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The Exalted Mage - Chapter 26: Chaos in town
🕑 Added 2026-01-07 22:26:42 +0000 UTC“Place your hand here,” Elise ordered, voice choppy.
Finn obeyed instantly. He pressed both palms down on the folded cloth she shoved at him, holding it against the viscount’s stomach. Heat and wetness seeped through the fabric almost at once. Blood. Way too much of it. His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, but he held fast, just like she told him.
Around them, the chamber was chaos. Furniture overturned, papers scattered, the floor smeared in dark stains. The viscount lay pale and trembling beneath Finn’s hands, eyes closed, breath shallow. Beside him, the Baron sat propped against the wall, his chest rising raggedly as two guards knelt at his side, binding wounds of their own. The Baron was hurt badly—but he would live.
The viscount… Finn wasn’t so sure.
“Elise?” His voice cracked. “He—he’s not going to—”
“Hold it steady!” she snapped, ripping a strip of linen from a medical kit at her side. “The Baron will survive. The viscount is worse off, so we focus on him first.”
Finn clenched his jaw and nodded, tightening his grip. The blood beneath his fingers pulsed warm and slick, as if life itself was spilling out into his hands. He swallowed hard, his throat unbelievably dry.
Don’t let go. Don’t let go.
“Move,” Elise commanded a moment later, nudging him aside. She slid in smoothly, wrapping the fresh bandage tight around the viscount’s side, her fingers careful but agile, despite the tremors in her jaw. The wound was deep—way deeper than Finn wanted to think about—but she kept working, panicked, yet calm.
Finally, she tied the last strip off and pressed down firmly, her own hands taking over. Her gaze flicked to Finn, sharp and urgent.
“You need to run. Find Steward Hadrian. Tell him assassins have attacked the Baron and the Viscount. He must alert every guard and call up the militia. And inform him to find Sir Nolhan. He took his break from rotation only a few minutes ago. He couldn’t have gone far.”
Finn scrambled upright, blood still sticky on his palms. “O-okay! I’ll tell him!” He hesitated only a second, then blurted, “Also! Veronica said the town might be attacked by cultists too! So be careful here.”
He knew that Elise was a mage, so she should be fine even if they did attack.
Elise froze mid-motion, her eyes narrowing. “Cultists…? How do you know this?”
But Finn was already backing toward the door. “Just—just trust me!”
Then he spun and bolted, boots slapping against the stone as he ran from the room.
Behind him, Elise stared after the boy, brow creased. Then she turned back to her work, pressing her palms down on the viscount’s wound as the faint hiss of his labored breathing filled the silence. She couldn’t afford time in worrying about needless things. Not right now.
Finn bolted out of the chamber, lungs heaving, his palms still tacky and moist with the viscount’s blood. The hall blurred past him as he charged down the steps two at a time, boots echoing across the marble.
The mansion courtyard stretched before him, lanterns casting dim pale glows across the hedges. In front, the large iron gate loomed at the far end. Finn sprinted straight for it—only to slam to a halt.
It was locked.
“Elise didn’t—ugh!” He kicked the bars once, teeth clenched. She had left the gate locked and not given him the key.
He backed up a step, then sprinted forward and vaulted. His fingers caught the bars, shoes scrambling for purchase as he scrambled up the black iron. For a moment his chest caught on the top rail, sharp points scraping his side, then he twisted and dropped down hard on the other side. His knees jolted from the impact, but he kept running.
The night air was cooler outside, brisk and welcoming against his sweating face. He raced across the cobblestone streets toward the town square. Lanterns still hung from the festival, paper shades glowing muted orange. The square itself, so crowded just hours ago, was thinner now. A few drunkards lingered near taverns, laughing and idly engaged in small conversation.
The clamor of the day had dimmed into the harsh stress of the night. Everyone else was winding down, yet, a few minutes from now, that would change entirely.
Finn tore past them all. He knew exactly where to go.
The steward’s building loomed ahead at the far side of the square. He hammered on the door with both fists, shouting, “Open up! Please! It’s urgent!”
“What is it? Do you know the hour, boy?”
“There’s no time!” Finn gasped. “Assassins attacked the Baron and the Viscount! They’re hurt—badly! And Veronica—she’s fighting a demon right now in the forest—”
The man blinked at him, overwhelmed by the shouting. “Slow down, slow down. You’re just spouting gibberish at me. Who are you, anyway?”
“I don’t matter!” Finn snapped, both fists balled. “What matters is Veronica needs help! The whole town might be attacked!”
At that name, the man’s brows knitted upward. “Veronica… the mage?”
The man exhaled sharply and pulled the door open. “Alright, inside. Quickly. Hadrian’s office is that door, in the back.” He pointed toward the far right. “You best not be lying about this. Hadrian’s fine with putting even children in jail.”
Finn bolted past him without another word.
The steward’s office was cramped, lit by a single standing lamp. Steward Hadrian sat behind his desk, spectacles perched on his nose as he scribbled something over a ledger. He looked up in surprise as Finn burst in.
“What is the meaning of—”
“The viscount’s daughter has been kidnapped!” Finn blurted. “Assassins stabbed the Baron and Viscount—Elise is with them now—but they’re in critical condition! And Veronica—she’s in the forest, fighting a demon!”
The words hit like hammer blows. Hadrian’s face drained of color at once. He shot to his feet, knocking over his chair.
“Repeat that. A demon?”
The rumors of dressed in robes and lurking around town wasn’t new to him. However, none of his guards ever caught sight of such people. Despite this, villagers have gone missing left and right—but there wasn’t anything he could do besides tell people to be more on alert.
“Yes!” Finn replied, breathless. “Elise told me to tell you to get the town guards ready. She might also need a medical team with her too. The lord’s injuries—both of them—they looked very bad. And Veronica said that the town may be under attack soon, and just in case you need to prepare everyone.”
Hadrian didn’t waste another heartbeat. He strode across the office, lifted the receiver of an old brass phone, and cranked the dial. A sharp buzz rang as he connected to the barracks.
“Captain Luthen,” he barked the moment the line clicked, “mobilize all guards immediately. Sound the bells, arm the registered militia, and distribute weapons at once. I want a detachment sent straight to the Baron’s mansion. They’ve been attacked. Yes, assassins. Stop asking questions. Move!”
Finn stood frozen and huffing, listening to Hadrian’s orders crackle across the line. Relief washed through him. He had done it. He had delivered the warning. The town would be ready.
But even as the steward spoke, Finn’s thoughts began to drift. His pulse still raced, but not from running.
The cultists. They needed a sacrifice. Claire.
If Elise had been tending with the nobles and hadn’t noticed the attack, then it must have happened recently. Which meant the cultists couldn’t have gone far. They’d be moving toward the ruins. Toward the ritual.
Finn clenched his fists. He remembered Veronica’s words: save those who can save others. He had done that. The guards and militia would rally now—the town would be safe.
But Claire…
He turned and ran from the office before the steward had even hung up.
“Where are you going?!” the balding clerk shouted after him as he darted through the front door.
"I'm going to save Claire!"
There wasn't much time to explain everything else.
His feet slammed hard against the stone as he bolted down the street, past glowing lanterns and shuttered windows. He knew exactly where to go.
The ruins.
I warned the town. That was my promise. His chest burned, but his stride never faltered. Now I just have one thing left to do.
Save Claire.
♠♠♠
Finn’s legs burned as he pedaled, the old bike rattling under him with every turn of the wheels.
There was an old bike near the dump of the town, a place where broken chairs and rusted tools were thrown away. He had seen it passing by a few times, but never messed with it. Now, though, he needed it
The tires squeaked and the frame creaked, but it was still faster than running.
He mounted and pedaled hard, weaving out of the edge of town and into the forest path that led toward the old ruins. His lungs burned, but he pressed on.
Veronica should’ve been fighting further west, he thought, glancing through the trees. If anyone could kill that monster, it’s her. Please let it be dead.
Branches whipped against his arms and face as the forest thickened, shadows long beneath the lantern's lights spilling faintly from the town behind him. The ruins loomed ahead somewhere in the dark. If that's where they were, he needed to get there, quick.
He took a shortcut, a small, worn path, a path only he traveled.
Finn pushed harder, but as he rounded a bend, something moved ahead.
His stomach lurched. He slammed both feet down, skidding to a halt as the bike jolted beneath him. Without thinking, he dropped low, dragging the bike down with him. He pulled it across his body, pressing himself against the dirt. His hands scrambled for leaves and twigs, covering himself in a thin layer of forest brush. He forced his breathing to halt.
Bootsteps.
A path of cultists emerged from the trees. Their robes were covered in dirt, hoods drawn low. From where he was, he could only see two, but there were sounds of more. One carried a longsword slung casually across his shoulder. Another had a belt of knives that clinked against each other with every step.
Finn didn’t move. Not a single muscle. If he was caught here, he’d die—he knew that.
If there was anything he was confident in, then it was erasing his presence and hiding. He was the greatest spy in Greystone, after all.
Their voices carried through the trees.
“…the little bitch was faking the whole time,” one of the robed figures grunted, sword strapped across his back.
“Who’d have thought the viscount gave her a magic ring?” another spat, knives glinting faintly at his hip. “Body’s still sore from being tossed like that.”
“Probably should have expected it after that bastard shielded his own body after we stabbed him. As for her, she probably ran back to town,” another voice said.
“Doesn’t matter,” the swordsman replied. “We gutted the both of them regardless. Even if they live, they’ll be useless. All we need to do now is grab her again and haul her to the mines.”
Another voice spoke, older and raspier. “Do we even still have time? The leader’s already at the last steps of the ritual. The mines are also further away from the ruins.”
“The circle takes hours,” someone replied. “He had to redraw it with the last of that demon’s blood. If those guys had actually killed that mage, things would’ve been done by now. But now we have to wait. And knowing that beast—he won’t give us more for free.”
The group chuckled darkly. It was a nervous laugh. One mixed with fear.
“So this is our last shot then, unless we’re willing to offer our own souls up.”
“Heh. If the girl slips us again, we’ll just use the townsfolk. Blood is blood remember?. Claire’s just happens to be special, but not required. Though, it does save us a lot of time.”
Finn pressed himself flatter, every nerve in his body screaming for him to move, to run. But he stayed frozen, heart hammering against the dirt.
Seconds stretched. Their boots grew fainter. Then, finally, silence.
He waited three more breaths before daring to move. Slowly, he lifted his head.
No one in sight.
Finn exhaled hard, his whole body trembling. He shoved the bike upright and brushed leaves from his arms.
So Claire had escaped somehow. Something about a ring. Whatever the case, that was a good thing. And the town—they would be ready if they attacked. Steward Hadrian would see to it.
But the cultists weren’t giving up. Not yet.
His stomach knotted as he replayed their words. Blood is blood. If they couldn’t have Claire, they’d sacrifice anyone they could drag into their circle. The festival-goers. Families. Children.
He could only believe that the demon had died and Veronica had stopped it. But if he knew anything about demons—they were tough. After getting hurt for him… she might not be able to take care of the rest of the cultists if they all came after her.
That left only one surefire way to end this nightmare.
The ritual.
Finn’s fists clenched around the handlebars. His arms still trembled, but his eyes hardened with resolve.
If Veronica can kill a demon, then I can at least stop a stupid circle.
He steeled himself, kicked off, and pedaled hard. The wheels rattled and groaned, carrying him deeper toward the ruins.
He wasn’t going to stop now.
Not until the ritual was stopped.
Comments
Nederdeader
So is the world Victorian era? Is it magic steampunk? I thought it was more of a renaissance level society, but having a phone and bike pop up has thrown me off.
Maximus
He's so going to mess with V's rhythm again. 😭
Cellinia
Man, he really didn't learn anything did he?
