Min-Maxing My TRPG Build in Another World - Volume 5 - Chapter 8

Climax

Climax

When all that can be said has been, the only conversations left to be shared rest on the roll of dice.

The Ubiorum county was both a merging point for imperial trade routes and a manufacturing giant in its own right.

“Whoa... This makes the capital look rural.”

“Your first mistake was comparing a political city to an industrial one.”

I peered out the window to see an expansive highway; it bore the load of an endless stream of travelers, among them massive caravans a few hundred strong. With the start of spring came the first chance for people to start up their business again.

The sheer scope of the products being ferried in and out of the region spoke volumes to its industrial might, and to the fact that this was one of the few places in the Empire that could rival the capital’s population. But unlike the capital, the metropolitan areas of the county sprawled out unabated. Berylin was impressive in its own right, of course, but that was because it packed so many people into a single urban center; there was next to nothing in the land surrounding its walls.

The capital was like Tokyo: every inch of the twenty-three special wards was packed with people maneuvering through a forest of skyscrapers, but one short train ride was enough to reach pastoral lands undeveloped enough to warrant a second look at a map.

While the region lacked any castles to rival the palace’s luster—to be fair, castles had gone out of style for nonsymbolic purposes—giant, walled cities with populations in the quintuple digits dotted the highway network. A day in any direction on horseback would guarantee a traveler to come across at least one town with a thousand people.

If I was being frank, this was way more city-like to me. I’d once called Osaka home, living only a few stops away from the bustling downtown districts. Something about this atmosphere just felt more glorious to me.

But now that I was seeing it with my own eyes, it was hard to believe the state had just let the entire region simmer as the property of the crown for half a century. Continuing the analogies, it was akin to the central government of Japan deciding to leave the entirety of Nagoya to its own devices. I couldn’t tell which feeling was stronger: amazement that the underlying system was sturdy enough to chug along despite that, or exasperation at the absolute authority of the ruling class.

“Wow, look at all those chimneys,” I mumbled. “And they’re all puffing smoke! Now this is what I imagined the city to be like.”

“And that, in fact, is Liplar. It is the heart of the county’s metalworking industry, and the birthplace of the Empire’s ironworking union. The history of the city is rather rich, and it boasts a population of some twelve thousand, if I recall.”

Having reclaimed her lavish robes and her original hair and eye color, Lady Agrippina expanded on my observations. We’d joined up with a force of imperial guardsmen who’d been waiting for us at the last inn, so we were free to rock along in a carriage like a proper noblewoman plus company; the disguises had been retired.

But wow—twelve thousand people in a city that wasn’t even the territory’s capital was astonishing. With several cities of similar size and abundant mines surrounding them, it was no wonder that people were willing to kill anyone in their path to lay claim to the Ubiorum name.

“As an aside,” the madam went on, “the Ubiorum capital of Kolnia is roughly a week away. There, the permanent population hovers around forty thousand, but reaches nearly sixty when factoring in the laborers who commute into the city.”

“Sixty thousand? That’s incredible—that puts it on par with Berylin.”

“Well, that’s also exactly why the squabbling was so horrendous when its rulership went up for debate. Even with the greatest might in the nation, the best the Empire could do was to shelve the county as property of the crown.”

In essence, the region was too big to get the axe; no pretext could suffice to come down on it with armed force. Still, anyone could see that a house built on rotting foundations needed to be rebuilt. Those in the neighborhood were sure to be less than pleased to live by a disaster waiting to happen. Maybe the Empire had been biding its time, waiting for the vacant house to decay to such a state where none could object to its reconstruction. Or, possibly, that had only been one of many plans, and they would have gone with something else had Lady Agrippina not conveniently been around.

Whatever the case, the madam’s new reign would probably settle the matter in the most peaceful way possible under the circumstances; perhaps a round of thanks were in order. If nothing else, this was a much better outcome than burning a dilapidated manor to ashes after the whole world had lost hope for its revival.

“Is Viscount Liplar’s estate close?”

“We ought to be nearly there. The viscount’s administrative office is within the city proper, but his personal residence should be in a more secluded—”

A knock on the carriage door cut the madam off. I glanced over at her, and she nodded me along. Pulling down the window opposite to the one I’d been staring out of, I was greeted by one of the jagers—though he wasn’t in official regalia on account of being lent to us—who’d been accompanying us as Lady Agrippina’s bodyguards.

“Viscount Liplar has sent a troupe of knights to receive us.”

“Is that so? Very well.”

“They wish to salute you. Shall we let them through?”

“Yes, by all means.”

The jager gave the order, and our coachman stopped the vehicle. My master and I stepped out to wait for a few minutes, until a young man leading a horse came along, helmet in hand, with quite a few other unmounted cavalry in tow.

“Jurgen von Huthkass, imperial knight under Viscount Liplar, at your service. I have come to lead the good count to the estate!”

“Well met,” Lady Agrippina replied. “And the others?”

“Ma’am,” he said with a salute. “We have prepared a company of forty knights, led by Sir Solle, to escort you safely to the manor.”

The spokesman was a young and manly mensch. His looks were liable to sit well with ladies—he had no doubt been chosen for the mission precisely to that end. Even if success was unlikely, it seemed the viscount hadn’t given up on carefully selecting his men for a Hail Mary play.

But honestly, what could he possibly do at this point? We’d already officially entered the city, we had a unit of veteran imperial guards with us at all times, and we could summon dozens more of these inhuman supersoldiers with a single call. Personally, I couldn’t think of a single means of dealing with the manpower we’d assembled. What kind of tricks did the viscount have up his sleeve?

“I see,” Lady Agrippina said. “And I take it the process of handing off security has gone smoothly?”

“All is as you have intended.”

Huh? Wait, what? What’d she just say?

“Von Bohl,” she said to the jager, “thank you very kindly for your service.”

“Of course, Count. But if I may mention: should you give the word, we would be happy to accompany you until the end of your journey.”

“I’m Count Ubiorum, you know. How could a count possibly refuse the service of her subject’s knights in her own county? No, you are free to go. And do tell His Imperial Majesty that the count sends her thanks.”

“As you will, von Ubiorum. It was an honor to have served you.”

The imperial guardsmen saluted in unison, and then promptly began giving up their spots in our formation to the new knights. Hoisting a flag bearing the Ubiorum emblem with the Liplar banner flown beneath, they made their allegiance to the county known as they knelt to their new lord.

“It is with great honor that I welcome your arrival, Count Ubiorum! On our lives, we swear to deliver you safely to the Liplar estate!”

“And a pleasing welcome it is. I look forward to your continued service. Now then, lead us to the viscount without delay.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Wait. No, no, no, wait. What? Is this part of the plan? Why are we letting the jagers go? Hey, no, hold on—they were the whole reason I could relax and enjoy the sights! Come back!

Though I would’ve loved to grab the madam by the collar and violently shake her down for answers, that was obviously insubordination. The best I could do was to glare at her after the carriage doors were closed; this, too, was a breach of conduct, but I felt like I had the right to scowl.

Okay, sure, I understood on the surface. We’d borrowed troops from the Emperor on the pretext that summoning local knights to the capital would have pushed our arrival back by a year; therefore, when we finally reached Ubiorum territory, it made sense to entrust our safety to the madam’s subjects to uphold their societal image.

But this was enemy territory in all but name. I mean, who was responsible for choosing these knights? I’d known that something was off since our original host, Baron Erftstadt, had come down with a “sudden illness” that rerouted us to the Liplar viscounty, but now I was totally lost.

I whispered low into a Voice Transfer to avoid being listened in on and questioned Lady Agrippina.

“What in the world are you plotting?”

“A secret. Worry not, this is all according to plan.”

Gods, she’s shady.

As showy and nefarious as ever, her grin threatened to snap my heart in two. Oh, gods, how I wanted to heal the cracks in my soul with a ray of pure innocence. I missed Elisa’s beaming, angelic smile so much that I was worried I might die on the spot.

Holding back a groan—I couldn’t show these knights any disgraceful conduct—I cast my gaze outward to distract myself. After a little while of staring outside, the scenery changed as we entered Liplar proper.

This titan of metallurgy was encircled by three layers of city walls. The outermost ring that we’d just passed was only about three meters high and wasn’t very thick; it was less a military fortification and more a deterrent to criminals trying to enter and exit as they pleased.

Off in the distance, I could see the second set of walls rise to around five meters with considerably more girth. Those were apparently a vestige of the period of warring city-states that outlined the historic city limits. In the modern day, they served to protect important factories, companies, and government buildings.

Lastly, a fortified mansion sat within, protected by another set of similarly sized walls. That was supposedly the lord’s official station, but our business today was at the viscount’s personal estate, located between the first and second walls.

It made sense to me: the truly wealthy could always be found away from the hustle and bustle of the inner city, even if the locale wasn’t as convenient for everyday life.

In Earth terms, it didn’t matter how far the closest train station was if you could just pay a chauffeur to drive you. I’d been to those sorts of places on business in the past, and the affluence on display had been palpable: not in the rent, but in the services and mediums of transport available. When the only grocery store in town was by the station and every restaurant was a bougie café with a wait-list, an empty stomach could only be remedied by a thirty-minute walk or enough money to call the chefs to you.

This was probably the same logic that had put the lord of the viscounty in such an out-of-the-way spot. It wasn’t as if a blue-born noble was going to care about proximity to twenty-four hour food to fuel his midnight snack addiction.

“Wow,” I whispered. “How many crimes do you have to commit to build a mansion like that?”

“A hidden mine or two would be plenty—but it seems our friend here has a little more than that.”

For as long as I could remember, I always jokingly wondered what kind of body count could buy the extravagant houses I came across. Never had I imagined that I’d end up getting a serious reply.

Hidden mines, huh? I guess that’s all it takes to live in luxury.

The personal home we had arrived at was so grand that its existence alone was testament to its owner’s sins. The main manor was a four-story building flanked on the east and west by U-shaped wings. Hard coats of plaster left the walls stark white, and incredibly, the roof was a stunning blue. Nothing on display could be called standard by imperial measures; if anything, it looked like a feat of Southern architecture one might expect by the sea.

Plaster was seen in small quantities on the insides of buildings, but gathering enough to coat the whole exterior—not to mention the craftsmen needed to apply it neatly—must have cost gods know how much. Those blue shingles could only be made by specially trained craftsmen using particular furnaces, meaning each must have cost several dozens of times more than standard roof tiles too.

All I was saying was that, boy did he lay it all on thick.

Furthermore, the front yard had its own charms vying for the viewer’s attention. A gigantic fountain sat in the center—and if I wasn’t seeing things, the gaudy statue sprouting from the middle was made of gold—with hedges spreading out into beautiful geometric patterns from that central point. Just imagining the cost of upkeep on the greenery made my head spin.

But as if that wasn’t enough, it seemed like the plants had been mystically altered: though the chilly air of early spring nipped at my skin, even the most infamously seasonal flowers continued to bloom. Adding to the list were a hedge maze hidden in the back and an orangery built purely from tiled glass; just how many cantons would one need to sell wholesale to match the price of this single estate?

It turned out that money really did talk, and dirty money had the loudest voice. Yet at first glance, it still appeared to be regal and classy—much to my chagrin.

Surrounded by knights, we passed through the gates and finally arrived at the estate’s driveway.

“Lady Agrippina von Ubiorum, Count of Ubiorum, has arrived!”

One of the knights opened the door with a pompous declaration and lent the madam his hand to descend from the carriage. I followed suit, but let it be known that my poker face would have crumbled had I been any weaker of will.

“Ah, Count Ubiorum! I have spent many a weary day awaiting the moment I might have the honor of laying eyes upon you!”

Viscount Liplar had gone out of his way to greet us by the front door, but no one had told me he was an orc—and one whose bulging frame was two sizes larger than the blue-collar workers I often saw in the capital, at that. The good fellows I ran into at street stalls were all plump enough that a mensch of their size would be diagnosed with some kind of disease, but they were better described as bulky or stout than fat. The viscount, on the other hand...was flat-out obese.

The roundness of his figure threatened to tear his magnificent blue doublet and white tights with every movement; his piggish face had so much extra meat that he was a caricature of the “evil aristocrat” trope. I know I’d come from a culture where orcs tended to be portrayed as villains, but I don’t think my biases were at play here: ask anyone in the Empire, and they would peg this man as an evildoer.

Ah, no, but wait! Would anyone let someone this blatantly corrupt be a real bad actor in this day and age? Looking back, my old tablemates and I had once spent so long snooping around a stinking old priest who reeked of villainy that we’d let the true mastermind slip away—the guy had just been an honest worker with a fondness for bookkeeping.

Maybe there was a higher-level game being played: had he tailored his appearance this way on purpose in order to lull his enemies into underestimating him? After being sold short in battle for my stature time and time again, I knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Viscount Liplar,” Lady Agrippina said.

“No, no, of course! To tell the truth, I should have been the one to staff your escort over the entire journey! That you have forgiven my failure of hospitality and traveled all this way to visit of your own volition is the greatest honor I could ever wish for! I’m sure you’re exhausted from the long trek—please, take the time to ease your weary legs, and I shall offer you the best accommodations I can muster!”

Oh. No, I’d been wrong. His bootlicker energy was coming through in spades. If this was an act, then he was too skilled an actor for me to see through his front.

Was this what life in a lordless region did to a person? Imperial lands were sort of an insular bubble, and that cultural dissonance may explain why he seemed categorically different from the dignified nobles I’d met in Berylin. If they were the C-suite executives of major conglomerates, then this guy was the president and founder of a small construction company.

“I have heard that misfortune befell you on the road here, and that you tragically lost some of your men. I turn in bed every night, wishing that I had been there to help...”

“There’s no need to worry. My most capable retainer is still with me.”

“What wonderful news! Then would you like to give your servant a moment to rest as well? I can provide as many attendants as you need while the boy relaxes!”

I moved to politely reject his offer, but for some ungodly reason, Lady Agrippina nodded. Huh? Wait a second. Are you tossing me to the wolves?!

“Please. Do treat him well.”

I looked at her in shock, and she flashed me a smooth smile.

Oh, gods. What in the world is she scheming now? I’m scared of being alone!

More importantly, this was an unthinkable scenario. I was her servant and bodyguard; why would the viscount dare try and pull me away from her? Although I understood that I looked like a mere display piece, being a kid and all, the mere suggestion of depriving a superior of her security was preposterous. It would be one thing to comply with an order that came from her, but offering stand-in attendants as compensation for isolation was horribly base and a major faux pas.

A retainer on a trip like this was akin to a private secretary: the expectation should have been that I was an important confidant whose presence would be a given during talks. No normal person would have the audacity to shoo me away.

Yet Lady Agrippina had agreed.

Hmm, I had no idea where this was headed—more precisely, the madam had refused to tell me to “minimize information leakage.” A likely excuse. Was I supposed to be a decoy in her grand design?

In that case, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about my situation.

“If you’ll follow me, young man, we shall see to your accommodations.”

Another knight—unarmored, probably because he’d been stationed on the premises—led me out of the western wing through a back door and to the annex I was meant to stay in. Although it was a notable three-story building, its exterior was simple and showed few signs of use. It was probably reserved for people like me: the guards, servants, and workers of real guests.

The staff offered me a royal reception, but I refused on grounds of fatigue and asked to be shown to my room. I was led to a suite fit to house a captain of an ordained troupe of knights, but the lavish lodging did nothing to take the edge off. They went out of their way to bring supper up to my room as well, but I wasn’t exactly starving; a bath was heated up in my name, but I couldn’t find it in me to partake.

All I could do was sit on the edge of my bed and think.

I had a feeling that things were going down tonight—an omen that was more premonition than guesswork. Lady Agrippina may have been a lazy homebody, but she was also the type to clean up tedious chores as quickly as she could when they had to be done. Here she was, separated from her beloved atelier; between lounging around in enemy territory and settling matters by day’s end, it was clear which she’d choose.

And the other party at the table tonight was someone who’d put a hit out on her. Whatever happened was not going to end amicably.

Which meant the reason she sent me off on my own...huh. Was the madam hedging against the chance that she might need to fight at full power by putting me in a place that wouldn’t get caught in the cross fire?

I knew better than anyone else how frail I was. As I’d feared, my run-in with the myriapod demihuman had left a hairline fracture in my rib—though it had been fixed with magic—driving home the point that, for all my investment in combat, I was always at risk of dying if an attack connected with me.

Sure, I could roll off momentum to mitigate damage, but that only worked against sensible opponents. If an unrivaled master of the sword cut me, their blade would sever flesh and bone alike; if a space-bending mage caught me in their spell, I’d be blinked out of reality without a trace.

Lady Agrippina was an inhuman freak who was a touch too unbound by the limits of the universe for my swordplay to reach her, even at Scale IX. I still needed to pull out a few more screws with unfair skills and traits to reach the level of absurdity required to think about challenging her one-on-one. At the very minimum, I would have to be able to erase magic at the root, cutting through fortune and phenomena alike with my blade alone—and this would have to be with every passing strike, not just my most serious swings.

“Oh, so that’s it? I’d just get in the way, huh?”

A vanguard who dies from the splash damage of their back line’s spells is a useless vanguard. The only reason we tabletop players can laugh about throwing fireballs at our own tanks is because they have the HP to eat the hit and survive; not even we would accept collateral damage if it led to the death of a party member.

So if I wasn’t worth using as her front line, this was Lady Agrippina’s way of telling me to work within my means. Like, say, by distracting a portion of the enemy’s forces.

Looking at the situation objectively just made me feel pathetic. While I was more than aware that I wasn’t strong enough to pose a threat to archenemies like Lady Leizniz or the madam herself, forcing her to look out for me like this was incredibly vexing.

“Gods, it pisses me off when she throws everything my way, but being babied like this is just as annoying.”

Emotions too complex to process sank into my gut as I leaned back onto the bedding. Dammit, this mattress is nice. Why the hell can’t I have this sort of thing when I actually get to use it?

[Tips] Within the Trialist Empire’s system of governance, lords ruling over named territories are akin to governors, but they also serve as mayors of their region’s capital city. Their direct subordinates—lords in their own right—are basically mayors of other major cities in the region. Knights and magistrates can be thought of as members on a city council.

An epicurean dinner; a splendid orchestral performance; and a popular musical drama set to the tunes, performed by the most revered troupe in all the county—these were the parts that made up Viscount Liplar’s most successful night of hospitality, tuned through years and years of experience. Once this was over, he would prepare the most beautiful women in the viscounty for his male guests, or the most handsome knights in his barracks for his female guests, and have them receive his visitor in a more private setting.

Until now, this had been enough to get his way, whatever it was. Though he hadn’t dealt with too many nobles from the inner circles of the Empire, shifting focus to more sterling topics had sufficed on the occasions he had. All he had to do was stick to the plan—that was what he told himself. But then he had to wonder: why was he still sweating bullets after showering Count Ubiorum with every amenity in his playbook?

“Whatever might be the matter, Viscount? You haven’t touched your cup at all.”

“Uh? Oh, well, ha! Ha ha! This wine is so far beyond what my palate can handle that my tongue couldn’t keep up, is all! I should have expected nothing less from you, Count! Even your choice in drink is a cut above!”

The orc’s laughter was utterly dry. He knew that this situation was enviable on paper; all he asked was that someone take it off his hands. Sipping top-notch wine alone with a top-notch woman would have made any man’s mouth water, out of context. After the night of entertainment, she’d whispered in his ear that she wanted to speak with him in a more private setting; both viscount and count had retired to a tearoom carefully designed to shut out interference.

But before they’d convened, Agrippina had evidently stopped by the powder room, as she was no longer wearing the robe she’d arrived in. Dyed in her favorite scarlet, her dress stretched down to her feet in proper ladylike fashion—save for the deep slits cutting up into each leg and brazenly exposing swaths of tantalizing skin on the way. The only thing keeping both sides of the cleavage from flapping away was a set of thin, treacherous lace; without it, salacious fantasies of what might lie beyond her elegantly woven legs could begin to manifest themselves. Brought together by a silver pelt—either a wolf or fox—protecting her shoulders from the cold and a lavish fan held in hand, she was a charmer who could seduce more than just her fellow humanfolk.

Alas, even so, the poor viscount could not summon an ounce of excitement for her. He knew himself to be a lustful man, keeping over twenty mistresses in addition to his young wife, but not even he could muster any strength between his legs when a dagger was digging into his throat.

By his estimate, this was all part of a game to the hollow beauty sitting across from him. She was toying with him, savoring his sorry reactions to everything she did or said.

In fact, she’d taken every opportunity to prod his weaknesses during the festivities—but even that was underselling it. The wickedness of her actions had been akin to carving out his flesh, lodging a great hunk of salt there, and then closing the wound with a cast of molten iron.

Every sentence contained an allusion to silver, or to daggers and the like. Context and repetition had joined together to produce a chilling statement: I know what you’ve been doing, and I have the evidence to prove it.

As if to mark the final nail in the coffin, her Seinian royal wine—a high-class vintage worth entire mansions, no less—was being poured out into a silver wineglass. But it wasn’t just any silver cup: it was pure. The metal was popular amongst the nobility for its use in detecting arsenic, but an entire chalice of unalloyed silver was absurdly overdone: if this wasn’t a threat, then what was? She knew about his hidden mines, and she didn’t have to speak a word to tell him that.

“Please, there isn’t any need to be modest. You’re one of the most celebrated figures in the entire county; I picked this bottle from my collection thinking it would suit our meeting best. You partake in similar wines often, I’m sure.”

“No, no, I would never be able to...”

“Humility in excess is poison to the soul, you know?”

It took everything the man had to keep his shoulders from jerking at the mention of poison.

Viscount Liplar had been looking for ways to kill her from the moment he’d received word of Count Ubiorum’s impending arrival. However, he’d realized that his army and all the troops of his allied lords wouldn’t be of any use when not a single one of the expensive assassins he’d hired had returned.

Besides, his scolding had come with information: apparently, this peerless beauty eyeing him with the sweetest of smiles was a one-woman army more than fit to don the title of polemurge if she so chose.

If physical means were out of the question, the natural course of action would be to poison her. Unfortunately, few toxins were potent enough to fell a methuselah, and fewer still could get past a magus. Aristocrats were already prone to carrying enchanted talismans and arcane tools to stave off poison; trying to spike a specialist’s food and drink would be utterly thoughtless.

As a result, the viscount had been forced to consider less palatable options. His plan was set and his preparations finished, but it was here that the viscount found himself backed into a corner.

“By the by, Viscount Liplar,” Agrippina whispered, “I have a proposition for you.”

“A...proposition, you say?”

“Quite. A very lucrative one, in fact. Tell me, wouldn’t it be wonderful to legally distribute these lovely works of silver within the Empire?”

The man had thought it impossible for his heart to hurt any more than it already did, but in an instant, it skipped straight from missing a beat to the edge of bursting.

What is she trying to say?

Throughout the night, her words had lapped at his soul, driving home the point that she knew about his mines. As such, he’d been more than prepared to be challenged on that front...but his backroom dealings? He hadn’t realized that she knew his goods were being sold abroad.

And so the question ate at his mind: What was she going to say next?

“It would be such an awful shame to lose a man of your talents,” she sighed. “And all the more wasteful to lose you over petty rules and regulations.”

“Wh-What, uh, whatever are you—”

“Writing off an undeclared silver mine or two as honest mistakes ready to be corrected would be all too easy with my help. Imagine: you’d be hailed as a hero for discovering greater bounty for the Empire.”

Although his gut reaction was to doubt her, the viscount realized a moment later that she wasn’t necessarily lying. Not only was the count a favorite of the Emperor’s, but she was a major authority on the aeroship technology that was steering the nation’s industrial power. He’d also heard rumors that she was personally close with the imperial families, and that Martin I had introduced her to all seven electorate houses.

Perhaps she really could get her way via brute force. At times, the facts were secondary to money and authority; with enough power, the blackest raven could be white, gold, or any color of the rainbow. It was well within the realm of possibility that she had the means to save his hide.

“I’d like to avoid a dispute over the Liplar name. Besides, I’m sure you’ve had your own burdens to endure. With all this wealth, I can’t even imagine how many heartless vultures flocked around you... Oh, how the thought brings tears to my eyes.”

The vultures had, in fact, come to circle him.

Originally, House Liplar had been one of the parties embroiled in the Ubiorum fight for succession; but that ambition had met its end by the same hands that had bullied the viscount into drafting tonight’s plot.

Not only had the viscounty lost a newborn with Ubiorum blood, but its secret mining operation had been exposed. The position of viscount had become the equivalent of a walking purse, and while the deal had come with massive profits, the current head of house was an insignificant fellow dissatisfied with the situation.

Forgettable goons were ever prone to hoping for more than they were due. Just as he now buttered Agrippina up with a smile on his face, he’d long licked the boots of his backer while flipping him the bird behind his back. Had everything gone to plan, he could’ve used his ill-gotten fortune and his familial connection to House Ubiorum to lay claim to the entire county; the potential this forgotten glory represented clung fast to his mind, no matter how uncertain success may have been.

Though mortals forgot their debts quickly, grudges passed from generation to generation. Much like how the people of Kyushu had bottled up their hatred for over a century to bring down the great shogunate in Edo, Viscount Liplar could never forget the title of count that had been snatched out of his grasp, as if the title he’d inherited came hand in hand with the enduring resentment.

“Everyone needs a little spending money—it’s human nature. I completely understand. But what if, going forward, you could openly use your fortune without any mind to the attention it might bring? And it would be barely any smaller than what you have now. Weighing the two... Well, I’m sure you can see the difference.”

The untalented were quick to be moved. Gauging pros and cons took up the greater part of a shortsighted mind, and the slightest hint of a less resistant path was incredibly compelling.

Loyalty was adamantine: it was built upon ideology, hardened into a tightly knit core unassailable to the outside world. The only recourse was to smash it to bits or to swap it out for something new.

Spite was unforgettable: it could never be wiped away. Although a new coat of paint could hide hard feelings, it would only serve to hide the lower layer, a heart stained deep in hues of bitterness and hatred.

However, incentives were a different story. No one knew what would happen ten years from now, and thus the promise of immediate payout was sure to persuade. There wasn’t any guarantee that such a decision would lead to a happier future in a decade’s time, of course, but that was a separate matter.

“All I ask is one simple thing: swear fealty to me. Do that...and perhaps I might adopt a son of yours. I don’t have any plans to marry, you see, and I’m sure you can imagine where I’m heading with this. Methuselah...”

“...D-Don’t have many children.”

“Yes, precisely. But I can’t rule out the possibility of misfortune befalling me. I need a capable heir, just in case. Yet I have no interest in marriage—His Majesty even warned me that he would like to keep the voices at the table of aeroship development from growing any further.”

A thin layer of rouge became a voluptuous red, and the words these lips formed were terrifyingly moving. Sending a son to the count’s side would bring the county within reach; even if he failed to inherit the house himself, their bloodline would gain legitimacy in the line of succession. With that, the most trivial twist of fate might place the Ubiorum name in Liplar hands—perhaps, the viscount thought, even while he was still alive.

“What do you say, Viscount Liplar? Take my hand—I shall give you all that you desire. My only request is that you tell me who led you off the just path. That’s all it takes for everything to go your way.”

“I-I, er, I am a proud and loyal servant to the Empire, and I have never done anything—”

“Viscount, please. It’s only us. What could there ever be to fear? Won’t you please tell me? That’s the only thing left stopping you from seeing the breathtaking view at the top... Or would you prefer a twine necklace instead?”

Sweet nectar lay side by side with frightful threat; the viscount wiped away the greasy sweat running down his face and swallowed hard. His thoughts began to tangle: things were already in motion, but maybe he could order his men to stop now. Yet his orders had been to carry out the plan when the time came no matter what else happened. It was more than likely too late. But then again, how upset would she really be over one measly kid?

The viscount took another gulp. His spit was so hard that he felt like it might cut his throat open from the inside, but he finally opened his mouth...

“An ill-advised decision, Viscount.”

...only to be cut off by a reproving voice.

“Huh?! Wait, th-this voice!”

The orc frantically turned to and fro, his head whipping around as if someone were slapping him; yet he and Agrippina were the only two in the cramped room. Nothing had changed: not the handful of paintings on the wall, nor the small flowerpot on the desk, nor even the tea table with only enough room for two.

Totally panicked, the viscount scrambled to find the source of the voice. Not only did this room have an antimagic barrier, but it had been physically soundproofed as well. It should have been impossible to listen in, and to his knowledge, the gods offered no miracles to an end as base as eavesdropping. So where is he?!

While the man frantically searched, Agrippina moistened her lips with a sip of wine and casually responded.

“My, I wasn’t aware you’d be joining us, Marquis.”

“Of course. If you were to come, Wit figured a greeting was in order, and accepted the viscount’s invitation to prepare your reception.”

“Wh-Where?! Where are you?! Show yourself, Marquis Donnersmarck!”

Naturally, the one to interrupt the count’s temptation had been the very same man who’d fed the viscount information and strung him along like a puppeteer.

Tired of the dim-witted viscount’s antics, Agrippina pointed at the flowerpot. He ran over in a frenzy and hoisted it up; much to his surprise, he had uncovered one end to a speaking tube. The receiver was engraved with hexes designed to boost its ability to pick up sound, and it cleverly blended into the pattern of the wallpaper on top of being placed behind the removed vase. No amount of acoustic deafening or thaumaturgic protection could keep the goings-on of the room private when this pipe was carrying all conversation to another location.

“Wh-What is this?! When did this get here?!”

“Building the room is very good, Viscount, but it won’t do to skip on maintenance. Wit understand that this is your own home, but it isn’t as if you spend every waking moment in it. The only way to notice when something is out of place is to carefully check—wouldn’t you agree?”

“Ah... Agh! Arghhh!”

The viscount threw the celadon vase from a faraway land, scattering its pieces and the roses it once held across the ground. Still his wrath was not abated, and he grabbed the mouth of the pipe, yanking the whole thing straight out of the wall with brute strength. With it came the wood and chunks of plaster it had been installed in; evidently, the contraption had been fashioned to extend to a lower floor.

“My, what a dated contrivance,” Agrippina commented. “Come now, Viscount. Inspecting your home with every return is a must—either by your hand or a trusted retainer’s.”

“Sh-Shut up! W-Was this a trap?! Are you and the marquis conspiring against me?!”

“What in the world would I even stand to gain from that?”

“Wit agree with her completely.”

The supposedly locked door smoothly opened to welcome a new, uninvited guest. Marquis Donnersmarck entered wearing a modern fit, styled with slim pants and a vest to match. He displayed no shame whatsoever over having renovated a nominal ally’s private conference room unsolicited; the smile plastered on his face was as gentle and kind as ever. Though he seemed like the sort of genial fellow too neighborly to cast judgment on anyone, something about his innocent demeanor came with a hollow air.

“Viscount Liplar, you disappoint me... Wit told you that all would be well should you follow my plans, and yet you were still convinced by that blatant sweet talk. Don’t you remember my words? ‘Hold fast no matter how honeyed her words may be.’ Did you truly think that Count Ubiorum would let you live?”

“How rude of you, Marquis. I’ll have you know that I err on the side of magnanimity. By my estimate, he would have had a happy five years or so to enjoy.”

“Hm? Is this your unaffected self, Agrippina? Interesting—ah, yes, splendid indeed. Wit can only hope that you remain this way in front of me always.”

Viscount Liplar was still trembling in rage, but the marquis nonchalantly walked by to claim his now-unoccupied seat. With a dainty touch, he lifted up the bottle of wine and read the label.

“Ooh, a Seinian red Bas-Rhin, and 224 years, at that! Complete with the royal seal of ‘virgin’s blood.’ This is a gorgeous drink, Agrippina. Even Wit only have a handful in my collection. Isn’t this a tad overdone for a night with Viscount Liplar?”

“I have no interest in drinking liquors beneath my tastes. I may accept whatever is offered in public settings, but if I have the right to choose, I shall.”

“D-Don’t ignore me! Listen here, Marquis Donnersmarck! I don’t care how distinguished you are; you’ve crossed the—”

Unable to bear being forgotten in favor of a cordial chat, the viscount began his objection—but was unable to finish it. As soon as the marquis pointed at him, the orc started silently flapping his lips like a fish waiting to be fed, and then grasped at his neck. The paleness of complexion that had come with his anxiety was rapidly overwritten with a remarkable blush fueled not by rage, but by suffocation.

Annoyed by the fool’s yapping, the marquis had deleted the oxygen from the air around his head. He collapsed, writhing around on the floor. Meanwhile, the methuselah had poured himself a cupful of wine—after thoroughly wiping down the chalice with a napkin—and begun to drink. By the time he swallowed the last drop, the room was silent.

“Is that not an issue?”

Having watched but not helped, Agrippina pointed to the lifeless sack that had moments ago been Viscount Liplar. The marquis answered with the face of a man who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“With all that you already know, what use could he possibly serve? In any case, Wit have no need for a bothersome piece that chooses its master. Whether he is here or not, the silver will continue to flow. Plenty of my children draw Liplar blood, and preparing a more convenient pawn will be a trivial affair.”

“Is that so? I can’t imagine you inspire much confidence in those you command. Even the most insignificant, minor pawn can serve its purpose—but I must admit I’m a tad jealous of how deep your toy box is. An advantage afforded by your head start in imperial politics, I suppose.”

“If you would deprive me of that edge, then Wit would truly have no foot to stand on. You’ve turned the playing field upside down in a bombastic way, and naturally, my only hope of contesting you is to bring the battle to where Wit hold the advantage.”

Despite the corpse in the corner of the room, the pair were all smiles as they went back and forth over drinks. That is, until Agrippina’s ear twitched.

This room may have been fortified, but some amount of sound continued to leak in and out. There was something going on at the building’s annex, and the sound of clashing metal suggested it wasn’t a friendly welcoming party. Unfortunately, she had no means of checking from within the room, and she couldn’t send her servant a telepathic message either.

That said, Agrippina had completed her read on the balance of power. Reminding herself that there was no need to worry, she slowly reached into her pocket and asked, “Do you mind if I help myself?”

“A woman, smoking? It isn’t exactly the most illustrious of pastimes.”

“Oh, Marquis, don’t be so old fashioned. Plenty of ladies enjoy an occasional puff nowadays.”

After all, even Agrippina herself would have to put in a smidge of real effort to kill that boy as he was now. He’d surely handle whatever they threw at him with ease. And if the servant was to manage his tasks, then it was only fair that the master play her part and finish hers.

[Tips] The Empire has a system that is at once somewhat similar to and completely unlike plea bargaining on Earth, wherein a criminal party can be pardoned for their wrongdoings on account of great value provided to the nation. The specifics are unwritten in law, only given short mention as an exceptional clause that may be invoked within the walls of the imperial office.

In summary, the Emperor may overlook what he deems necessary evils for the continued glory of the Empire, or for “the continued glory of the Empire.”

A group of men clad in silent gear sneaked through the darkness. They slunk through the halls, making their way into the annex of Viscount Liplar’s personal estate.

Eventually, they came across a splendiferous room reserved for guests of honor. The short man at the helm produced a small tube from his pocket: both ends were shaped like funnels, one larger than the other. Meant to be used by doctors examining their patients’ heartbeats, it doubled as a tool for listening in on a room from beyond the door.

For a few minutes, the man placed the device on the door and listened with bated breath. No sound.

They’d already confirmed the room was dark from the outside. The guest seemed to have gone to bed early, just as he’d said he would—but of course he did. His supper had been laced with a minor dose of sedatives. He wouldn’t pass out on the spot, but ingestion was sure to make him drowsier than he otherwise would have been. This sort of trickery was standard fare for the viscount’s crew: their chef was also a trained apothecary, and the dosage was sure to be perfectly tuned.

The agent with the listening tool nodded and made way for a larger member of the team to step up with the master key for every lock in the annex in hand. At times, a simple spare meant to cover for a lost key could become the ticket to a clean murder. The lock was regularly oiled for just such occasions; with a gentle touch, the key fit snugly inside and could turn without a single sound.

Yet even with the door unlocked, the hitmen refrained from swinging it open. Instead, they cracked it ajar and cautiously peered inside. As expected, the room was lightless and lifeless. Just to cover their bases, the man in front reached in with a pocket mirror in hand to confirm that no one was lying in wait behind the door.

The only presence was a person-sized mound in the bed. The covers had been pulled up past the pillows, probably to cut off any light or sound; though they couldn’t make out the target’s breathing through the thick layers of sheets, it was clear that he was fast asleep.

After checking every item off their thorough list, the men finally stepped inside. They lined up at the side of the bed, each pulling out a weapon from underneath their cloak: an eastern crossbow.

During the Second Eastern Conquest, the mounted desert natives had used these weapons to great effect against the imperial army. Designed to fold in two, a hook protruded out to snag on the bowstring when the stock was folded up, allowing the wielder to reload it with a relatively light pull on a lever. This mechanism made it possible to load the deadly weapon on horseback, and the Empire’s soldiers had brought it back home once the war was over. For as many friends as they’d lost to the things, even they had to admit they were good arms.

A long way from home, the technology now enabled a group of assassins to unleash on the sleeping figure. Five thick bolts sank into the blankets. These projectiles had earned the epithet of “knight-killers” for how easily they pierced solid armor; this was beyond overkill.

Still, the men stayed alert and readied a second volley. The skewered victim didn’t budge, but the men waited at the ready for a few seconds before the large fellow who’d opened the door gave a signal with his hand. Two quick waves forward: he was ordering the others to confirm the kill.

The men on each flank obliged; one was posturing to shoot, and the other tore off the blankets in one swift motion.

“He’s not here!” he exclaimed in a hushed tone.

Where they should have found a dead boy, the vanguard had instead unveiled a bundle of spare blankets fashioned into a human shape.

“Shit! Did he get away?!”

The order to search was on the tip of the large man’s tongue, but such commands were wholly unnecessary. After all, he had come to them: sword in hand and clad in armor, the would-be victim leapt out from the wardrobe.

[Tips] Eastern crossbows were popularized by the minor desert lords to the Trialist Empire’s east, but are in fact endemic to the Eastern Empire on the other side. Modern Rhinians have come to acknowledge the utility of the weapons; research and development has continued based on the reverse engineering carried out during the war.

Although they fail to match the stopping power of traditional crossbows, the ease of reloading offered enables use on cavalry, and allows competent marksmen to fire off fifteen bolts in a minute’s time. The advantages the foreign design presents are highly regarded, and military consensus is that it will become the new standard going forward.

What was I supposed to say? I mean, did they really think I’d waltz into enemy territory and leisurely help myself to their food, drink, and bed?

Perhaps our enemies had thought that we’d totally let our guards down upon sending away our personal guards and crossing the Liplar border. Unfortunately for them, I was too fainthearted for that.

I’d secretly thrown out my dinner, water and all, and fashioned a body double to take my place in bed; meanwhile, I was sitting in the wardrobe, taking a nap while cradling Schutzwolfe in a full set of armor. If nothing happened, I would awake in the morning a bit worse for wear and laugh off my excessive paranoia; if they did come, I was ready to cut them down to the last.

But to think I’d actually have to steel myself for this.

Ugh, what a pain. They were just as desperate as I was, so keeping them alive for information would... No, it was time to drop the charade: pulling punches because I didn’t want to kill them wouldn’t fly here.

These weren’t common thugs or bandits who’d count toward a larger payday alive. All I’d get for sparing them was more danger. If they were ready to come after my life in a situation like this, then failure was a fate equivalent to dying in battle; they knew that better than anyone else, and would keep chasing me so long as they drew breath. Even if I knocked them out, they’d resume the attack as soon as they regained consciousness. The future of the entire viscounty rode on tonight: the knights and soldiers here fought for their children, their wives, and the honor of their family names.

Then I guess the only exchange left to be had is one of life or death.

“Grah?!”

I leapt out, focusing all my momentum into my blade to cut into the apparent commander from the shoulder down. A jolt shot up into me as the blow connected with something hard, but I’d cleanly sliced through his relatively light coverings: my sword had crashed through his spine.

“Captain—hrgh!”

Schutzwolfe’s tip did not reach the floor—before she could follow through, I shifted the angle of my swing to run parallel to the ground, keeping low to split open another man’s knee. After a deep swipe, I’d left his left calf perilously attached to the rest of his body. If he didn’t get magical or miraculous treatment soon, he’d never walk again.

But if I was being honest with myself, he’d bleed out long before then.

“Where the hell did—augh?!”

“Shit! Call for back—mmfgh!”

I’d been watching from inside the closet all this time; I knew how these things worked. My Unseen Hands plucked two crossbows off the assassins I’d already felled and fired at the pair on the other side of the bed. One took a bolt to the shoulder, and the other to his gut—an unfortunate spot. With his stomach pierced, he’d need to carefully patch up his abdomen if he wanted to live for any longer than a few minutes.

That’s four down, one to— Oh no you don’t.

The last killer finally managed to react, pointing his weapon my way. I dragged up the man with the busted knee to serve as my shield, and in a stroke of misfortune, the bolt landed square between his eyes.

That was awful of me... Too late now, though.

My hands had been soaked in blood from the day I killed Helga. I could tell myself I had no other choice, but at the end of the day that didn’t make the weight any easier to bear. I’d murdered her—I’d given up on her future to preserve my own.

I’d killed again in the hallway of that inn, blinded by rage. I’d felt so sick of myself that I spent the entire night cradling my knees and staring up at the moon. But three days later, I was back to eating hearty meals without any issue.

That had been the moment it finally sank in: I was already firmly planted in a world where the trade in human life was swift and eager. And if my hands were already stained, then what was another layer of taint for the sake of my own future?

Besides, these guys were here to take my life; they had no right to complain if I ended up taking theirs!

“Nghf?!”

“Sorry, I can’t afford to go easy.”

Laying Schutzwolfe horizontally, I grabbed her by the blade with my left hand and used my right to guide her upward. In a swift stab that gave him no time to reload, my sword pierced the underarmor around his neck and entered through the jaw to burrow out of his skull. On top of piercing his windpipe and brain alike, I gave Schutzwolfe a light twist, boring out enough flesh to pull her out without snagging. The man fell over, instantly lifeless. He couldn’t so much as twitch: with his brain stem snapped, any nervous signal carrying orders was doomed to be trapped in his head forever.

Three confirmed kills, and two half-dead.

“Ugh, hng, oww—augh?!”

“Count your blessings that you’re alive and sit still.”

I went back to crush the third man’s other shoulder to totally disarm him.

Although this seemed like a one-sided beatdown, I couldn’t let myself slip. I’d held the advantage because I’d managed to take them all out before they could react, not the other way around; if I pulled my foot off the gas, the risk of injury was real. Assassins were the most cutthroat of opponents—and it looked like I was in for a second helping.

Thudding footsteps echoed in from the hall beyond the door. They’d prepared more people to close in on me in case the first squad failed.

Well then, let’s see what the viscount’s personal knights are made of. Apologies, gentlemen—I’m starting this fight at full force.

I raised my hand to summon my spells, and Helga’s gemstone glimmered disapprovingly in the moonlight.

“The hell’s going on?! What’s the holdup for one...lone...brat?”

“Do I look alone to you? That’s a shame.” Reinforcements burst through the door and froze in striking confusion. I would’ve liked to capture their likenesses and frame them; they belonged by the entry for “flat-footed rubes” in the dictionary. “You’re up against seven. Looks like you didn’t bring enough men.”

Who could blame them? I doubted they’d expected to see five crossbows and a sword floating in midair, hovering around a swordsman wielding a terrifying, jet-black blade.

A volley of crossbow bolts intercepted the new invaders. The werewolf who’d opened the door—presumably the unit’s captain—looked solidly built with all his hairs standing on end, but even the sturdiest body couldn’t withstand the focused fire; he went flying.

Tossing three of the empty crossbows, I used two of my newly freed Hands to reload the remaining ones, and the last to pick up a longsword dropped by the original squadron. Armed once more, I jumped over the limp werewolf and into the hallway.

Ooh, they sure brought out the welcome wagon. The knights who’d been lying in wait had rushed over in droves. Still, they must’ve underestimated me as just a single kid: they were largely unarmored, much to my convenience.

Not wanting to dive in recklessly only to be skewered by spears and swords from every angle, I threw out a mystic flashbang. I dashed into the dazed crowd, slicing with all three of my swords; the reinforcements were gone in the blink of an eye. I wasn’t going to struggle against blinded foes—this had been easy pickings.

“Okay, now what?”

Walking along the blood-soaked halls, I considered my next move. Daylight had completely forsaken us, but the False Moon was hiding tonight and the Mother Goddess’s true form shone with exalted vigor. I couldn’t count on fey support—I doubted they’d even be able to materialize.

In my pockets, I had five more flashbangs and three sticks of thermite. I couldn’t justify using the Daisy Petal spell given my surroundings—the thought of putting uninvolved servants in the line of fire ate at my conscience—so that was it for my arsenal. That meant I wouldn’t be able to brute-force things with magic alone. A viscount’s personal abode was sure to be crawling with guards, and that was all the more true with Lady Agrippina here to visit.

I guess I might as well head toward the manor. I could hardly imagine myself being the priority target, which meant the madam was sure to be suffering some kind of attack on her end. Split up as we were, common tactical sense dictated that regrouping was the best course of action.

And on the way, I’d cut down anyone in my path.

“Another serving? Glad to see the hospitality isn’t slowing down.”

Spurred on by the silence on the upper floor, another group came marching up the stairs. That said, there were only three of them—not even remotely a threat. It seemed like they’d left a skeleton crew to deal with me while the majority of their forces went to subjugate Lady Agrippina.

Well, while I was sure some might disagree, I figured these guys had gotten the better draw. With any luck, they might even survive the night.

One came down on me with a sharp battle cry, but I knocked his blade away and slashed through his right elbow with a floating sword. Keeping the other two swordlocked with my other Hands, I took each down with a thickly laid-on serving of crossbow bolts.

Skill was no longer prerequisite to my one-way massacres; this was the full form of a build fashioned after fixed values. Every roll of the dice was a mere formality: anything between the poles of fumbling and criticality would accomplish the same thing. Though some would deride this as boring, I couldn’t think of anything more satisfying than to conquer fortune with the fruits of my own effort—this was beauty in its finest form.

I tore through another handful of knights on my way downstairs and stepped outside. The midnight gales of early spring were still frigid, and even under a full set of repaired armor, my skin was covered in goosebumps.

Brr, it’s cold. These were the sorts of nights that I would’ve liked to spend huddled up by a hearth... Oh, I know!

Just walking into the main manor would be too humdrum. Instead, I could light the thing on fire to stir up some confusion. While the estate undoubtedly came equipped with the means to fight a fire on the premises, I doubted it’d be enough to handle my arcane thermite. I’d heard that the peasants of Edo had lit mansions ablaze out of anger or simply in pursuit of warmth; why not take after them? If nothing else, I was sure it’d be a dazzling show that would warm me up.

But as I made my way to the main hall, a faint tingling of ill omen nipped at my back.

Permanent Battlefield had given me a warning, and I heeded: tumbling forward, I glanced back to see something stuck in the ground I’d occupied a moment prior—four somethings, in fact. They didn’t seem like arrows, but they were too deeply buried for me to get a good look. The sound had led me to envision throwables, like perhaps stones slung from the rooftops; yet that seemed out of place for a nobleman’s personal knights.

My evasion must have been factored into the enemies’ calculations, as I sensed something else coming my way. Another set of projectiles barreled toward me at violent speeds, and despite being too fast to track, I had a hunch as to where they were going to land.

Combining my four floating swords—I’d picked up more to keep my reloading Hands busy—with the Craving Blade, I wove together a shield of arms to cover my head, neck, and core. Twelve projectiles, all keenly aimed at my vitals, bounced off.

Are those counterweights? You don’t see that every day.

Sailing through the air, a set of tipless metal cones gleamed dimly under the shining moon. The narrower end led to a lead chain that allowed the weight to slither back to its wielder.

Tracing the links, I saw four figures emerge from the shadows: two clung to the manor’s outer wall, one was waiting on the second floor of the annex, and the last stood directly in my path.

At long last, I had a good look. The backlit sunset had gotten in my way last time, but with the moon this bright, there was no mistaking it: they were sepa. The one standing before me had an all-too-familiar presence—that of an assassin I’d come to know in the time since this Ubiorum episode had begun.

“I recognize you: hard to notice yet a menace in battle. Are you giving me a chance to avenge my cracked rib?”

I pointed my sword her way, but she said nothing in return. In lieu of a response, she bared her extra set of arms without hesitation, revealing two long metal poles with weighted chains on each end.

What a crazy set of weapons! Mensch could never dream of handling such unwieldy tools. I should’ve known a world this cosmopolitan would come with unimaginable weaponry!

I would have been incredibly excited, if only my first look at the things hadn’t come with four lead weights that needed dodging. Not only was her sepa footwork as difficult to grasp as ever, but the projectiles were supersonic. If I let one land, a serious injury was guaranteed regardless of armor; a hit to the head would cave in my helmet and skull alike.

The other three synced up, combining for a total of sixteen objects zipping all around me. This was bad: evading everything was as hard as avoiding the fallen leaves whipped up in a tornado. Worse still, they were meticulous with the placement of each attack. I wouldn’t have struggled to keep up if they were all aiming for my vitals, but they threw in feints and suppressing fire toward my hands and feet; I needed to accurately assess the course of each and act accordingly.

Dammit, they’re good—all of them! I guess she wasn’t at her best back on the rooftop.

Though I was getting by with my extra swords for now, I couldn’t keep this up forever. Blocking enough of the projectiles to dodge the rest put me on a razor’s edge, and this level of focus was hard to maintain. If I didn’t put an end to this soon, they’d reduce me to a mass of pulped tissues haphazardly bagged in a human skin.

Yet I didn’t have a way in! Three of them clung to unreachable walls, and the one on equal ground kept retreating every time I advanced. With all this covering fire, I couldn’t close the gap.

In which case, these things have gotta go first!

“...?!” I could feel my enemy’s surprise resonate through their chain.

After dodging a strike aimed at my leg, I stomped on the projectile before they had a chance to draw it back. But of course, I didn’t delude myself into thinking that’d be enough to hold it in place. My foes had the size advantage: a tug-of-war would produce an instant loss.

Instead, I abandoned the crossbows I’d been threatening counterattacks with and slammed their bolts through gaps in the chain’s links, pinning it to the ground. With this, I’d effectively eliminated two projectiles from one of the— Hey, wait! That comes off?! Hold on, you can still use it with only one weight?!

This is so unfair!

The killer unlinked the pinned chain from the handle and continued harassing me with the unbalanced weapon. If I’m being honest, I really hadn’t expected their arms to be so advanced. I’d just assumed that the chains were welded on for stability and strength.

Fine, I’ve got more tricks. Another chain whizzed past my face; as soon as it went taut, I had it. Even with Divine swordplay and a blade that transcended the bounds of mortal craftsmanship, slicing through a flexible chain in open air was a herculean task. Yet all I needed was one instant of tightly drawn rigidity.

With a low, dreadful crack, the metal shattered. All that remained was a short chain, stripped of its threat and impossible to control.

I yanked one more chain with an Unseen Hand and knotted up another with two spare swords; one by one, I thinned out the torrential rain of projectiles. Every chain disarmed gave me more room to breathe; with fewer attacks to block, my swords had all the more opportunity to retaliate.

Around the time I’d eliminated half of them, fortune struck.

The add-ons I’d taken for Unseen Hand had turned my invisible appendages from toy tweezers to the brawny arms of a fully grown bodybuilder. Still, I knew a single Hand couldn’t beat a sepa in a contest of raw strength...but what about all six?

When sixteen lead weights had been tearing through the air, I’d been forced to dedicate all my resources toward defense. However, the same could no longer be said; with the storm of metal abating, I grabbed one of the chains and pulled it with everything I had.

Entirely abandoning defense, even for a moment, was a massive gamble—but it paid off. Ripped from the safety of the wall, the centipede tumbled toward me, flailing.

Reconstructing the wall of swords to cover my rear, I sprinted to catch his landing. Though he made a frantic attempt to right himself, it was clear that being yanked off-balance was a new experience. Despite raising his weapon to shield himself, without proper footing or posture, the attempt was no better than a plea for mercy. Your trunk’s wide open!

One down! Timed perfectly, the Craving Blade reclaimed its original form to place the pinnacle of her massive arc halfway through the falling sepa’s body. As I tore through the middle of his trunk, I could feel bones and carapace alike disintegrate; the acceleration from the gravitational assist gave way to a hand-numbing collision, but I held firm to complete the strike.

The sepa screamed and thrashed about, scattering blood as red as any mensch’s. Evidently, not even this was enough to kill. Centipedes were hardy critters who would keep biting even if their body was chopped in two—a lesson I’d learned a lifetime ago when visiting my grandmother’s rural hometown for summer break. While we’d used boiling water and detergent to kill those pests, I didn’t have them on me now, and using my limited supply of thermite as a finisher was such a waste.

After all, they were still mortal: a severed head was more than enough.

Just as I leapt forward to seal the deal, the other sepa clinging to the main hall gave up the high ground to pounce on me.

You care about your friend, huh? I respect that! But now you’re playing in my range!

Her long metal poles suddenly became a hindrance, and the other two couldn’t support them without risking friendly fire. Unable to make full use of her weapon in close quarters, the assassin was wide open for a flurry of quick swipes. She swung with the whole of her considerable strength, but four swords were enough to stop it. I used my last two Hands to pull at her chains and throw her off-balance, making sure to land as many hits as possible regardless of how lethal each strike proved.

Fingers went flying, with a whole hand following suit; I was quickly reducing her to mincemeat. Although her armor was tough enough to ward off any fatal blows, at this rate it was only a matter of time.

Yet when the kill was finally in sight, the hail of lead resumed once more; simultaneously, the cornered assassin pulled the same trick that had thrown me off back at the inn rooftop: kicking her large trunk up, she bought herself space to run away.

Hm? And while I hadn’t been looking, the half-sundered sepa had vanished. It looked like the second one had been buying time; unlike most wetworkers, I guessed these sepa didn’t operate on the principle of “failure equals death.” Maybe the possibility of redeeming themselves in battle outweighed the shame of returning home in tatters.

Well, I supposed if anyone had the money to put together two nearly bisected halves, it would be a marquis. Survivors had their own appeal weighed against loyal sacrifices, so I supposed it was a shrewd policy either way.

But boy, was I starting to run out of breath. Not even I had the stamina to do this forever. We had to have been at this for half an hour at least—I needed to end this sooner rather than later.

Both the assassin on the annex and the one I’d crossed paths with once before began to close the distance on me.

I knew that their teamwork was perfect; not once had any of their sixteen chained projectiles gotten in another’s way. If they were pushing up now to crush me two-on-one, then my best course of action was clear: take one out first.

I bolted toward the assassin who’d been manning the annex. He threw two chains my way, and I knocked them aside; two more came to sweep my legs from behind, but I entangled those in a floating sword each. But with a deft maneuver, the man managed to redirect his deflected weights to swing back toward my head, forcing me to duck low in order to dodge.

Unfortunately for him, I was in the perfect range to toss my catalysts.

For all my casual commentary on how I’d never use it on a real person, a stick of mystic thermite sailed through the air. Even after bringing up the Craving Blade to shield my eyes, the intense brilliance of the reaction threatened to cook my retinas. Flames thousands of degrees hot bloomed in the blink of an eye, torching the assassin alive.

His screams were too profoundly pained to be captured by words. Lowering my sword, I saw a living ball of flames desperately rolling around.

Sorry, but that’s not gonna cut it. Powered by chemical reaction, neither water nor mud would put the flames out. His frenzied panic managed to fling off bits of the superheated material, but the blaze wouldn’t dissipate until the reaction had run its course.

That said, it wasn’t burning him as well as I’d expected. Had my magical tweaks to the reaction’s length affected the strength of combustion somehow? No, that couldn’t be it—my results in the practice room had proven as much. In which case, his cloak and armor probably had some sort of flame-retardant enchantment built in.

Still, his face was melting and I’d surely robbed him of his vision. With the catalyzing solution stuck to his face, he was going to suffer too much damage to remain a real threat. I didn’t know whether DoT would secure the kill, but he couldn’t stay on the battlefield any longer.

Now, the only thing left to do was to clean up the last remaining— Whoa, what the hell?!

An unexpected line of attack caught me off guard: the final assassin had thrown one of her weapons at me whole. I ducked; the rod-and-chains that zipped past spun so wildly that it looked like a single flat disc. In the time I was busy dodging, the final sepa removed the chains from either end of her polearm and gripped them tightly in her lower set of hands.

“I see. So this is your real melee style.” I could hear the wailing diminish in the distance: the assassin was escaping, even while burning alive. He could run as far as he wished—I didn’t have the time to stop him. I needed to settle this fight and get to the main manor to support Lady Agrippina. “Let’s finish this.”

“Words are cheap.”

At long last, she spoke. Her voice was the same as it had been in the palace: charming and easy on the ears. Who knows? Maybe if it hadn’t been steeped in animosity, it would have been enough to woo me. Well, that, and if it hadn’t come with two chains whizzing by on either side, boxing me into a narrow lane.

Hoisting her polearm high into the air, she began to spin it with the force of a jet engine’s fan. She swerved from side to side, obscuring her intentions and using the centrifugal force to bolster the threat of her lead whips. I’d always thought this sort of thing had been a cinematic invention thought up to look stylish, but facing it in battle was as problematic as it was intimidating.

Blocking the hit wasn’t an option. She had the advantage of height, gravity, and angular momentum bolstering a battlestaff that most mensch would struggle to lift. Even with all five of my swords plus my two spare Hands, she’d crush me. The Craving Blade would hold firm, but the rest—even Schutzwolfe—would crack, not to mention my fragile arms.

Parrying a strike this forceful was also a no-go. A plank of wood diagonal to a stream could redirect its current, but it’d snap in half when faced with the torrential rapids of a flooding river.

I liked it. The whole of her being came through in this one attack: she’d kill me or die trying. How could I hate something so gallant and forthright?

In fact, I was flattered: she’d surmised that she needed to go this far just to grasp at some chance of victory. It looked like I’d gotten pretty strong after all.

All right then. I’ll answer with everything I’ve got.

Putting my gimmicks to rest, I prepared myself for the counterattack. I let my Hands fizzle away to dedicate all my concentration into one strike, letting every last neuron dial in on the moment. Endowed with Insight, my eyes did not tunnel in on any one point, instead taking in even the most minute movements as fragments of the greater whole; I processed the stimuli as part of a Permanent Battlefield, acutely aware of every element that made up the big picture.

At the apex of focus, my Lightning Reflexes kicked in. Time dilated; submerged in flow state, I followed the golden path laid out for me in a slow world where the next move was always certain.

I heard the sound of screeching chains. With an expert flick of her wrists, she’d whipped them back from past me to loop in toward my head and back—easily avoided with a simple crouch.

The weights went wide, opening a path for their master to rush in, her staff still held overhead. Despite the infamy of weaponized chains and ropes coming back to bite their wielder, I hadn’t gotten my hopes up. She was a master of her craft; in a contest of Dexterity alone, there was a real chance she was my equal.

Her footwork was too erratic and her eyes too well hidden by her hood to read her intent from those, but I’d finally gotten used to it. Watching her writhing footwork wouldn’t help, but the angle her trunk twisted at was set in stone. Every time she summoned her strength to attack, her legs and trunk had to sync up.

Like now!

She did not shout; she employed no dramatic flourish; she struck with technique honed to bring death and nothing more. Despite starting with the staff hoisted up, she swung up slantwise from below to make her blow as difficult to intercept as possible.

But I had a read on her. The reach her polearm provided generally made it hard to invade her space, but that was only the case if I didn’t know what was coming. One beat late and I’d throw myself into her attack; one beat early and she’d have time to correct her course. Victory invariably lay on the precipice of defeat, and I leapt into close quarters.

It wasn’t the flashiest moment, but this was what a duel between masters was like. There was a good reason why old samurai flicks always ended with blink-and-you’ll-miss-it exchanges.

Having dodged her death blow and earned myself perfect positioning, I opted for a clean uppercut. As her arms came down, the Craving Blade went up and severed two at the forearm.

Yet that wasn’t the end: my opponent was my size several times over, and had one out left. If she could tackle me and constrict me with her trunk, she would walk away the victor. Immediately tossing her staff, she reached out with her remaining limbs.

Too bad. I had a read on this too.

I slipped under her attempt to grab me, quickly hopping up onto the back of her lower body. She whirled around in an attempt to catch me, but I’d already kicked off; twirling back, I slashed at her while fading away. Truth be told, I’d been aiming for her neck, but she’d managed to pull back her left hand to survive the hit.

Still, three arms was hardly a cheap price to pay. I skipped backward a few times, eyeing her next move from a safe distance. But three flooding wounds and one arm weren’t enough to fight me with. The battle was all but settled.

“Hrgh... Ngh...”

Evidently, losing three limbs was finally enough to draw a pained groan from beneath the veil. Yet even now, she wouldn’t back down: she produced a spare chain from her pocket in a stunning display of valor.

If nothing else, she had earned my respect for showing the most zeal in battle of any foe I’d faced thus far. She was prouder than the kidnapping mage; nobler than the crazed Helga; more vivacious than the undead adventurer looking for an heir; and more sincere than the masked nobleman.

Few were the occasions in life where one could receive such genuine emotion from another. You’re making me blush.

Fine, then. While I could leave her here now that she posed no threat, I decided to see our dance through till the end. How could I call myself a man if I refused to face the boiling core of bloodlust glaring at me?

For our final bout, I would take her head in one swift stroke. An easy death was the least I could do to honor the efforts of a masterful warrior. Ready to lunge, I held my sword beside me and took one step—when a piercing noise split the air.

Something had been thrown at incredible speeds. Looking over, I saw a lead weight with something tied to it soaring through the moonlit skies like a whistling arrow. Strangely, it wasn’t aiming for me. It landed instead by the final assassin, and a moment later, flooded the night with a blinding radiance.

I put up an arm and lowered it once the light was gone, only to find that my foe had vanished with it.

Turning in the direction the projectile had come from, I saw a fleeing figure trailed by smoke. The singed holes in his cloak identified him as the assassin I’d torched with thermite. Not only was I surprised that he’d stuck around to wait for an opportune moment, but I was shocked that he could move at all.

“What a flashy retreat,” I grumbled.

I’d been had. I’d noticed earlier that they preferred dishonorable escape over glorious death; it seemed the others had forced their companion to run.

Furthermore, whatever they’d used had been no ordinary flashbang. The thick scent of magic lingered on the scene, and it seemed like they’d used space-bending magic in the form of some enchanted tool or catalyst. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how expensive that would be—even as a consumable, it could go for tens of thousands of drachmae and still find buyers.

“And they managed to pick up after themselves too. Argh, this is gonna make tracking them down so much harder.”

Had they left a body part or two, we could’ve used it to pin down their location and air out any further grievances. As it stood, though, the blood spilt on the ground wasn’t quite enough.

Man, I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth. What a sorry way to cap off a great fight. It wasn’t that I’d wanted to kill them, but that this felt too inconclusive to satisfy me. And sure, I could celebrate the fact that I’d come out unscathed, but as a frail little mensch, this was about the only way I could ever win anyway. Had any spectators been present, they would surely boo the episode as a boring spat with an abrupt ending.

Oh well. I guess I’ll go join up with Lady Agrippina and—suddenly, the small pouch at my waist shivered. It was the little pocket I kept Ursula’s never-wilting rose in.

On a night much like this one, where the False Moon hid out of sight, she’d once wrung out what little power she could muster to tremble in the same way: it was when I’d first stepped into the sea of trees leading toward the ichor maze. Had I heeded her warning then, Mika and I wouldn’t have ended up knocking on death’s door.

So I’m not going to the main hall, I guess?

I’d failed to take notice of her signals once and gotten burnt for it; daring to do so again could put me at serious risk of being spirited away to the twilight hill. It was probably best to listen. Walking away from the manor, I decided to try contacting Lady Agrippina with a spell instead...only for an explosion at my back to send me flying.

[Tips] Corpses represent a great deal of information that may fall into enemy hands. Survival—or at least, retrieval of the dead—is a top priority for assassins and secret agents, second only to the success of a mission itself.

Smoke with the scent of sweet fruit blanketed a pair of methuselah. By the time the last of her leaves had burnt to ashes and the final drop of his wine had been lapped away, their conversation had naturally drifted to newer topics.

“Now then, Agrippina. Wit have a gift for you.”

“A gift, you say?”

“Indeed. It would please me greatly if you’d accept it.”

The marquis reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small and classy box. Coated on the outside with crimson felt, he popped the lid open to show a single ring hidden within. It was a mystarille band capped with an emerald larger than the tip of his thumb. Smaragds, as the jewel was commonly known in the Empire, were certainly popular as gemstones; though, in recent years, it was more in vogue to send them to others with a certain mystic meaning in mind.

Emeralds were said to ward off poison and defend virtue in the face of temptation. As such, there could only be one interpretation for a man giving a woman such a jewel: a proposal.

“I see your material never gets any better. Did a lowborn minstrel inspire this little idea of yours?”

“No, no, Wit am serious, Agrippina. Don’t you think it sounds wonderful? Count Agrippina Voisin von Ubiorum—otherwise known as Marchioness Agrippina Voisin von Donnersmarck. Wit simply thinks it has a marvelous ring to it.”

“I’m afraid I disagree entirely. In fact, I’ve heard tone-deaf bards drunkenly stumble through hackneyed tunes that were less grating on the ears. Besides...”

Agrippina plucked the ring out of the box and held it up toward the light, eyeing it over without a hint of interest. It was well made: the mystarille was properly fashioned, the gemstone had been sanded down into an intricate shape with great care and skill, and the design was a traditional mainstay that would never grow old no matter how many years ticked by.

Alas, she simply didn’t like it.

“The design is old and in poor taste. This ring would be best fit adorning the finger of some country bumpkin—or perhaps you ought to play the part of a dutiful son and send it to your mother.”

“Oh, how cruel of you, Agrippina—how cruel. And here Wit had imagined a gleaming emerald might fit the beautiful hue of your eye.”

“My, is this eye of mine to your liking? It seems you do have some good sense.”

Though their good-natured expressions did not fade, the air between them creaked under the tension—literally. Trace amounts of the mana swirling within their bodies leaked into the room, warping it; the mystic lamps flickered and stray shards from the broken flowerpot shattered further.

“But I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. May I ask you to come again at a later date with a better engagement speech? And I must say, this isn’t exactly the most romantic of situations. Proposing in a cramped tearoom with the deathly stink of a dead orc fouling up the air is sure to cause even passions stoked for a century to fizzle out into cinders.”

“Wit ask not for passions to last a century, Agrippina, but for love to endure a millennium. Take my hand, and we can lay claim to vast swaths of the Empire—fifty years, and an electorate seat may be in reach. If all goes well, we could have legal ties of relation to the throne.”

“Is that so? But tell me: where in this happy future of ours am I taken out of the picture?”

Their dashing smiles oozed with toxicity. With his ostensible “flirtations” failing to land, Marquis Donnersmarck shook his head.

“My proposal was made out of concern for you. It is no exaggeration to say that the majority of noble households in the county are under my sphere of influence. Should you push forward alone, who knows how many will turn coat and cease to be of use?”

“I never expected anything to begin with. His Majesty has personally vested me with the authority to cut up the region as I see fit, and truthfully, such a revolt may be my easiest path forward. I hear the young Graufrocks are just itching for a fight, and I’m sure they’d be more than happy to make the hike over.”

“...But then the county will slip out of your fingers. With so many notable names involved, it would become impossible to rule as you please. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“Since when has that ever been my goal?” Disappearing the pipe from her hands, Agrippina peeled off the last layer of her facade and propped up her chin. As indescribably showy as ever, her everyday sneer was on full display. “Frankly put, the fate which befalls this territory couldn’t possibly interest me less, so long as it doesn’t cause me any issues. Whether two hundred people die in this very manor or all 250 thousand citizens of the county perish, it isn’t my concern.”

“Agrippina, you don’t mean—”

“Marquis Donnersmarck, you have made a terrible miscalculation. Power? Politics? I simply don’t care. You see, the only thing I want out of life is to see all the stories it has to offer: all the long-lost chronicles of the past, every saga taking shape at this very moment, the sum of history yet unwritten, stretching out to the ends of eternity.”

As excitement took hold of her, Agrippina’s jade eye began to melt. The definite bounds of her black pupil grew hazy as a whirlpool of color swirled into the center; though Marquis Donnersmarck had crossed paths with countless arcane oddities in his time—many of them effectively mystic embodiments of malice—even he shivered when he locked eyes with her.

“So allow me to answer your proposal without any affectation, Marquis.”

“...Please do. Wit do hope for an agreeable answer. We can do so much together. A splendid future for both of us lies ahead.”

While he remained a picture-perfect gentleman on the surface, the marquis couldn’t keep his cool inside—especially when the count suddenly grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. Face-to-face, her eyes nearly touched his own. A single bead of sweat formed on his forehead, and it finally sank in.

These eyes—no, this woman...

“Stand in my way, and you will die, imbecile.”

...is mad.

Annihilation swallowed them whole: neither heat nor light accompanied the raw burst of magical power that erupted at their feet, erasing everything it came across as the blast devoured the building.

Marquis Donnersmarck kept a handful of magia in his orbit, and had instructed them to prepare a Great Work of polemurgy in the basement of the manor that could be activated with a remote incantation. In the event that his attempt to win over the count went awry, his failsafe had been to simply obliterate the entire estate.

Naturally, he had an excuse as well. Viscount Liplar had recently purchased a dragon egg, you see—not an egg bred from one of the domesticated line of drakes that were kept in Rhine, of course, but one belonging to a true dragon. Enraged, the parent had followed it here and exacted its vengeance.

Without cameras or telecommunications, the cover-up was perfectly doable. Originally, his story had included an emergency of statecraft that the viscount would have been out of the house to settle, allowing for all eyewitnesses to be eliminated but him. By the time anyone from the College made their way out to investigate, the traces of mana would have dissipated; lacking any other survivor testimony, the inconvenient truth could be swept under the rug of a draconic calamity.

“Ergh... Not even she could survive that, Wit take it?”

The man magically floating midair had only made it through the ceremonial spell of destruction thanks to the arsenal of enchanted gear he carried on his person. Casting his gaze over the rubble that had once been a house, he mumbled to himself in awe; being in the blast radius hadn’t been part of his plans, but any later and he was convinced he would’ve died.

Although the viscount had broken the voice tube, it had still served as a tiny hole in the antithaumaturgic barrier surrounding the tearoom. Sending a signal through it, the marquis had ordered that the Liplar house be vaporized alongside its guards, knights, and servants; still, the smoldering ruins retained enough shape to be recognizable.

A midnight breeze rolled through, whisking away the smoke...and there she was, standing without a care in the world. Her lavishly set hair retained its perfect form; her scarlet dress remained untainted by even a single speck of dust.

Despite finding herself at ground zero, the lady carried herself as though the explosion hadn’t affected her in any way—and in truth, it hadn’t. After all, she’d been somewhere else the instant things went off.

“Ha...ha! Are you some sort of immortal, Agrippina?”

“Oh please, I’ll die if you kill me. This is simply a matter of your efforts falling short. No matter how mighty the spell, it means nothing if it can’t reach my sanctuary, a dimension removed.”

Sensing that an arcane attack was imminent, Agrippina had bent space to slip into a separate layer of existence. The rest was a simple affair: after waiting out the few seconds it would take for the explosion to settle, she’d popped back into her original position. Yet the remarkable speed with which she’d navigated the intricacies of space-bending was beyond even the marquis’s wildest imagination.

“Ah, of course... A mistake on my part. Wit shouldn’t have let my preconceptions of possible and impossible cloud my judgment; perhaps a powerful counterspell was in order.”

“Though in that case, I doubt you would’ve been able to rely upon your own mystic defenses. Well then, with that out of the way, how do you intend to entertain me next? I’ll have you know that I’m not very keen on boring gentlemen.”

“Agrippina, you truly are a wonderful woman. Your every word and action makes me want you all the more—but you would be better dead than alive.”

Still, now that she’d revealed her hand, he could simply jam her magic. Returning to the scene instead of making her getaway was her biggest mistake. Even if she’d come equipped with her staff, ready for a proper fight, Marquis Donnersmarck had prepared a backup plan in the event that the Great Work failed to trigger: his forces marched out of the woodwork to surround her.

“Oh, that’s it? How tasteless. This is a cliché that belongs in the tepid productions of a public theater.”

Since the ritual’s range had only encompassed the manor proper, his subordinates whom he’d placed just outside were perfectly fine. Dozens upon dozens of sepa crawled out, clad in shadowy robes, each an expert mage, marksman, or knight in their own right.

Welcomed in by the late Viscount Liplar, the marquis’s personal army was on the scene. With their skills, any attempt to teleport away would be blocked by the mages, allowing the rest to overwhelm her with sheer violence; a magus afforded no time to focus on spellcasting was no better than a regular person.

“This is my last offer, Agrippina. No matter how powerful a magus you are, this is not a situation you can overcome alone without so much as a vanguard to protect you. Sign, and you shall be spared.”

The man tossed a loose sheet of paper toward her. Imbued with a mystically binding contract which wrought death in the event of a breach, the document served as an absolute oath. Upon reading through a marriage form utterly devoid of romance, Agrippina scoffed and burned the parchment to a crisp.

“A boring man remains boring to the end—not even pub drunkards could hope to be so humorless. Oh, and let me ask you one last thing.” Gently, her hand rose to pinch the ever-present monocle adorning her left eye. “When did I ever give you permission to speak my name?”

“A true shame. Goodbye, Agrippina.”

The marquis’s farewell marked the beginning of an unbridled bombardment. Standard offensive magicks like waves of flame or frigid gales were interspersed with airborne blight that spelled death at first breath; in conjunction, a hail of arrows and arcane grenades rained down on her.

While their allies laid down a battery that would topple the most fortified outpost of knights, the melee forces began to advance. As they did, the back line shifted gears, opting for attacks that limited the enemy’s range of movement. The merciless fusillade began to let up, and the vanguard advanced into the cloud of dust that had arisen from the barrage.

They crossed the boundary of their enemy’s defensive barrier into a bubble of space free of smoke...only to be met with a ruthless storm of claws and fangs that rent them into mincemeat.

“What?!”

Screams flooded out from within the fog, heralding the brutal massacre of the marquis’s peerless soldiers. Bloody mist tinted the air, and though those at range laid down their best covering fire, the echoing throes of death went unabated. Recognizing that they had no hope of saving their friends, the mages began to dish out large-scale destructive spells, but to no avail.

Having finished feasting on those audacious enough to approach it, the vicious thing turned its attention outward in search of its next mark.

“What the hell is this?!”

Marquis Donnersmarck had no idea what this beast now gnawing on his physical barrier even was. Here was a man who’d lived for centuries, accumulating a vast wealth of knowledge and experience, who’d written and sung many a poem—yet not even he could muster the words to describe it.

Perhaps the closest description would be to say that it was a blue-black, amorphous haze of mud. It oozed like the viscous goop of a rotting, festering brain, but boasted countless mismatched sets of claws and fangs that appeared and disappeared at random. Scattering fetid pus as it rampaged, it zipped about, howling ravenously.

Steered by insatiable instinct, the living curse summoned talons and teeth from thin air in a desperate attempt to sate its urges. Where catapult fire would have bounced right off the marquis’s force field, this beast had cracked it open; talisman after talisman, ring after ring, his defenses shattered as it made its way through the layers.

Although the squadron of mages fired off spells to save their lord, nothing worked. Or rather, it wasn’t that their attempts had no effect; the viscous mud was taking the form of a starving, skin-and-bones canid for seconds at a time to eat their spells.

Realizing that a monster capable of wolfing down magical phenomena and the concepts his barriers were built with was nearly upon him, Marquis Donnersmarck swiftly changed the orientation of his arcane shields: the bubble he’d been using to protect himself became a cage to lock in the beast. Stuck on the inside of a perfect sphere, the creature lost the surface it had sunk its teeth into and plummeted to earth. Even so, it showed no signs of injury and resumed wrecking the layers of its new enclosure.

“Wh-What is that?! What the hell is that thing?!”

“That would be my hound, Marquis Donnersmarck.”

“Wah!” Whirling around in surprise, the man saw a well-to-do lady standing on thin air. She didn’t bother attacking; wearing a listless air about her, she lazily pulled out her pipe and began smoking once more.

The marquis glared at her and the sickly sweet fragrance she exhaled, only to notice something: the left eye that he had eulogized was closed, a streak of blood streaming from it. A hazy mist leaked from the crack of her eyelid, leaving a faint—yet definite—trail that connected her to the amorphous beast like an umbilical cord of murky jade.

“Wh-What—you—what have you done?! What have you unleashed upon the world?!”

“Truth be told, I’m not entirely sure myself. What I do know, however, is that I chanced upon a cursed land engulfed by ichor a short while before arriving in the Empire—and it was there that I made contact with a distortion in time.”

Not a soul in the Empire knew this secret, but Agrippina’s heterochromia was not a born condition. The eyes her parents had gifted her had both been a deep, enchanting blue.

“It was such a magnificent twist of fate. I’d gotten a glimpse of the secrets of time, the meaning of reality, the flow of existence, and the essence of magecraft... I was so overcome with gratitude that I even offered my thanks to the gods. So very unlike me, I know, but the episode showed me what I want most in life—and how to attain it.”

But of the two deep sapphires she had been born with, she had lost one on the day that she peered into the broken abyss where the laws of time lay buried.

“Alas, you see, it seems that even the most beautiful of life’s gifts come at a cost. A gorgeous art gallery charges fees for entry; the seats to a thrilling drama must be purchased; even the stunning view from atop a hill demands payment in the form of the effort to climb it.”

The beast, too dreadful to depict in words, broke free from its invisible prison after no more than ten seconds; immediately, it lunged for the closest target. One knight who’d been fortunate enough to survive the melee in the smoke now found themselves swept up in a muddy torrent of fangs that shredded armor and flesh alike. Another drew nearer in an attempt to save the first, but was instantly bisected lengthwise and, as expected, eaten.

The thing had no scruples: not in regard to what it killed nor what it ate. Hunger was its solitary logic. The sin of observation was cause enough to attack, and worldly notions of justice and evil had no bearing on it—after all, the wisdom and virtues of man meant nothing in the face of otherworldly law.

“I imagine that the ordinary price of discovering Truth is one’s life. And I must admit, I struggled to fend off that beast when it came for me—never would I have imagined losing a whole eye.”

By some stroke of incredible coincidence, a young Agrippina had stumbled upon her calling in life and the means to see it through. Yet it came with a steep cost: physically nebulous and infinitely starving, a creature fashioned of cosmic filth had been unleashed to hunt her down.

Although she only barely managed to keep it at bay, the joy of survival had not been enough for the adolescent methuselah. Something about the defeated beast intrigued her: What truths might I uncover if I see the world through its eyes?

“So, naturally, I reclaimed what had been taken from me.”

“Th-Then that eye—your missing eye! That link... Don’t tell me—”

“All is as you imagine: half of my vision is filtered through that.”

Agrippina grinned from ear to ear and wove a magic formula into the smoke of her pipe. Matters of existence and nonexistence as they pertained to the physical realm were her specialty, and she had summoned a massive sphere of nihility. The black hole was oblivion: a single touch was all it needed to jettison anyone or anything to the furthest reaches of reality.

Marquis Donnersmarck instantly recognized the destruction the black ball could bring. Falling back, he began preparing his own mystic attack: a thunderbolt. Command of lightning, crackling in from the heavens above, was a privilege of the gods; a normal mage could hardly activate such a spell, let alone control it. Concentrating heat that surpassed the stars in the sky into a single point, it split the air in two to eradicate anything in its path. But above all else, it crashed down at speeds that left its own sound in the dust, making it completely impossible to avoid.

Impossible, indeed.

Arcs of lightning snaked toward Agrippina, trapping her in a coiling static web, but it was no use. The black orb swallowed all of them whole. Not a single one landed: not the bolts that had fanned out just before impact; nor those that split into two and then regrouped later on; nor even the ones that the marquis had fired at random to make sure not even he could read their trajectory.

It was as if she had known exactly where they would be.

“That’s preposterous! That’s infeasible! For a mortal?! Methuselah or not, no mind can bear such burdens!”

“Anything is possible if you set your mind to it, Marquis. Like so.”

Nonchalantly making her way through the chaotic thunderstorm, Agrippina exhaled another cloud of smoke. Propelled by a basic formula, it drifted over to the marquis’s side and then rearranged itself into a greater spell.

“Gragh?!”

The moment it was put together, the puff had become a counterspell, perfectly jamming his attack and causing it to backfire spectacularly. The blast sent his lithe frame flying, and he plunged toward the ground. Aftershocks from his own spell burnt his face, branding his cheeks with arcing electricity.

“Oh, you poor thing. I do hope your eyes are still intact.”

“Eep!”

As the long-forgotten sensation of visceral pain gripped the ascendant organism, he looked up to find Agrippina lording over him with a pitying expression as if her presence was perfectly natural. But even with space-bending magic, she shouldn’t have been here this quickly.

“Y-You madwoman—no! It can’t be!”

“Aww, not going to call my name? And here I’d thought we were close.”

“You...can see...the future?”

Agrippina neither affirmed nor denied—she only laughed. Yet that was the most unambiguous answer she could have given: she could, and did. Her foresight extended mere seconds into the unknown at most, and was by no means an absolute prediction, but she could see the future.

For now, her ability only offered a shortsighted vision of events that were liable to be overridden in the presence of improbable fluctuations; even for this imperfect power, usage imposed massive tolls on her body and mind. Yet in spite of the drawbacks, she had transcended beyond the bounds laid out for mortal souls.

Wit can’t win. Internalizing the futility of resistance, Marquis Donnersmarck bit hard into his lip in frustration.

This was a charade. No matter how meticulous his strategy, no matter how exhaustive his attack, he had no hope of beating a magus of her strength if she knew his next move. How could he hope to win a hand at the table if his cards were out for her to see? All she had to do was wait and pick the right counter to anything he tried to do.

Victory was unattainable. For the first time in his life, the marquis found himself drowning in a sea of despair. Until now, he’d swum through the currents of politics and won, and won, and kept winning—even when he didn’t win, he never lost. But out on the open oceans, he was no more than a bigger fish’s meal, and that realization crushed his soul.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” Agrippina said. “A good number of them are gone, but these are your little favorites, aren’t they?”

Alas, there was no time to wallow in grief. The starving dog tore through more of his prized forces with every passing second. He’d spent a great deal of time and care bringing them up, and the assassins in particular were irreplaceable. Unlike Viscount Liplar, he hadn’t merely bought these soldiers with a mountain of silver. In all likelihood, the forces he’d sent to the annex in case the viscount’s men failed had also been routed; he couldn’t afford to lose anyone else.

Though Marquis Donnersmarck viewed people as pawns, he was deeply fond of his pieces.

“Wh-What do you want?! What do you need from me to make you stop that thing?!”

“I don’t need anything, really. I won’t even demand that you cease your meddling in the county. After all, I can deal with a man of your talents whenever I please. But you know, aren’t you forgetting something important?” Outranked but not outclassed, the count looked down on the marquis groveling on the floor. Curling her pretty lips into a sweet little smile, she hissed, “Where’s my ‘please’?”

Her words gave form to his humiliation. The statement was a partisan declaration of their standings that didn’t bother to ask for a second opinion, but he had no right to object.

To choose pride was death. Unlike Agrippina, he had no means of handling the beast, and thus couldn’t save his subordinates. While he alone could escape if he used the rest of his enchanted treasures, losing all of the sepa would be worse than cutting off his left hand.

“Wit... Hngh...” There was a faint squish: he’d bitten straight through his lip. A streak of blood running down his chin, he finally squeezed out, “Please.”

The marquis had wrung out the word like it represented the collapse of everything he’d ever known; in contrast, Agrippina scoffed lightly like she’d heard a tiresome joke.

“Very well.”

With a snap, she sectioned off a chunk of reality. The black sphere that had been revolving around her split into six and surrounded the rampaging blue-black blur. Outlining a spatial rift shaped like an eight-sided die, they trapped the monster inside. For all its ferocious flailing, it had no means of escape; not even the claws of twisted time could penetrate the boundaries that separated this dimension from the next.

“Take those who are still breathing and run along while you have the chance,” Agrippina said. “Worry not, I shan’t give chase. Besides, it truly is a shame that Viscount Liplar would cause such pandemonium in a desperate fit of insanity. Isn’t that right?”

“...Wit have never understood the hearts of those who bent the knee before me, walking away with one last resentful comment. But Wit understand perfectly now, Count Ubiorum.”

Though his dignity was shattered, his schemes thwarted, and his losses great, the man dusted himself off and stood up like a proper noble. The shock still echoed loudly in his soul, but there was much to be done. Making up for what had been lost should by all means have been the first priority, but...

“Remember this. Wit shall make you rue the day you let me walk free.”

...it was too late for him to abandon the machinations that gave his life meaning.

“I shall await you with bated breath. The only reason you’re alive is because things are easier for me this way, but I’m always looking forward to a thrilling and unexpected twist.”

After watching the marquis limp off—it seemed he’d injured a leg during his fall—Agrippina turned to the spatial cage. Not content to give up, the beast within growled, snarled, and lashed against the inside of its confines. She watched it struggle for a bit, but eventually sighed and mumbled, “You never do get any friendlier, do you?”

Snapping her fingers, she commanded, “Sit.”

The vertices of hollow space rapidly converged toward the center, compressing their prisoner into a single point. Making a disgusting noise, the barrier crushed the otherworldly dog; but as the black orbs finally disappeared into a dense speck, they left an eyeball in their place.

Agrippina picked it up, blew off the dust, and popped it into her hollow socket without the faintest hint of ceremony. A few blinks later, she was satisfied with how it sat; she wiped the blood off her face and brought her monocle back out, placing it where it belonged.

After all of that, a stray thought crossed her mind.

Speaking of dogs, I wonder where that golden hound of mine has gone.

[Tips] Agrippina’s hound is a class of extradimensional creature that comes from a place where impossible physics are the norm. Its purpose is to hunt down all who dare perceive the tangled flow of broken time, and permanently hungers to that end. Although its form is a nebulous smattering of tainted, bluish-greenish goop, it vaguely resembles a canine when taken at its broadest strokes; as such, Agrippina refers to it as her pet hunting dog.

While it is perfectly possible that the denizens of other dimensions have different names for it, only the highest strata of gods—those who preside over the infinite expanse of multiversal space—would know it.