren lands had transformed into an endless swamp.
The barely visible pathway out of Blackthorn acted as an imaginary barrier between two convoys that had no business being outside of such a small town.
Dave knew nothing of nobles as they rarely appeared so far north, but he was confident that an army-size convoy was unnecessary for a simple visit. Yet there were two such convoys, and they were not on friendly terms.
On the left was the smaller convoy; around a hundred magisteel carriages stood dormant with elephant-size golems standing guard. Men in full plate armor lined the road and glared at the other convoy with their weapons half drawn. Dave could tell these were elite soldiers just from their formation and equipment.
In comparison, the convoy on the right was odd. The carriages were lightweight, crafted from white wood and cloth. Enormous blackbirds lay atop each carriage, but the rain had ruined their majestic appearance. Although this convoy was far more numerous than the other, it seemed to lack that intimidating presence.
A horn sounded from the left camp, and the elephant-size golems created a passage by moving the metal carriages to the side. The fully armored knights lined up along the path and stood in ceremony with their swords raised.
The overseers lining the wall gasped as a mammoth the size of Blackthorn’s walls emerged while pulling a house-size carriage. The swampy mud mysteriously hardened beneath the titanic creature’s feet.
“Do you think the duke will save us?” Dave asked the sandal-wearing madman to his side.
“I sure hope so,” Ben flatly replied. “There’s no way we could fight off that mythical creature. Let alone so many knights.”
The wall trembled underfoot as the mammoth approached Blackthorn’s defenses. Dave could see eye to eye with the creature and smell its foul breath. With a shaking hand, he went to grab the sword tied to his waist but hesitated as the horn sounded once more, stopping the creature a few meters from the wall.
The knights surrounded the carriage in a defensive formation as the door opened. A man wearing a thick brown coat inlaid with white fur emerged. His reddish-brown hair, left untamed, hung down his shoulders, and his full-face beard gave him a rough appearance—a true warrior of the north.
A knight flanked the man in full plate armor with only his aged face on display, and a beautiful woman with similar features to the man stood slightly behind him. His daughter perhaps? Dave mused while he watched the scene with nervous breaths.
The man stepped down from his carriage that looked like a mobile castle, and with a wave of his hand, the marshland churned and became a speckless path of gray stone.
Suddenly the wall below Dave’s feet didn’t feel very secure. If that warrior can turn mud to stone with a mere wave of his hand, would this wall even resist a thought from him?
“Marquess Cunningdal! It’s been too long!” A gloomy and raspy voice carried by the wind emerged from the larger convoy. A humanoid that appeared more bird than man emerged from the sea of white wood carriages.
“House Ravenhall. What a surprise to see you so far from home.”
Dave now recognized that the left convoy belonged to the famous House Cunningdal, the unbreakable wall of the north. But the other convoy likely didn’t originate from Kassinki, judging from the marquess’s tone, and Dave had never heard of House Ravenhall.
A disturbingly thin man with sunken cheekbones floated toward the marquess. “Kieran Ravenhall, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The man wearing a cloak of raven feathers and black top hat bowed deeply while a cushion of wind kept him afloat.
“Kieran Ravenhall, you have changed…a lot.”
Kieran’s dead eyes met the marquess, and a thin smile donned his face. “My family has been making significant progress on a recent project, hence the…change in appearance.”
Five humanoids emerged from Kieran’s convoy and floated behind him. They wore black priest robes inlaid with golden thread. They were faceless as an amber helmet covered their faces and occasionally pulsated with light. They wore pointed hats that suggested a horn beneath and gloves that suggested bird-like claws. They ominously floated like puppets on strings and moved in sync behind Kieran like a hivemind.
Kieran gestured to one of the floating guards. “What do you think of my family’s latest creation?”
Marquess Cunningdal frowned. “Did you, crazy bastards, really enslave the Aurel? If so, then congratulations, you will be the new hope of Oshal.”
Kieran’s thin smile faltered. “You flatter me, Marquess; how about a little duel? I fear none of your knights could last a single round.”
The marquess waved his hand in dismissal and chuckled. “Save that enthusiasm for the next war; I would be glad to test that theory without fighting on a duke’s doorstep.”
Kieran’s dull eyes glanced toward Blackthorn’s gray stone walls that had seen better days. The gate was still under repair from Walter’s attack, and he could see the muddy streets and decrepit houses beyond the walls. “This is a duke’s territory?” Kieran asked, more surprised than anything. “Since when?”
Marquess Cunningdal followed the raven-cloaked man’s gaze. “The capital’s nobles have abandoned this territory for many years, hence its rather miserable condition. But a duke was given the wastelands, including this village by King Edward around a week ago.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed as the wind swirled around him; he looked left and right as if searching for something. “Why would that old bastard Edward send a duke to such a miserable place? Is there something here?”
The marquess chuckled. “Even if there was, we wouldn’t tell you. Now tell me why you are here, or I may need to request the duke to dispatch you.”
The Aurel floating behind Kieran flexed their black claws, and their amber helmets glowed as if showing their master’s discomfort. “Respect the noble pledge, Marquess. We allow the mundanes to die for us. Lay a hand on me, and you will find a quick death.”
The marquess shrugged. “I am a marquess, and I have a duke ally behind those walls, yet you are a mere baron heir. Do you dare recite the noble pledge in my face? If so, you should know what a duke can do to you…”
“I misspoke,” Kieran hissed through his teeth as he and his guards backed off. “I am here to finish a deal I made many years ago with Blackthorn’s mayor. But, unfortunately, my plans may have been affected by the news that a duke now controls this place.”
Kieran looked back toward the walls. “I hope the honorable marquess doesn’t mind my intrusion? It was a long journey here, and I wish to tie up some loose ends; I shall vacate the premises by tomorrow morning.”
“Very well, let us proceed. But I will warn you, young baron. Do not make trouble here.”
As the duo approached Blackthorn’s gate, a nervous Dave walked forward. “Overseer Dave greets the honorable nobles. Duke Nightshade has been expecting you. Right, this way.”
***
Damien stood within the mayor’s house and watched the central street through the third-floor window.
Two nobles walked down the empty streets of Blackthorn; wherever the man with reddish-brown hair stepped would turn to stone. Marquess Cunningdal, the unbreakable wall of the north. A mid-game boss when playing the Oshal storyline. B-grade in Earth magic with expertise in terrain formations, structures and manipulating golems. Damien wasn’t sure why the marquess had visited him, but he didn’t feel any malice from the man.
Damien then smiled when he saw Kieran with the Aurel floating behind. Using telepathy, he reached out to the baron. “Kieran Ravenhall.”
If the man were walking instead of levitating, he would have jumped up in surprise, but instead, his spell canceled out, and he almost fell face-first into the mud. “Do not be alarmed; act normal,” Damien added.
“Easy for you to say,” Kieran hissed under his breath as he straightened out and ignored the questioning gaze from the marquess.
Damien chuckled in his mind and continued the conversation. “As you have likely already guessed, the previous deal you made with the mayor is off.”
Kieran resumed his flying spell and scowled at the mud on his boots. “So you want me to leave? Who are you even?” Kieran replied through telepathy with an annoyed tone.
“Yes and no,” Damien replied. “I know why you are here, why you really need the slaves, how you enslaved the Aurel, and I even have a solution to your family’s greatest problem.”
Kieran abruptly stopped; his face paled to a sickly white. “How do you know?”
“That’s the wrong question to ask, little baron; the better question would be what do I not know. If you’re interested in my proposal, pretend to leave tonight, but meet me in Tarlington Fortress on the hill. The purple eye will lead you.”
“The purple eye? Who are you?” Kieran murmured, yet no reply came. It took a while for Kieran to get over the shock, but he quickly followed the confused marquess toward the mayor’s house in the distance.
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