NOVEL NEXT Chapter 21.1
"Why can't you just admit it?" Katarina grumbled. "Waiting to choose my Class was for the better."
Her voice could barely be heard above the tumult of the crowd. Caelryn City's streets were fully-packed once again. Light from the midday sun shone down, vivid and jovial, as if this was a day like any other.
As if last night's bloodshed was no more than a fading memory.
Simon took another bite of the dried fruit-thing that was unfortunately his breakfast. Hardly appetizing, but the best that could be expected from a Valtian street vendor. "Just because something works doesn't mean it was optimal – or even a good idea. You should've picked your Class Advancement before we engaged Armand in combat."
"Don't give me that. You're the one always going on about the 'element of surprise'."
"For our enemies, yes. Bit less effective when it's your allies who need to suddenly adjust."
"Of all people, you certainly don't have any right to complain there. I've been constantly adjusting to your lunacy for the past two weeks."
They'd chosen an isolated spot for themselves where they could speak freely. Kat was adept at finding those.
She'd shown that again last night. After they left Armand's withered corpse behind, the newly-minted Arcane Rogue had led Simon to a no-questions-asked inn where he could sleep and recover with Transmigration's Body. Saved him the trouble of looking for one himself – the line between 'shady but safe' and 'secret deathtrap' was razor-thin.
Katarina chomped down on her own travesty of a breakfast, grimacing like it had insulted her family name. "Why did you insist we partake of these? The food stashed in your Inventory is much more palatable."
"Wanted to support local small businesses," Simon muttered, with a tone of regret. "Anyway, I don't see how delaying your Class selection helped. It took you several minutes to go through your Character Sheet mid-combat. We would've been in hot water if Armand wasn't so in love with the sound of his own voice."
Katarina grinned as though she'd trapped him in a cage of impervious logic. "Ah, but think of how the battle would've progressed if I'd been an Arcane Rogue from the onset. Fight begins. I swiftly unleash a Firebolt. It damages him once, perhaps. He heals, recognizes the threat, and our vaunted element of surprise is lost. Finding the opening to pull off your final Landmine maneuver becomes far more difficult."
"Or – and hear me out on this one – you don't immediately start off with a Firebolt. Instead, you gradually feel out your opponent, keep a Skill or two in your back pocket."
She frowned at him. "Why in the world wouldn't I start with my strongest abilities? It's a duel to the death; not some noble's gaudy mana exhibition."
Simon paused, his counterargument waylaid by curiosity. "The nobility hosts exhibitions?"
"Why wouldn't they? It's entertainment, and it lets them flaunt – two of their favorite things. Sometimes they even grant admittance to the lower districts, although I imagine that generosity depends on how inadequate the noble patron has recently been made to feel. Nothing bolsters an ego like masses of people cheering in your name."
Katrina tried one more bite of her meal. After admitting defeat and setting it aside, she exhaled, idly scratching her hair. "I attended one or two of those exhibitions myself. Wouldn't recommend. It's like they're screaming 'You'll never experience our majesty' at you. Still, they did manage to impress me at the time...though my standards have shifted since then."
She flicked her pointer finger up. Instantly and without effort, a crimson-red flame appeared above it. "Before, this wavering ember was the sum total of my prowess. Now?"
The flame swelled to thrice its former size. "It's as simple as breathing. My strength has already grown well beyond what I ever believed possible. And that's without spending my new Stat Points from–"
Silence reared its head as Katarina abruptly cut herself off. The fireball sputtered out and vanished. She lowered her gaze, shoulders tensing as if an arrow was aimed at her.
Simon prepared himself, sensing the mood change like a sledgehammer on glass. While they'd done an admirable job at distracting themselves with frivolous banter...
It was about time that they addressed the multiple elephants in the room.
"Armand...he..." Katarina grabbed for her dried fruit-thing, preferring its dubious taste to the memories flooding her mind. "What was he?"
Simon raised an eyebrow. Not the elephant he'd expected. "You'll have to be more specific."
"You know what I'm referring to. His appearance, his...form. Repugnant, nauseating – yet with the strength of monsters. I've never seen anything like it."
She exhaled slowly. "Was his metamorphosis caused by the jeweled dagger he stole? But if so, then Armand shouldn't have been the first. Duke Helmund is apparently producing those Artifacts for his guards. Word would've spread of guardsmen mutating into hideous creatures of decay."
A litany of thoughts spilled out of her. "Or is Armand somehow different? Did he kill more people, steal more mana, trigger an early transformation? And why is the Duke arming his soldiers with such horrid Artifacts to begin with? And why did it explode when you shot Fell mana at it?"
Katarina slumped back, thunking her head against a wall. "Too many questions, and no answers in sight."
"There's no need to obsess over all of that right now." Simon offered her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Our paths will cross with the nobility in due time. I'm sure we'll find someone who can share knowledge of Helmund's affairs." Willingly or otherwise.
"I suppose." She drummed her fingers on the wall behind her. "What about you? Any theories you've brewed up in that chaotic cauldron of a mind?"
"Nothing you haven't already considered." He pointed at his head. "Amnesia, remember? Everything you've seen is everything I know."
The lie fell easily from his lips.
A light bit of discomfort stirred within Simon. He didn't like being dishonest with Kat...but revealing his true thoughts regarding Armand and the jeweled Artifact dagger wouldn't help matters.
It wasn't like he was 100% confident in the conclusions he'd reached. Much of it was based on supposition combined with an outsider's perspective, allowing him to look past the inherent assumptions of a Valtian native. If he was wrong, then he'd merely be jumping the gun, voicing guesswork as truth despite his lack of hard evidence.
If he was right, then she would probably freak out – and she didn't need that. Not when there were still several elephants left to address.
Katarina deserved a mental break before being forced to adjust to his lunacy again.
"There's something else I wanted to discuss," Simon said. "Armand mentioned that Duke Helmund has been imprisoning Artificers? Who I presume are the people that create Artifacts."
Whether consciously or subconsciously, Katarina jumped on the opportunity to switch topics. "Correct. Helmund recently enacted a law forbidding the creation of Artifacts outside of his purview. All Artificers have been put under indefinite lock and key, and whatever wonders they fashion are subject to the Duke's scrutiny. This actually happened within my lifetime – around ten years prior."
"Can't imagine people were thrilled about that. Between the Water Artifacts, the Warding Stones, and whatever else I'm missing, Valtia wouldn't be able to function without Artificers."
"Indeed. From what I've heard, it was the closest that the major noble houses ever came to staging an uprising. Tensions waned fairly quickly, though. Duke Helmund ensured that the production of important Artifacts continued unabated. Little has changed since."
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Simon tilted his head. "Then why commandeer the Artificers in the first place? It was an unnecessary risk."
"To seize ever more power for himself?" Katarina shrugged. "Seems characteristic of his ilk."
That's too convenient of an explanation. While Helmund is definitely power-hungry – he's the Duke of a nation, of course he is – he wouldn't have lasted this long by making waves for no reason. Corralling the Artificers serves no purpose when he already rules the Severed Isles with an iron fist. I don't see any upside to it...unless there's something to gain that wouldn't be obvious.
Katarina chuckled wryly at him. "Devising another scheme of intrigue?"
"Hmm?" Simon blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Sometimes when I offer you a new morsel of information, you turn very quiet for a spell. Then, when you start speaking again, it's either with more questions – or to inform me of some madcap notion you've conjured up."
"You're exaggerating."
Katarina crossed her arms. "The last time you remained silent and pensive for this long, you dragged me into a room, stabbed a map, and told me that you were planning to overthrow the world."
Simon raised a finger in protest, then slowly lowered it. "Only once."
"As in, you've only regaled me with that speech once, or you only plan to overthrow the world once?"
"The speech," he replied, exasperation sneaking into his voice. If he ever needed to subjugate the world multiple times, something had gone horribly wrong. "Although you may see a repeat performance eventually."
"I will? Why?"
"When we add more allies to our cause, I'll have to reiterate everything for their sake." Would need to buy a new map though. The original had taken a beating for the sake of dramatic effect.
Katarina groaned under her breath. "Warn me ahead of time so I can excuse myself from the premises. It was an impressive display of theatrics, and I'd rather not sully the memory by watching an encore."
A faint smile crept up the transmigrator's face. "You thought it was impressive?"
"Got me to follow you on this harebrained journey, didn't it? I've met my fair shares of crooks and charlatans, Simon. I can tell when someone is trying to sell me a bowl of sludge while calling it their grandma's secret home-cooked recipe."
Her grin returned. "I wouldn't be here if you hadn't spoken entirely from the heart."
That...was the nicest thing anyone had said to him since Grace's soup kitchen. Simon paused, searching for a suitable compliment of equal impact to give back to her.
A piercing screech rose above the din of the streets.
Everyone in earshot froze – which was no small feat. After one-and-a-half days spent in Caelryn City, Simon had witnessed four pickpocketings, two muggings, and an attempted stabbing. All of those incidents resulted in screams, yet none had slowed the crowd's uncaring pace by even a sliver. People here were too accustomed to sounds of distress for it to be noteworthy.
Except this hadn't been a screech of distress or indignity. This was one of terror. Pure, honest, and undiluted.
"IT'S COMING!" A man had fallen to his knees in the center of the street. Empty space rapidly formed around him, as if people were avoiding the carrier of an infectious plague. "I SEE IT! A MILLION EMPTY GRAVES! NO CORPSES LEFT TO BURY! JUST THE VOID, THE HOWLING, CAVERNOUS VOID!"
Simon felt his mouth go dry. Words rose to the forefront of his mind, begging to be spoken, but they died stillborn as the man let loose another scream.
"IT'S COMING...IT'S…it's..."
Deranged laughter erupted from his lips. "None of you will believe me, will you?" The man's voice dropped to scarcely a whisper, yet it could still be heard loud and clear. "It's coming, it's coming, and none of you care." He hugged himself, shivering, his nails drawing red from his skin. "You'll die more ignorant than newborn babes. I..."
His breathing intensified. "Can't be silent. Have to tell. Don't you see DON'T YOU SEE?! IT'S COMING! IT'S HERE!"
With a final screech that tolled like a funeral bell, he collapsed into a heap of glassy-eyed weeping.
All was silent. No one dared speak.
The moment was broken by a pair of guardsmen rushing in from around the corner. They hurried up to the fallen man, scooping him up like a bag of discarded litter. The crowd parted to let them pass, seeming to exhale with relief when the man was carried away, vanishing from view.
Then, just like that, people returned to their lives. Conversations were resurrected with admirable gusto. Street vendors continued peddling substandard wares. Pickpockets went back to tracking their marks.
Perhaps it would've even felt natural – if not for the air of forced nonchalance to it all, smothering everything in a haze of disquiet.
"Well, it was a nice day," Katarina murmured. "Chills my blood whenever this happens."
His neck creaking, Simon turned to face her. "Whenever this...happens?"
"It's a sickness." She flinched at the indirect reminder of her father's own infirmity. "Of the mind, rather than the body. Sometimes, rarely, mana affects the brain. Causes people to hallucinate. Drives them insane – and I mean truly insane, not your particular brand of audacity. There's no cure, last I–"
"How often does it afflict people?" he asked, with a tone of perfect serenity.
"Occasionally. I've witnessed it once or twice a year since my earliest memories."
She grimaced. "Make that five times this year, actually. Wonder if it'll get widespread enough for the nobles to develop a remedy. Considering their overindulgence of mana, they must be petrified of being reduced to stark-raving-mad doomsday prophets."
Simon looked back out into the street, staring where the man had fallen. Even now, people were avoiding that spot, giving it a wide berth.
What's more likely? he thought. That Valtia's mana interacts poorly with a small number of people, causing mental degeneration...
Or that it interacts with them too *well?* That these unlucky few see visions of the future which others are blind to? That the amount of people predicting the end times is increasing as Valtia's one-year timer steadily runs out?
"I see," Simon remarked. "And what, exactly, is done with them?"
"Guardsmen take them away. Supposedly they're kept locked in a secure facility, fed three meals a day, and allowed to live out the rest of their days where they can't disturb others."
Katarina sighed. "Personally, I think that's a lie to make the commonfolk feel at ease. It's likelier that the 'prophets' are killed and buried. There's nothing to be done for them – the hallucinations only worsen with age. Wouldn't wish that torturous existence on anyone."
Which meant that questioning them for more details on what they'd seen was a no-go. Whether locked away or killed off, they were currently out of Simon's reach.
At least he hadn't tried telling Katarina about Valtia's impending apocalypse yet. These unfortunate Cassandra prophets had poisoned the well. She wouldn't have believed him.
No one would.
An itchiness started crawling on his shoulders.
"I feel like earning some EXP," Simon announced, lacing his fingers together. "Care to lead me to your chosen target? The original one, before Armand Calloway darkened our doorstep."