Lifestealer: Cursed Healer [A LITRPG Isekai Survival]

Honen Rogier gripped the railing of his terrace's balcony hard enough to crack stone. But the beautiful gold marble of the Emperor's Court was the furthest thing from mundane, and was more than up to the task of resisting the Third Step's anger, bearing the onslaught without complaint. Part of him wished it would shatter, though the rest of him knew that was foolish. There had been enough mistakes recently, and he couldn't afford another. Not here, not now.

His wife approached on his left, her slippers softly sliding against the marbled tiles.

She placed a hand against his arm, and all the tension drained from his body. He slumped forward, catching himself in time to stop from going over the railing — a fall from this height would scuff his perfect clothes, and they had little time before they had to be at Court.

"Where did it all go wrong?" he asked, sighing again. His stress melted into dejected acceptance, like the condemned awaiting the headsman's axe. He might not be far off from that.

Frisda remained silent, though she joined him in leaning against the balcony. She knew his question was rhetorical; they had been over this many times, and there were many answers.

He was the Earl of Routland, as was his father before him, and so on for the last seven hundred years. It was one of the core territories, part of the Eternal Empire before it was even an empire. Small, yet one of the Empire's greatest assets.

Or so his father had always said.

It would have been true once, but that hadn't been the case since his grandfather's tenure. Their Ironwood forests were critical for the Imperial Navy, but the thing about trees was that they tended to grow. The right seeds in the right location, and suddenly their province's special trees weren't so special.

Physical violence between the Empire's principalities was, of course, expressly forbidden, but there were other ways for rivals to harm him and his family. As long as the Empire as a whole grew stronger — which it had — then there was no issue in the eyes of the Emperor. That Honen's holdings were weakened while his neighbouring rivals just so happened to grow in favour and power was a mere coincidence, naturally.

He resisted the urge to spit into the garden below. He was getting sloppy in his old age, but he wasn't so foolish as to be so crass. Not here, so close to the Court itself. There were eyes everywhere, but his enchantments would at least stop their conversation from being overheard and their lips from being read.

Other things contributed to their decline. Improvements in enchanting theory made the mana channelling properties of Ironwood less critical. That, coupled with his ancestors' refusal to adapt and branch out, their complacency convincing them that everything would be fine, meant they were being left behind. That they were already behind. He'd spotted it from a young age, though, and knew that he'd need to do something drastic to return his House to its former glory once he was its head.

All his life, he'd been waiting for the opportunity.

When the Emperor himself had called for the Great Houses to gather with no notice, just a short week ago, he knew something big had happened. So did everyone else; the Emperor preferred to delegate, and even Honen, the head of a Great House that ruled its own Province — even one on the decline — had only seen his Emperor in the flesh a few short times in his eighty-odd years.

The first was when his father had died, and he had become the Earl. Though the title was hereditary, the ceremony required the Emperor's approval. The second was for the declaration of a War of Subjection. The third was last week, when a great hunt had been called. Now, he'd see him again.

Twice in eighty years, then twice in as many weeks. He only wished he knew why the Emperor had called for one.

It had been a literal once in a life time opportunity, and he had been uniquely equipped to seize it. All the other Houses would be clamouring for the Emperor's approval, but he had the best chance. He should have had the best chance, if it wasn't for his useless eldest son.

He looked at his wife, who was admiring the flowers down below. How could someone so pure, so perfect, produce someone so without merit? Was there something wrong, deep inside their blood? Some Houses intermarried, their spawn becoming twisted over the generations, but there had been none of that with either of their Houses.

Their troublesome child had been sent away on an exploratory and potentially expansionistic mission to the Wastes. Of course, he'd been hoping to clean up the line of succession, lining things up for his next, much more acceptable son. He still had a solid half-century before age would claim him, but he would prepare his House for the future in the ways his ancestors did not.

"There has been no new update from the boy?" he asked.

Frisda shook her head, the delicate curls of her dark hair bouncing softly. Beautiful.

"Figures." If he slumped any further, he'd turn into one of those slimes the peasants occasionally complained about.

At first, he'd been chagrined by the boy's overly developed survival instincts by delaying his venture into the Wastes directly, but it had ended up working in their favour. When the Emperor had suddenly summoned the heads of all the Great Houses for a hunt, he thought his chance had finally come. When the Oracles had narrowed down their target to the Wastes, he'd known that this was his one chance.

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The Wastes were called that for a reason. No mana, no resources, barely even any arable land. No one lived there, which meant his House was the only one with a presence there.

Their Emperor had shown how serious they were when he'd sent his Mercy, one of three capital ships, to the area. As the highest-ranked Noble in the area, his son should have been able to garner much influence. The ship's Captain would answer directly to the Emperor, but his son should still have much sway, especially over the non-military operations.

So what the hell was that idiot doing?

Pepjin Rogier leaned against the railing along the upper deck, his bejewelled finger idly tracing along the wood grain. Things were going so well! His father could be quite harsh, and honestly, he thought he'd annoyed the man when he'd been sent off on this little adventure. The Wastes? Who would ever want to go there?

He could see now that he was a fool for doubting his father. The crafty old bugger must have somehow known about the Emperor's wishes before anyone else, sending him here to get a head start on the hunt.

Granted, Pepjin hadn't been given much in the way of details, but that was fine! As such an experienced and worldly man, he knew that intricate plans often broke apart the first time something went wrong. He possessed the raw cunning and intellect to make do with improvisation.

He'd reacted quickly when he stumbled across this quaint little settlement, claiming it in the name of his House as soon as he realised it was completely independent. He wasn't sure if his father had known it existed — Pepjin certainly hadn't — but it was a nice little bonus.

It wasn't his main goal, though, so he'd quickly gotten to work. Perhaps other men would have gone charging off blindly into the wilderness, slaying monsters and exploring ancient ruins. His brothers, for example. It had a certain appeal, he had to admit, but he also knew that true power came from knowledge, not personal strength. He was a Noble, not some common soldier!

To that regard, he'd done some investigating inside the town. A couple of grand promises, a little poison there, a convenient antidote here, and he had the peasantry eating out of the palm of his hand. Back on top where he belonged, things had quickly slotted into place. His own barony! Father would be so pleased. For too long, he'd been landless, a Baron in name only.

With the people under his sway, he'd quickly gotten to work. For such a little town, it had surprisingly many secrets. A ring of enchantments around the village, passively repelling monsters from the nearby forest. Though he cared more for working with people than magic, he could still tell that it was far beyond the capabilities of the peasantry. In fact, a few subtle probes revealed they hadn't even known about it.

By his eye, it actually wasn't so dissimilar from what you'd find around parts of his home city. A few more questions, and, what do you know, this place used to be ruled by an Imperial! He didn't recognise her name, so she couldn't have been too important, but he could admire her magical skill.

Yet more subtle questions, and it was revealed that she had a residence in the forest! His younger brothers certainly wouldn't have found that out just by blindly swinging their swords and codpieces about. He and his loyal squadron of guards were just about ready to do some on-the-ground investigation when, to his surprise, the massive capital ship he was currently on had pulled up to his newest holding.

It had been quite comical how it had dwarfed the dinghy little docks, and the Captain was surprised yet undoubtedly pleased to find Imperial nobility. He was quite a pleasant man, and Pepjin enjoyed hearing tales of his exploits, but the man clearly cared little for the subtleties of politics, and had let slip a curious little detail; he'd already been out on the hunt for weeks.

Considering the Emperor's declaration of a great hunt had been a singular week ago, Pepjin found it most strange how both things could be true. The Emperor's Mercy was as powerful as it was beautiful, but pure speed was not its forte. To have already reached the Wastes weeks ago, it must have left Imperial territory quite some time before then.

In his experience, the simplest explanation was often the truest; the Emperor had been planning this hunt for some time, unknownst to all the Nobles. Save his father, perhaps.

"Tell me, good sir," he started, not taking his eyes off the wood grain, "have you ever met the Emperor?"

"No, my Lord," the Captain of the vessel spoke. Technically, he outranked the Baron, but he knew there was no need to flaunt that. A smart man; no wonder he had risen so high. "Ah, you ask because I captain the Emperor's Mercy?"

Pepjin nodded once, his well-oiled moustache shifting slightly with the motion.

"It is true that I have no commanding officer save for the Emperor, but my duty is here, on the seas and at war. I only ever speak with his Voice."

"I see…" he sighed, his eyes drifting off to the seas stretching off into the distance. "Me neither." He'd known that, of course; the Emperor rarely even spoke to the Great Houses, let alone to micromanage the activities of his armies, but he'd hoped the Captain would have overheard something given the apparent importance that had been placed on this task.

As far as they knew, the Emperor had randomly decided to dedicate large swathes of resources towards hunting down and capturing — alive, that part had been quite clear — a Deep Elf, of all things.

No one could claim to understand the inner workings of the Emperor's mind. Or even the outer workings, really. Still, he'd known their sovereign would not be happy once he found out that the Captain had captured and then lost the Elf he was supposed to deliver. The thing had even been wounded in the escape, and they'd feared it may have been mortal. He knew the feral creatures could possess a certain low cunning, but this was frankly embarrassing.

It had been an opportunity, though. Even though he didn't know why the Emperor wanted the Elf, he knew the desire was extreme. That was why he'd gone ahead and authorised the use of the Hound right under the Captain's nose. The cursed thing had always struggled at its bonds, but it couldn't disobey a direct order, and Pepjin had delivered his. It was to return with the traitorous human's heart, and capture the elf alive and as unharmed as was possible.

It, along with the onboard detachment of Praetorians, had been sent off but ten minutes ago after sightings from their Scouts.

Pepjin had tried to ensure those knights were provided with as much information as possible, but their latest prisoners had been quite uncooperative. Perhaps some kind of druidic magic, he'd warned them, considering that avian spy. Those foreigners had realised what Pepjin was angling for when he'd attempted to fish for more, and had clammed up, but that was no bother. The Truthseeker would get the answers he wanted one way or the other. Just part of the beauty of delegation.

His fingers paused their tracing of the ship's wood grain as he spotted the foul creature returning, blood dripping from one hand. The elf was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he should have specified which command took priority, Pepjin acknowledged, but it was no matter. It wasn't like there was anywhere the elf could run to now that the Hound had her scent.

He smiled as his fingers resumed their journey across the railing. Sure, he wasn't technically allowed to do any of this, but the Emperor himself would bestow his blessings once Pepjin recaptured the target.

All without lifting a finger!