In a way, I'm not too fond of this predicament of mine.213Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6IlUSzIsgL
I am, whether I fancy it or not, working for the pigs as of this moment. This establishment I have genuinely come to hate over the past years is using me to increase its stranglehold over the people and the continent. They do not care for the people - I have seen it firsthand in Lyspia. They beat us when the yield is low and rob us when it is great. Year after year, we have worked toward an imaginary goal, knowing full well that the bellies of the "overlords" would never be satisfied.213Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6BdHy7cXCa
My village, Linova, is right next to River Gref. Being one of the better-placed ones in Lyspia, we did not get a lot of flak from the dogs who visit for the taxes every month. I would say that's more so because the infamous Wild Dog lives there. There are always some dogs stupid enough to visit us to try their hand at "besting" the "legend". The notions of a fable and a legend are to falsely inspire people cooked up by the pigs. The people who buy them? I call them sheep. I never wanted a veneration like this, even if it is handy individually.
Animals run this country, and only a handful of us are outside the system. I will take "dishonorably discharged" over "honorable hound of the Court" any day of the year.
This mission feels personal; to gain closure. But with what? My failed marriage? My failure as a human being? I do not know yet. I just have this feeling that there is more to my story, that it does not end with me being a farmer for the remainder of my life, beating the knights and soldiers that try to control the countryside mercilessly.
I am ignoring the major question that I am asking myself. Am I rusty? I think it is wrong to question one's own abilities, but that little mishap earlier does not reinforce my confidence. One small mistake like that with an efficient assassin, and my head rolls on the ground the next second. I should be careful, but it is not too late for the hound in me to shape its fangs.
The Flame has to stop burning, no matter who or what I work for. Fuck if I know whether it disturbs the continent's power struggle. The way it stands, the Flame apparently has a chance to expand its control with whatever that's going to happen at the merchants' ball. The fallout of a possible war now seems a little better than the Flames controlling most of the continent.
Giuseppe, or Eddie, or let's just call him the Bat, will definitely try to stop me if I try to endanger myself or the plan. I wouldn't say I like his guts, but I have worked with him on enough occasions to say that he is an able lad. I need to convince him of whatever I plan to do from here on out.
I look at the level of the candle I lit when the cart started from Bluham. It has been about 7 hours since then, judging from its height.
There is not a lot going on in this cart. Sacks of what I hope is garlic, a small lantern, and what I think is a dagger? I pocket it; I think it will come in handy later on; I have no armor on me. My eyes dart back and forth, thinking of anything that might help. Aha! A grey cloak - that will definitely aid me. I try it on; guess it is a little bit on the looser side.
Hmm, this doesn't seem right. Why would a supply cart have a dagger and a cloak? This dagger looks exquisite too. Why would they-
Huh?
The smell of sea spray? Ekona is nowhere near the ocean, and Lake Sylvia, at least in the southern part, is mostly fresh. I can hear the waves too. Something is amiss. If I am to guess, this would be-
"Welcome to the embassy city, Lovren!" a masculine voice bellows warmly from outside. The coachman is called Lovren, I reckon. But this is the least of my worries - Ekona is far from here; there is absolutely no reason why a supply cart needs a detour to the embassy city.
That's precisely it. This cart should aid some Bandits, or worse, the Flames themselves.
"Where are the others?", Lovren asks. So it is a group.
"In the tower. Best if we check the goods before moving on, eh?"
Ah fuck. I need to fight them here, then. I really hoped to infiltrate even more to understand what their plan was.
"Do you doubt my services that much, Silva? Or did the others put you up for this?" Oh, he's definitely annoyed. "No. But it is not much of a problem if we just examine-"
"We worked five months to get here. I put my neck out for us in Bluham, and I am risking my life just for 'transport', and you motherfuckers question my job. Go ahead, Silva, I won't stop you. But believe me, if the goods are all okay, I am gonna bust one of your kneecaps-"
"Okay, okay, chill. I get that you're on the edge, man, but-"
He stops. I can barely hear a sigh.
"Sure, let me hop in there with you. We will go to the tower and get this sorted out."
I sigh. I can only curse my luck now. But on the brighter side, if their allegiance is with the Flame, I can stop the plan in its tracks before it ever takes flight. Will this damage my chances of getting to see Sofia? Ugh, now's not the time.
It is dark outside. I see the streets bustling with activity from the little gap in the carriage. I have heard that prices of goods drop as the night gobbles the city up, and citizens throng to the market square, downing jugs of mead and buying the freshest fish they can afford.
If this group is planning something sinister, nothing more could provide a perfect cover than the darkest of nights.
The cart starts moving.
I have a feeling this is going to be fantastic.
----
The cloak I found earlier? It is an invisibility cloak. The markings are what one would expect from a Lightmaker - a mage from Eirrah. It is a common commodity among thieves, but it is not invulnerable. It can only conceal the physical presence of a person, not their magic, meaning if someone is suspicious and searches for any trace of magical signature, you are pretty much busted.
So, an invisibility cloak and some weird ass dagger in a runaway supply cart that's going to meet with some unknown group. Nothing suspicious at all.
I can hear people bargaining with street vendors, giggles, and banter among what I assume are the resident drunkards. The smell of seafood being cooked gently wafts into my nostrils, and my stomach rumbles on cue. I guess I should grab something to eat soon.
Ah, how I miss my life at Mindhoven and the sweet, blissful ignorance with the age still on my side.
Periodically, I see yellow flashes of light as the cart trudges along the cobblestone path to the lair of the troublemakers. I cannot stop thinking that all of this is a waste of time and I can just escape with the cloak and the dagger. Do I really care about some "larger plan" they have concocted?
"We are here."
Couldn't I have thought of this a bit earlier?
I hear two soft thuds as the men jump onto the ground. Footsteps inch closer to the doors. I wear the cloak and wedge myself underneath a small bench to conceal my presence—the dagger I placed neatly on the bench.
Pretty sure they don't care about the cloak that much. But if they do, this "mission" ends slightly earlier than expected.
The doors swing open, and a pale, slender man wearing something that looks like a coachman's coat peeps inside. He grabs the dagger on the desk and looks around in search of something - something that is currently in my possession.
"Did you bring anything other than the dagger, Lovren?" a tall, well-built, dark-skinned man with a well-kept beard asks. So the skinny lad is Lovren, and
Lovren scratches his head. "Pretty sure I brought a cloaker, but-"
"-it is not here? That's why I asked you to check the carriage earlier, dude. Could have grabbed one from the market."
"It is fine. It probably fell somewhere in the carriage. I will check later. We are running late; let's go", Lovren cuts in.
They obviously did not expect anyone reckless enough to tail them in their own wagon, so the missing cloak doesn't bother them much—typical underlings. I cannot but wonder if I have a never-ending supply of luck on my side or if the world is generally this stupid.
The footsteps have receded to a minimum. I slowly open the door and look for the two figures - they are hurrying toward the lighthouse. But I need something to help me diffuse the situation.
"Octopus-on-a-stick! Five yirs for a stick!"
Bingo.
I get three sticks and shove them down my throat as I continue following them at a safe distance. Wow, this is salty as fuck. Fantastic texture, however. The sticks are pretty sturdy; they might come in handy.
It is a cold night, and the sea seems rough. The shops are closing one by one as I navigate through the alleys. Not much is happening besides their constant bickering about stealing the stupid knife and how it is this arduous task. Again, typical underlings.
"Did you know that the dagger is called the Liberator?" Lovren asks.
"Yeah, Ruben briefed us when you were gone. It kills the soul while leaving no trace of any inflicted injury. Quite fascinating, really," Silva adds to the conversation.
"Our salvation is close, brother. With Ruben at the helm of the plan, we can finally avenge our fallen brothers. Their deaths would not be in vain."
"I can't agree more," Silva nods.
They are making shit up. Magical equipment cannot harm the soul, at least not directly. Hallucinations, sure, but completely kill a soul? Seems far-fetched. But if they are this involved, then they plan to assassinate someone. I will leave to Ekona at once if it is someone in the higher rungs of this 'society', especially if it is a Lord. The pigs deserve it.
I am now following them up the lighthouse on a dizzyingly spiraling staircase. I stop to see the city from up here; it is increasingly becoming silent, and all the commotion in the market square from earlier seems to be slowly withering off. The fisherpeople are going into the sea for the next day's catch. Lovren's voice echoes off the walls, and I hear three more distinct voices. Or are there four?
"Lovren! You are finally back, brother," a voice bellows. I stay out of sight of the voice, even wearing the cloak; it does not entirely ensure my cover. "Our work is nearly complete! Just some more time, and we will deal the final blow."
"I can't wait to see Mikyol die for the sins he has committed against our people. This should be a lesson for all the Lords in this country if they dare to touch the common folk," Silva declares.
"Aye to that," the group agrees.
Well, aye to that. They plan to kill Mikyol, Lord of Embassy City. The man has committed numerous war crimes, all of which he is acquitted of, and is even bestowed a powerful position like the Lord of a city by the Emperor himself. What a farce of a show.
The geezer continues to say that he killed his citypeople for the "greater good". In his case, the greater good was saving his ass from being accused of enslaving people to work in his coal mines. They all died due to the lack of proper safety mechanisms, and in mysterious circumstances, the case's investigators too.
Mikyol spun the story as him killing them to stop a "curse" spreading through the city from the mines.
What a dick.
That is my cue to leave for Ekona. I suspected rightly, and the assassination is rightfully deserved. I cannot actively help their cause, jeopardizing my mission, but I can rest assured that innocent citizens are not harmed.
"So, are we moving out now? The bastard is going on a 'business' trip to Pollyx tonight."
"That won't be necessary, James," the voice cuts in.
The mountain animal is troubled. Something is amiss, but I do not quite grasp the situation, so I stop to hear them more.
"What do you mean, Ruben?" Silva asks.
"Your contribution to the task is deeply appreciated! However, we should part ways here-"
"I put my head out there for doing this, Ruben. However hard it is, I do not care. We, and I mean all of us, will kill Mikyol and avenge-"
Skunk.
"Ugh," Lovren coughs out blood. The tall figure, presumably Ruben, is twisting the dagger deep into his stomach. The others shift around, scurrying into a defensive position.
"What the fuck are you doing, Ruben? Are you turning on us? Defending that pathetic excuse of a human being?" James shouts.
Some of it clicks to me. Of course, there is no weapon called "the Liberator", and they need to have a little more than a small group to take down a Lord, even in the darkest of nights.
"What I need right now," Ruben smiles wickedly, menacingly inching toward the others, "is your silence. For eternity."
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