NOVEL NEXT Ch. 3
Chapter 3
They walked the lavishly decorated corridor while the conversation rolled on.
“Lord Ted, may I ask what brings you here so suddenly? The message gave me quite a start.”
“I was passing through and thought I’d call for a chat.”
“Fortunate timing-some rare ingredients arrived this morning. You’re in for a treat, haha...!”
Trailing a step behind, Henrik sized up the baron’s domain. During his brief tour he had already clocked the quality of the household knights. A glance at their captain told the story: solid Rank 2. When even the captain barely hits Rank 2, the roster is threadbare. Baron Vendal, a commoner who bought his title, plainly hit his ceiling. A Rank 3 knight would never waste time guarding a backwater like this; he’d be snapped up by a ducal house or the Imperial Knights. The rest of the men felt more like hired swords than real knights.
“And this gentleman is...?” the baron asked.
Ted looked blankly at Henrik. “Hm? Henrik, you said the commission-”
“Commission...?”
At the baron’s puzzled frown Henrik spoke up. “Didn’t you say you had business with Baron Vendal’s daughter, Lord Ted?”
Cold sweat beaded on Ted’s brow. This brat’s up to something.
“My daughter? You mean our little Periol?”
“That’s right.”
Henrik lied with a straight face; Ted nearly choked. Don’t you dare make a scene, you lunatic.
Whether he heard Ted’s silent plea or not, Henrik carried on, calm as you please. “As I recall, you wished to ask whether the baron intends to enroll his daughter in the academy you run.”
“...The academy? You mean that academy?!”
Color flooded the baron’s cheeks; his interest in Henrik had already evaporated.
Ted skewered Henrik with a glare. Henrik’s eyes were placid, unreadable. He never acts on impulse-so what is he playing at?
Ted flicked him a silent question: What are you up to?
Henrik gave a tiny nod, then bowed to the baron.
“Well then! This sounds like a long conversation-please, come inside!”
Elated by the unexpected talk of Sefira Academy, the baron ushered them into the manor. Ted followed, smile fading, and muttered, “What’s the plan?”
“Watch.”
Henrik’s gaze drifted past the baron to the staircase beyond.
* * *
“Hahaha! I had no idea my daughter’s fame had spread so far!”
The baron’s laughter rang through the house. On the second-floor sitting room, Henrik and Ted faced him over crystal tumblers and small talk.
“You truly think so highly of our Periol?”
“A rising star, by all accounts.”
Ted echoed the praise while Henrik sipped tea and studied the décor: crystal mirrors, jewel-inlaid furniture-luxuries far above a mere baron’s station. No frontier lord could afford this.
“Business must be booming,” Henrik probed.
The baron beamed. “You’ve a sharp eye.”
“Is this your daughter’s doing as well?”
The baron blinked. “However did you guess?”
“Rumour says her insight is remarkable.”
“Exactly-every coin traces back to her!”
“How so?” Ted asked.
“You’ll scarcely believe it: every trading house she picks quadruples overnight. Investments swell ten-fold!”
“Impressive.”
The girl was minting her father’s fortune. Coincidence? Unlikely.
Baron Vendal turned to Ted with humble deference. “I’d already planned to send her to an academy, and now the renowned Dean Ted himself arrives-surely fate.”
“Renowned? There are other academies.”
“None like Sefira. Its curriculum, its graduates-unsurpassed.”
Sefira Academy was the only legacy the late Duke Craft had left Ted; even in Henrik’s original timeline its alumni had turned wars.
“In truth, the child shows a gift for magic. She sketches spell circles for fun-pure genius!”
“Really? Who is her tutor?”
“She’s entirely self-taught.”
Ted paused and traded glances with Henrik.
A moment later, reading the silent cue, Ted continued.
“She has a gift for magic, you say. I’d like to see the room she works in.”
“Ah, that won’t be possible. Even I’m not allowed inside...”
“Then I’d like to meet your daughter. If her talent checks out, I’ll write the recommendation myself.”
“Y-you personally, Dean?”
Ted nodded, and Baron Vendal broke into a bright grin, leaping to his feet.
A letter from the dean.
He wasn’t about to let this chance slip.
“Boy!”
A servant hurried over.
“Where is Periol right now?”
“Miss is waiting for the carriage, sir; she’s off to volunteer at the village orphanage.”
“Outside? Bring her in at once-”
“Ah, hold on,” Henrik cut in.
“Didn’t you mention, Dean Ted, that you’d like to sponsor the orphanage? Seems the perfect opportunity.”
“What? I never-”
Henrik jabbed him in the ribs. Ted narrowed his eyes, exhaled, and nodded.
He looked like a man past caring.
* * *
Golden hair.
A girl of about ten.
A dress of fine silk.
Standing beside Baron Vendal, she lifted her skirt in a graceful curtsey.
“Good day. I am Periol Vendal, eldest daughter of House Vendal.”
“A beautiful child, indeed.”
“Isn’t she? Hahaha.”
Ted and the baron smiled at each other.
“Such fine manners. Ten years old and already so composed.”
“I can’t take credit; she watched her late mother and simply copied.”
Henrik studied the girl.
The instant he met her eyes, his fists clenched.
A child’s face, but one he could never forget.
The same who had once giggled while setting the village ablaze.
Velperia, Sovereign of Sloth.
Smiling politely between baron and dean, she chatted as if born to it.
“Henrik...?”
Ted tilted his head at Henrik’s sudden silence.
“Let’s be on our way.”
Henrik only bowed, urging them out of the manor.
Clop-clop-
The carriage rolled beyond the gates.
Even en route to the orphanage the atmosphere inside felt warm, almost cozy.
Had he not known, Henrik doubted he could have spotted her.
How to make humans happy.
How to walk among them unnoticed.
The demon knew mankind far too well.
“My lord, we’re nearing the village!”
The escorting knights called from outside.
Henrik sat opposite Periol and stared.
He had left the manor for one reason:
‘Fighting on her turf is suicide.’
He gripped the training-sword scabbard and murmured to Ted.
“Ted.”
“H-Henrik, your tone- we’re with the baron and his daughter-”
“Sorry.”
The moment his eyes locked with Periol’s, he drew.
Shhhnk!
A razor-sharp whisper of steel, then silence.
Cold air licked the floor like thin ice cracking.
Thud.
The little girl’s head landed between their feet.
Her body toppled forward, blood spurting across the carriage.
“Henrik... what did you just do?”
“Periol...?”
In the hush Henrik had severed her neck.
Baron Vendal and Ted gaped at the severed head.
Their expressions shifted from shock to horror.
Before they could speak, Henrik drew a vial of holy water and poured it over the head.
Hiss-
Black smoke curled up, filling the carriage with a caustic stench.
Ted reacted first, coughing.
“Cough- cough! What in the-”
He recognized the reek at once: the foul odor demons give off when touched by holy water.
Eyes wide, he stared at Henrik.
Henrik kept his gaze on the blackened head, sword poised to strike again.
He’d planned to smash the demon stone before the thing, weakened by holy water, could react.
But-
“You-bastard...!”
Baron Vendal lunged, arms outstretched, and slammed into Henrik.
His eyes were bloodshot, wild-nothing human left.
Henrik shoved him off and stabbed again, but the severed head snapped into the air, sensing danger.
CRASH-!
The head smashed through the carriage window and fled outside.
“Damn it...!”
Henrik flung the baron aside and leapt after it.
He rolled across the ground, scanning for Velperia’s trail.
A village lay straight ahead-exactly where the thing was headed.
Henrik glanced back at Ted for half a heartbeat, then sprinted.
“Catch him! Chase that murderer-now!”
The baron’s shriek followed him.
‘I wanted to finish this before it reached the town.’
Things had gone sideways, but Velperia’s field was cracked and she’d taken a surprise hit.
Good enough odds to end it.
Screams greeted him the moment he entered the village.
He plowed through the scattering crowd, tracking the cries, and yanked vials from his belt.
Glug-
Muscle enhancer.
Reflex accelerator.
And a painkiller chaser.
The potions hit like molten metal, blood roaring in his ears.
In seconds, his Rank 2 strength spiked to Rank 3.
A rough brew-he’d pay for it later-but cheap price to bring down one of the Seven Sovereigns.
“Aaaagh! My head-!”
“The head’s attacking people!”
He found it in the square, gnawing greedily on a villager’s throat-Periol’s grotesque head.
No.
“Velperia.”
The head twitched.
At the name, it swiveled toward him, eyes bulging.
When she looked up, Henrik drew the weapon he’d kept hidden at his hip.
A glinting silver hammer-head.
A stubby handle telescoped outward with metallic snaps.
Click, click, click-
The shaft lengthened into a full warhammer: palm-sized silver head, long silver haft.
“I came back to kill you.”
Henrik’s voice was ice.