NOVEL NEXT Chapter 34.2
The world re-materialized with a glittering shower of mana.
Simon exited the carriage to find himself standing in a wide, spacious chamber constructed from stone. It was sparse and unadorned, lacking the garish ornamentation of a place like Piers' villa – this was a room meant purely for utility. Red lines had been painted on the floor partway through, dividing the chamber squarely in half.
A designated teleportation spot, he surmised. Actually, what happens when you teleport into a space that someone is currently occupying? I really hope they made failsafes for that.
At the other end of the room, across the red dividing line, a man was standing with his mouth hanging open. His gaze swept over Simon's group, stopping when he reached the leader of the Hurricane.
"Marlene?" he asked, his voice frail. When she nodded in assent, the man broke into a relieved smile and dashed outside the teleportation chamber. "MARLENE IS HERE!" he called out. "MARLENE AND CYNA HAVE COME BACK TO US! GATHER EVERYONE! ALERT LADY VICTORIA!"
Katarina laughed to herself. "Marlene and Cyna, hmm?" She poked Bastian in the shoulder. "Suppose not all within the Hurricane are regarded equally."
"I didn't hear them heralding your glorious return," he retorted.
"I've never met them before, and they were hardly going to recognize me from that farce of a wanted poster. What's your excuse?"
Cyna glowered at her. "Bastian is one of our finest members at infiltration and ingratiating himself with outsiders. His missions are typically secretive in nature. The fewer people among the Hurricane that know of him, the better job he's been doing. Don't speak ill of what you do not know."
Watching Bastian's girlfriend jump to his defense only seemed to deepen Kat's amusement. With a grumble, Cyna looked over at Simon. "You're a bad influence," she told him.
Life is unjust, thought the transmigrator, who had been intentionally keeping his mouth shut. Say something, get blamed. Say nothing, still get blamed. "And you're just looking for reasons to criticize me."
"In fairness, I haven't needed to look very far."
Marlene interrupted their back-and-forth with an exhausted sigh. She walked past the red dividing line and beckoned them forward, eager to meet with her subordinates and announce their group's survival. While the Hurricane had seen the wanted posters and heard rumors about what transpired in Caelryn City, there was a difference between hearsay and living proof.
As Simon followed her through the doorway, he wondered what kind of reception he was about to receive. His actions had put the Hurricane in a...complicated position.
On one hand, he was a Demon. Due to the warmongering nation of Ashora and its oft-repeated legends, Demons had garnered a universal reputation for being duplicitous, conniving, and bloodthirsty. Whether that reputation was exaggerated propaganda or not, Simon wasn't sure, but it still tainted every first impression that people had of him. They assumed the worst from just a glance.
It didn't help that he lived up to those assumptions from time to time.
On the other hand, he'd also killed Piers Helmund. Well, technically Bastian had, but it was Simon who engineered the scenario that made it possible.
A momentous feat like that couldn't just be brushed aside. Even if the rebels wanted to wash their hands of him, they couldn't anymore. Thanks to Duke Helmund's wanted posters, the general public already associated the Hurricane with Piers' Demonic assassin. His questionable reputation had mixed with theirs like a stain that wouldn't wash out.
Which was going to result in some intensely conflicted feelings.
Some people would be overjoyed that he'd helped them finally slay a Helmund. Some would be aghast that their leader had joined hands with a Fell saboteur. Some would be disappointed that their own efforts had been minimized by an outsider barging in and stealing the spotlight. Some would be a confusing combination of all of the above.
The resistance chapter back at Caelryn had been swept up in momentum, left without much time to contemplate the ramifications of allying with a Demon. The people here at Hurricane HQ weren't the same. They'd had days to stew in whatever emotions were boiling inside. Simon couldn't predict how they were going to react to his arrival.
He got his answer when he stepped into the adjoining gallery room, saw a hundred people waiting for them – and spotted arrows racing towards his heart.
No celebration held in my honor, it seems. Shame.
With just a split-second to make his decision, Simon pushed his newfound Dexterity to its limit, analyzing the situation as time rapidly slowed. Relief flowed into him as he noticed two extremely important details.
Arrows were only aimed at me. And most people didn't shoot.
It appeared that out of the hundred-some Hurricane members in attendance, fifteen were attempting to assassinate him, and him alone. This wasn't a mutiny against Marlene; merely a small group seeking to free her from Demonic influence. A resistance within a resistance.
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Should he have really expected anything less from the Valtians crazy enough to join the Hurricane? They'd already shown that they were willing to risk their lives to topple powerful tyrants. If anything, Simon was impressed – it proved that them standing in opposition to Duke Helmund wasn't a fluke.
So. Options.
Dodging was one. Avoid the arrows, then calm the rebels. It would reflect well on him if he didn't
respond like a stereotypical Demon and 'demand retribution for their insolence' or whatever.
But what would it cost him if he didn't dodge? Some damage incurred, easily healed or slept off. In exchange, he would gain something of far greater value:
Clout.
Simon stared lazily at his torso as it was riddled with arrows. He felt overcome by an odd sense of nostalgia, reminded of how Piers' retinue had turned his body into a pincushion back at the bar.
HP: 273 / 460
A deathly silence engulfed the room. The rebels who'd shot arrows swiftly realized that their gambit was a failure, all color draining from their faces. The other rebels were stricken with a blend of turmoil and terror – they hadn't processed the betrayal yet, but they were getting there, step by painful step.
"What are..." Marlene stalked forward, her voice thunderous and her gaze forged from iron. "What. Are. You. Doing? Have you gone utterly stark-raving mad?!"
Most of the crowd backed away in a haste, separating themselves from the fifteen pseudo-traitors, leaving them out to dry. None of the fifteen spoke up in their defense, appearing remarkably similar to unruly children being chastened by their grandmother.
After a too-long period where even Simon was starting to feel tortured by secondhand embarrassment, one man finally raised his voice. "We did it for the good of the Hurricane," he firmly stated. "Doesn't matter if this Demon killed a Helmund. Letting him into our ranks would–"
"Do you have the faintest notion of what you almost did?"
Marlene's forehead twitched with the onset of a migraine. "If this Demon were as murderous as the ones we've heard tell of, then this room would be a charnel house by now! I don't know what I'm more disappointed by – that you judged it necessary to slay an ally, or that you thought someone who dueled Piers Helmund to a standstill could be felled by arrows."
She glanced back. "Please excuse their short-shortsightedness, Simon. You have my apologies."
"What for?" The Demon gently pushed down on an arrow lodged inside his body, then removed his finger so it would snap upwards with a *twang*. "You hardly need to apologize every time I get bit by a mosquito."
He smiled, prompting over a hundred rebels to shudder at once.
With that, the seed had successfully been planted in their minds. The sight of him standing there, wholly unfazed as arrows protruded from numerous vital organs, was proving quite effective. The rebels were wondering what it would possibly take to kill him – if he could be killed at all.
They weren't as fearful of him as Piers had been, but they'd get there. Rome wasn't built in a day, and gaslighting the entirety of a resistance organization would require a few more dramatic flourishes.
While the Hurricane was distracted, Katarina sent him a series of hand signals. 'You okay?' and 'Fight our way out?'
Simon replied with 'No' and 'I'm fine'. Then, after a pause, 'Thank you.' He wished he had a more detailed signal that could say 'I appreciate the concern,' but they hadn't set that one up.
"We can't afford any further delays." Marlene's tone hardened as she addressed the Hurricane. "Our fortunes have changed. Though the death of Piers was an incredible triumph, what followed next has been predictable. Duke Helmund will no longer tolerate our existence. He shall hunt us down until the very last."
A note of sorrow entered her tone. "It has already begun. Not everyone is here today that should be. I hope that they've simply gone into hiding, yet I doubt we're so lucky as that. Won't be long before the Duke has uncovered this location as well."
She breathed deep, steeling herself. "It is time that we carried out our Last Resort."
You could have heard a pin drop.
Shock, worry, anxiety, anticipation – all of that and more was raging among the Hurricane. Only Simon and Katarina were excluded, having never heard of a Last Resort until now...
But the context wasn't difficult to understand.
"I will state this plainly for our newest allies," Marlene continued, with an air of grim amusement. "Helmund is perilously close to discovering these headquarters. When he does, the Hurricane will cease to be. Thus, we must take action – the only action that contains even the slightest chance of victory."
She locked eyes with Simon. "By the end of this week, either we or Duke Helmund shall be dead."