NOVEL NEXT Chapter 30.2
They found their quarry inside a barricaded clothes cabinet. Cyna bashed it open, and Bastian yanked out a reedy-looking man, depositing him onto the nearest chair. Piers' servant almost fainted on the spot as he glanced around, his eyes shifting from rebel to rebel–
Before finally settling on Simon's right arm.
"NO! PLEASE!" He gripped the chair so tightly that both hands were white-knuckled. "SPARE ME! PLEASE!"
Simon chuckled as his allies peered over at him. "Why the accusatory glares? I haven't even said anything yet."
"Your comforting visage was enough," Marlene retorted. "Now, I understand that you possess spells suited for interrogation and coercion, but treat this man with leniency. Not all of the Helmunds' retainers serve willingly. He may help us if we simply ask."
A valid point. Still, it couldn't hurt to learn more about the man first. Ident–
Simon stopped the Skill before it could activate, a twinge of remembrance forestalling him. He examined the servant's face more closely. Something about the man felt...familiar?
All at once, dread solidified in his gut. Identify, he thought, tailoring it to reveal a specific set of information.
The usual system notification popped into view. He read its Description.
And then lunged for the servant's throat.
Many voices rang out in unison. Katarina, the rebels, the man sitting trapped in a chair. None would have acted in time to stop him.
It was Simon himself who stayed his own hand. With great effort, like bending iron, he managed to hold his muscles in place. Silver-sharp claws danced at the edges of the servant's throat, drawing five tiny pinpricks of blood.
"Don't." Any residual levity had fled the transmigrator's tone. With that one word, he froze the Hurricane in their tracks as they moved to restrain him. "Whatever concern is stirring in your hearts – kill it. This man deserves worse than claws to the neck."
Marlene fell silent. "...We need him to open the way to Piers," she argued. "Assuming he's capable of doing so."
"Oh, he is." Identify had shown that too. "It's why he's still alive."
Simon leaned closer. The servant tried and failed to sink into his chair, beads of sweat running down his brow.
"Harvey." The name came out like a curse. "I know what you've done, Harvey." Demonic claws pushed deeper into soft flesh, millimeter by millimeter. "Piers didn't always act alone. He liked to share. To treat his favorite servants. Monsters get lonely too, after all – and who better to spend the day with than another monster?"
Simon paused, his face just inches away. "How many people did you help him torture, Harvey? Did you even bother keeping count?"
A shudder passed through the servant's body. "I...I didn't want to. He ordered me–"
"Harvey, Harvey, Harvey. We both know that's a lie." Simon nearly retched as memories of Sin Scry assailed him. "I recognized your face. Saw it in my visions. You assisted Piers ever so gleefully."
No response came. The man – the monster – was shivering like a lamb caught in a bear trap. He refused to meet anyone's eyes, studying the ground with feverish intensity, as if praying that a hole would suddenly open up and send him tumbling to freedom.
Just one push. That's all it would take. Just one push, one errant twitch, and he'd send Harvey's head rolling onto the carpet.
It would be so easy.
Breathing deep, Simon centered himself. "I won't mince words with you," he began, as if addressing a slug on the side of the road. "You have no real options. Either you unlock the door to Piers' panic room, or–"
"No!" Harvey's gaze snapped back up, meeting Simon's for the first time. "I can't go against my lord! He would butcher me for it!"
The transmigrator gave him a joyless smile. "And you think I won't? Who do you fear more? A trusted nobleman who might still find the capacity to forgive you – or the Demon with his claws wrapped around your neck right now?"
"Piers."
The response was instantaneous. Simon blinked. Suppose I walked into that one. "So you're willing to die for him? Your sense of loyalty is laudable. But, for the record..."
He lowered a claw to rest below some of Harvey's fingernails, then lifted another to hover right in front of his eyes. The servant's breath caught as he envisioned what would happen if the slightest bit of force was applied.
"I hate torturers," Simon professed, with pure and simple honesty. "There's no type of creature I despise more in this world. Think of it as a personal vendetta, if you will. You see, Harvey...I don't really consider people like you to be people. Even if I were to recreate some of the vile, profane acts that I witnessed you and Piers perform on innocent civilians, as long as I did them to you, I wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over it."
Was that hypocritical? Perhaps, but it was a hypocrisy that had been burnt into his soul with electrical clamps and pain that left no bruises. If Heroic Valor complained, then the Trait could go screw itself.
"Just remember, Harvey." Simon sounded alien, possessed. Good. "You may be willing to die for your dear pal Piers – yet you know very well that there are many fates worse than death."
Seconds passed. Except for a choked sob, no one made a peep.
Eventually, Harvey found his voice. "I only...I need only open the door, yes? Then I'll go free?"
"Of course," Simon lied. "Unlike you, I'm not a monster."
Merely a slayer of them.
--
Simon wound up putting Harvey under Contract.
It was possible that the servant would get cold feet when he came face-to-face with Piers' panic room, and that would just complicate matters. The transmigrator wouldn't have minded making good on his threats, but he'd creeped out the Hurricane twice already on this mission, and plucking a man's eyeballs might prove a step too far for them.
At least they didn't seem as...perturbed, as when he'd forged a Contract with Marlene. Partially because they'd seen the process once before, and partially because they cared way less when it was being done to Harvey. None of the rebels were saintly enough to muster pity for a reprehensible lapdog of the nobility – one who had apparently committed atrocities that even a Demon was reticent to describe.
Things moved swiftly after that. Everybody returned to the panic room and formed up in front of it, taking their various pre-planned positions.
There was an electrified anticipation in the air as they readied themselves – the sense of finality that always served as the prelude to something momentous. For centuries, the Helmund family had existed as a core aspect of Valtian society. Unshakable. Enduring. Piers was a newer addition, but his father the Duke had reigned for many lifetimes, and virtually everyone expected the son to persist for just as long.
Within the next few seconds, that assumption would be tested. Either a Helmund would be laid low, overturning a fundamental law of the Severed Isles...
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Or several of the Hurricane's most important members would be slaughtered, their leader included.
Could the resistance bounce back from losing Marlene, Bastian, and Cyna? Simon doubted it. They'd already been struggling impotently with those three. Without them, assassinating Piers would be even more of a pipe dream than before.
This was do or die. One shot, one chance.
Unlike the rest of his allies, Simon felt calm as he commanded Harvey to unlock the panic room. This was do or die, but...what else was new? The razor's edge of a knife was where he thrived. And while the Hurricane may have floundered in their endeavors thus far, things would be different this time.
This time, they have me.
In spite of Harvey's protests, the servant put his hand on the door. Compelled by the Contract, he pushed his mana signature forward, deactivating the Artifacts keeping the panic room sealed shut. It swung open with a surprising lack of fanfare.
Just like that, the Hurricane was standing face-to-face with Piers and his royal retinue.
Simon quickly took stock. There were fifteen elite guardsmen inside. The cream of the crop. Stronger than any of the soldiers they'd faced yet. Piers had been hoarding them, it seemed.
As for the nobleman himself – he'd seen better days. His ruined throat was only half-healed, sporadically gushing blood like a leaky faucet, staining his expensive attire with more and more red. Regenerative mana continuously glowed around his neck, yet it was just a stopgap measure to prevent the injury from getting worse.
Which meant that he was still vulnerable.
The sight of a wounded Helmund spurred everyone forward. Katarina loosed a Firebolt. Mages cast their spells. Melee-range warriors dashed forward. All of them were ignoring the elite guardsmen entirely, gunning straight for Piers.
That was the brand of insanity titled 'strategy' that the rebels had agreed upon. It didn't matter if Piers had zero soldiers at his side, or ten, or a hundred. If he died first...the rest could be figured out afterwards.
Simon couldn't help but respect their dedication. It was the definition of go big or go home. They were boldly hurling themselves into danger, sacrificing themselves to ensure the mission's success.
And all that planning, determination, and resolve–
"YOU."
Was swept aside in a heartbeat.
Simon reacted before anyone else. He wasn't sure why – he was hardly the most experienced fighter in the room. Even so, at that exact moment...something in his instincts screeched.
There was no time to think. He only moved.
Without looking back, Simon used his human left arm to reach behind and grab Harvey. In the same motion, he bodily tossed the servant forward, sending him flying ahead of the advancing Hurricane rebels.
Using his Demonic right arm, he activated Channel Essence, prepping a Barrier – no, two Barriers. 150 MP each. Connected. Angled in front of him like the top half of a triangle. A funnel to divert–
"YOU!"
The room exploded with mana.
Simon's eardrums protested as Piers surged forward like a vengeful spirit. The nobleman kicked off the ground with an absurd burst of energy and noise, demolishing the floor where he'd stood. Several of his guards were blown away as if thrown by a tornado, crashing against the wall in a heap of tangled limbs.
Harvey was in the way. He barely had time to plead forgiveness before Piers barreled through him, turning the servant into a fine red mist.
His life didn't even buy Simon a split-second of reprieve.
Katarina's Firebolt found its mark. So did some of the Hurricane's offensive spells. Piers' aura of mana swatted the projectiles like mosquitoes, the nobleman not seeming to notice that he'd been attacked. His attention was laser-focused on the Demon – the upstart that had dared to mar his royal person.
Simon stood his ground and grit his teeth as the wrath of a demigod collided with two Barriers.
They held. For half a second. The translucent shields were already starting to falter. Cracks rapidly spread through them like spiderwebs.
Window of opportunity closing.
Mana swirled around the room in a vortex of power, deflected by the overtaxed Barriers. A rebel perished, speared through the brain by a piercing ray of light. Two soldiers were sliced apart, energy ripping through their torsos with casual indifference.
Simon was at a loss for what to do. He'd set up the Barriers to shield the Hurricane – and himself – from harm, but his limits were evident. Couldn't cast more than two spells at once. Using all his MP so soon would render him helpless, anyway. If he reached forward to attempt a Fell Harvest on Piers, his arm would come back as a stump.
What should–
*Crack.*
He froze. That last cracking sound...hadn't come from the Barriers.
Simon and Piers were united in their surprise as the floor collapsed beneath them.
The panic room had been designed to prevent unwanted entry – but there wasn't much it could do to stop Piers himself. His wayward mana shredded wood, crunched metal, and tore the defensive Artifacts to pieces. Beset by the fury of a Helmund, a large hole opened up underneath.
Both men fell through to the next floor down.
They somehow managed to land on their feet. Shards of debris clattered around them, the air filling with clouds of dust. It was a strangely disconcerting moment, prompting each combatant to pause and assess their situation.
The part of Simon's mind that governed survival instinct told him to flee. The part that craved bloody satisfaction urged him to press forward – tear out what remained of the torturer's throat.
The part of him that wanted to win cast Identify.
Name: Piers Helmund
Description: Son of Duke Helmund. Scion of the Severed Isles. The supreme ruler of his own little world.
Estimated Level: 47 (64 when at full health and mana capacity)
His Level has dropped from 64 to 47, Simon noted. Less than I'd hoped for. And that's after he expended a sizable chunk of mana during his previous attack.
In conclusion: Piers was faring better than anticipated. His wounded throat hadn't slowed him down much. Despite being gravely injured and suffering from extended blood loss, his offensive capabilities were undeniable.
Conversely, Simon was alone and outmatched. He'd already spent 300 MP on two Barriers – nearly half of his total mana reserves. The Hurricane would be busy recovering, then fending off the elite guardsmen up above, so he couldn't count on reinforcements.
All of that...
Was within acceptable parameters.
Ideas taking shape in his mind, Simon charged. He kept his balance as he ran straight along the knife's edge, mindful of the abyss that awaited below if he fell.