NOVEL NEXT Chapter 23.1
From what Simon had seen during his time in Valtia, Duke Helmund's reign of the Severed Isles was indisputable.
Opposition against him didn't truly exist. The commonfolk may despise him, and some nobles might utter hushed complaints behind closed doors, but it went no further than that. He was so powerful and long-lived that the notion of unseating him was akin to demolishing a mountain with your bare hands. Entire generations had lived and died with Duke Helmund as their sole, unchanging ruler – an enduring facet of life.
Yet even in a land bereft of hope, where the battle had been lost decades before most people were born...some of them chose to fight. Despite knowing how futile their efforts would be, some people refused to go quietly, refused to let the ember of the world be snuffed out by an inexorable tide of apathy.
And Simon had just found one of them.
"What are the risks involved?" Katarina asked, folding her arms. "You've already underestimated how well-guarded this stronghold is once before. How would the three of us fare any better than you and your partner did?"
Bastian met her inquisitive look with a steely gaze of confidence. "Medea and I sought to rob the stronghold of its valuables. We lingered, searched. This would be different – a rescue mission, swift and precise as a freshly-forged knife. It should take no more than several minutes to free her."
'Should' being the operative word. No plan survives contact with the enemy.
In the Severed Isles, talk of rebellion was considered akin to madness. Simon had only heard of the resistance group known as the Hurricane twice, and each time it was accompanied by someone warning him to avoid them lest he throw his life away.
Bastian's Sin Scry painted a somewhat different story. One of its visions had depicted him and the Hurricane successfully storming a Helmund-backed base. No victories more notable than that, however – though Sin Scry didn't show every single detail of a person's life.
The Hurricane were probably more successful than Duke Helmund's propaganda led everyone to believe...but not by much. Simon wouldn't have needed to transmigrate to Valtia if Voice-In-The-Sky trusted the local natives to take care of things. They were fighting a nigh-unwinnable battle.
And they knew it, too. To be a member of the resistance, you had to be comfortable with the fact that you'd permanently forfeited your chance at a peaceful life. Between invading noble strongholds and dodging Helmund's hunters, you were constantly dancing on the knife's edge, gambling your very existence to eke out infinitesimal slivers of progress.
It meant that Simon took Bastian's reassurances about this being a quick, easy mission with just the slightest grain of salt. He might not even be lying – merely so accustomed to danger that his perception of it was warped.
"What do you think, my good man?" The rebel turned to face the transmigrator. "I would hear your thoughts, allay your fears. Ask me any question you desire."
Simon paused. At times like these, he wished he had a Skill that let him telepathically communicate with his allies. He wanted to let Kat know about Bastian's true nature, but he couldn't think of a way to do that without alerting the rebel as well.
Which was an option, albeit a wasteful one. Multiple doors would close shut the instant Bastian realized he'd been sussed out.
"You said the rescue would take 'no more than several minutes'," Simon began. "How can you be sure of that? Your partner may have been moved to another location. Even if she's in the same building, there's no guarantee we know which room."
Bastian rubbed his chin. "I doubt they've relocated her. Little reason to do so. As for Medea's exact room of confinement...based on when we searched the place earlier, I can surmise where they'll be keeping her – left wing, fourth floor. Won't take long to investigate it in full."
"I am proficient at stealth and thievery," Katarina admitted, "and Simon is the best tracker I've ever met. We're well-suited to this sort of business."
You're folding fast, Simon noted. Didn't even point out how vague his arguments are.
Perhaps he should have expected as much. After burning twelve people into charred husks yesterday, it wasn't surprising that Katarina wanted something to affirm that she was still a decent person. Saving Bastian's lover from death-by-torture would be an unambiguous act of good.
For all she'd claimed she wasn't a saint, there was a difference between that and coming to terms with quintupling your kill count overnight.
Normally she'd also have to worry about Bastian being a fraud or a con artist, but that's less of an issue here. I've already used Identify and Sin Scry. Kat trusts me to verify whether or not he's legit. If I go along with his request, then she will too.
In the same vein, Katarina wouldn't oppose Simon if he decided that he'd smelled a rat. The transmigrator could end this conversation with just one sentence. He need only say 'Your screwup isn't our problem,' and they would go their separate ways.
They probably should. Bastian was lying by omission. By concealing that he was a rebel, and that his captured partner was also known to be a rebel, he'd severely misrepresented how dangerous this operation would be. That stronghold was liable to be swarming with guards when they returned.
His earnest demeanor shrouds a callous mind. He's more than willing to sacrifice us to save Medea. Backing out now would be the safest route...
But not the route that presented the most opportunity.
"What's your name?" Simon asked. "You've attacked us, robbed us, begged us for aid – yet you've neglected to mention that tiny detail."
Bastian winced, then swept into a bow. "My apologies for the belated introduction. You may call me Guy, and I am at your service." He hazarded a rueful grin. "My parents weren't the most creative sorts."
A false name, Simon thought. That way, if Kat and I get captured, we won't be able to lead the nobles back to him. He's already prepared to cut and run if the mission gets dicey, leave us behind after securing Medea.
Good. Means no guilt on my end for taking advantage of his circumstances.
"You owe us, Guy," he announced, almost lazily. "Lead the way. As you've said, time's running out."
It took a moment for Bastian to comprehend what Simon was getting at. A grateful smile rapidly climbed up his face, like he was a man on death row who'd been handed a stay of execution. "Thank you," the rebel professed. "I...thank you. We depart at once!"
His joy and relief was infectious. Simon fought to stop a matching smile of his own from spreading – it would harm his negotiating position if Bastian knew that the transmigrator wasn't as reluctant as he'd let on.
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Isn't like I need much of an excuse to stick it to Duke Helmund or assist members of the Hurricane. While Simon had no intention of joining the resistance as a subordinate, it seemed evident that they would be collaborating in the near and distant future. Establishing a positive working relationship early on should aid greatly with that.
Especially when they eventually learned that he was a 'Demon'. Would be difficult for the rebels to disavow him wholesale if he'd already rescued one or two of them.
Of course, that alone wasn't reward enough. Simon sympathized with Bastian's plight, and he respected the effort the Hurricane had put into fighting for Valtia, but that didn't mean he was going to work for free. This entire situation was like a lush spring harvest; a resplendent bounty left unclaimed.
He intended to reap it for all it was worth.
There were two paths forward that Simon could envision. In the first, they rescued Medea without issue, thereby earning Bastian's debt, inconveniencing the nobility, and making positive inroads with the Hurricane. A strong win by every conceivable measure.
It was also sub-optimal compared to the second path, where they encountered trouble. In that potential future, Simon gained all those things...
And a boatload of EXP.
Simon allowed himself a small, covert grin as Bastian beckoned them forward. The three of them sprinted in tandem, rushing through the streets as they went. He felt the pleasant coursing of adrenaline in his veins, its intoxicating hum bracing him for the trials ahead.
The third path – where their group died miserably, overwhelmed by Helmund's soldiers – barely registered to him. This wasn't the first time he'd bet his life to achieve a goal.
It certainly wouldn't be the last.
--
Simon allocated his thirteen Unspent Stat Points as he ran. He had an inkling he'd be needing the boost soon.
Strength: 26 → 31
Dexterity: 30 → 31
Intelligence: 40 → 43
HP: 270 → 310
MP: 400 → 430
Strength, Dexterity, and Vitality were brought up to parity with each other. The sight of three identical stat numbers resting side-by-side felt oddly soothing. As if he was ready to tackle any crisis, adapt to any obstacle Valtia might throw at him.
Intelligence was pulling ahead of the other stats, yet he begrudgingly pushed it further still. Having more maximum MP to play with had proved crucial against Armand Calloway and the crispy-fried bandits – and if everything went according to plan, it would be vital today as well.
Katarina and Bastian remained silent as they went. The two of them had put their game face on, recognizing that this was scarcely the time for idle chatter.
Simon contemplated pulling Kat aside and informing her of the rebel's hidden association, but he never found a moment where they wouldn't have been noticed. They really needed to devise a system of hand signals after this.
It didn't take long for them to reach their destination. They'd ventured deep into Caelryn City's lower district, farther than Simon would have anticipated for a stronghold owned by the nobility. The once-bustling streets were nearly empty, giving credence to the notion that this was a place where Helmund had planted roots, like an invasive species crowding out the local fauna.
The stronghold itself was moderately impressive. Tall, wide, and made of a much sturdier material than the surrounding buildings. Not quite a fortress, but clearly a structure financed by people with excess funds to spare.
Half-a-dozen soldiers were posted outside the front entrance, with many more likely inside. They didn't appear very concerned or vigilant. Probably assumed that Bastian had fled the city by now.
And for good reason. Who would return to a stronghold they got ousted from literal hours ago? You'd have to be a lunatic to try.
Which totally wasn't the pot calling the kettle black. Simon's personal brand of lunacy was always carefully measured and calculated. Anyone who disagreed obviously hadn't seen his success rate since coming to Valtia.
Granted, most of his wins had been by the skin of his teeth, ending with him one foot in the grave, but there was no need to fuss over minor details.
Simon repeatedly cast Identify on each of the guards standing outside. He would've aborted the mission if any of them had been above Level 20, yet what he discovered was pleasantly surprising.
Estimated Level range of 12 to 16. Barely stronger than the bandit group. Well within acceptable parameters. Either the Duke wasn't sending his best here, or high-Level fighters were even more uncommon than he'd believed.
"Hey," Katarina whispered, drawing his attention. "Simon. This is supposed to be quick and quiet, but if our plan goes awry, we may have to fight the guards. Kill them."
"I'm quite aware."
"Right. Just...are you fine with that?"
He paused as the implications sunk in. 'Are you willing to kill someone you haven't properly vetted with Sin Scry?'
There wouldn't be time to use the Skill mid-mission, not even while safely hidden in a corner. The trance it put him in would be a death sentence if activated at the wrong moment.
And without the information Sin Scry provided, he wouldn't know if their enemies actually 'deserved' death. For all he knew, any guard he slew could be a desperate youth who'd only signed with Helmund to support their family.
"Yeah," Simon immediately answered, nodding in assent. "I won't hesitate."
He wouldn't blame someone for joining a corrupt institution when there was no other choice. Everyone needed to eat. The people at fault were those who'd created the institution, not those toiling for scraps on the bottom rung.
But the fires of revolution were just that – fires. Raging, perilous, and only somewhat controllable. Their blaze would reshape the world, consuming many in its wake...including some who weren't fully deserving of being sacrificed on the pyre.
Simon would do his utmost to minimize collateral damage where he could. It was an important part of keeping himself grounded and avoiding the slippery slope. He sought power not for its own sake, but to help the weak achieve a better lot in life.
Extending that mercy to soldiers employed by Duke Helmund, though?
No. 'Just following orders' was an excuse that only went so far. Maybe if they threw down their weapons and defected, but he doubted that was happening anytime soon.
They'd made their choice – and so would he.