Swan Song [Dark Fantasy | Progression Fantasy | Slowburn]

[Volume 2.5 | Chapter 89: A Return to the Capital]

The Alexandria Forest was a deceptive place. From a distance, the thick canopy of green seemed almost inviting, promising a cool, shady refuge from the summer heat. But as Siegfried and the first group of the "Captain Sparrow's crew" hiked deeper into its depths, the reality of this forest revealed that it was a treacherous and unforgiving environment. And if it weren't for the map provided to them, they would already be hopelessly lost in the thicket. Yet paradoxically so, this "forest" (as if it were really worthy of the name) was maintained for centuries as a safety buffer between the capital and the rest of the Empire. It was a strategic decision made long ago, meant to dissuade potential attackers from assaulting the Imperial Villa. One could consider it to be natural barrier as it was intended to be both impassable and lethal to those who dared to trespass.

It was named after Alexandria della Tachyonia, the Great Reformer and daughter of the Divine Founder himself, Leonidas I della Tachyonia who had established the foundation of the Tachyon Empire—expelling the "regressives" from the New World, exterminating mainland Crisis Beasts, creating the Sovereign Houses, and founding San Corona—it was Alexandria who had given the empire its enduring structure. She had codified imperial succession laws, established the Thaumaturgical Church, created the provincial system, formalized noble hierarchies, and founded the first imperial academies, including Vanguard University.

At least, that was what Siegfried remembered from his military education. The dry history had been hammered into him during his brief time with the Legion, before everything had fallen apart. Before Bianca's death, his descent into the criminal underworld, and before "Nemesis" became a name of scorn and fear.

"Keep movin', keep movin'! We ain't got all day!"

With that annoying man's shrill voice interrupting his hazy thoughts, Siegfried shook his head to banish the memories and focus on the task at hand: surviving this damned forest. Around him, the rest of his group were flagging with faces streaked with dirt and sweat. The oppressive heat, combined with the relentless assault of mosquitoes and other bloodsucking vermin, sapped their strength and morale, even with the mutters of a few Enhancement spells to stave off the worst effects.

They were in the first group, which was about fifty workers deemed most valuable based on their forged resumes, trudging along a path that hadn't been maintained in what looked like decades.

Siegfried, Malleus, and Roy had been placed in this initial cohort, along with the troublemaker Rocks, and the rest of the group consisted of Thaumaturges with above average resumes for what you could expect from Fiorans desperate enough to work as migrant workers (which were, to say the least, subpar). Most were relatively young and able-bodied, but even so, they were wilting quickly under the relentless conditions.

Two of Dennis's managers flanked the group with hidden expressions beneath the brims of their hats. They showed no signs of fatigue, despite the sweltering heat and humidity, which meant they were probably Loopcasting [Fließen]—intentionally introducing a fractional scalar value to an Integration Sequence to make a spell last longer at a lower potency—to make their skin harder for the insects to pierce. Siegfried considered doing the same, but quickly dismissed the thought.

Can't risk drawing attention. Best to keep our heads down.

Prana was harder to suppress when using spells since the sheer pressure of someone's [Instinct] would usually be unmasked. This was also why Malleus's disguise spell that she used to trail that Irregular back in Windsor couldn't be used... probably for the entire operation.

Speaking of Windsor…

No! That's irrelevant! Don't remember it! Erase it!

But he couldn't. As long as the burning in his chest remained, as long as he could feel the mercury slowly eating away at him from the inside, it would always come back to that.

48 hours. That's all it had taken for his scheme to recruit his former war comrade to fall apart before his very eyes.

On June 10th, Pandora Kircheisen had utterly destroyed them at the Windsor Auxiliary Telecommunications Warehouse. She tore through them like they were children, leaving the "fearsome" Nemesis on his knees begging for death, Apollo unconscious, and Malleus a hole through her artery. Then had come the most humiliating moment of all... Pandora's cold instructions to flee south, where they would find buried [Sanatio] packs that would stabilize their immediate injuries. The merciful act of a victor who needed her defeated enemies alive for some greater purpose.

Inside the burial site had been a note containing nothing but a single number.

When Siegfried had called it from a secure line, the voice that answered had shattered what remained of his worldview.

"Ah, hello, Nemesis! Or shall I say—'guten abend'? I've been looking forward to our chat!"

The casual, almost singsong greeting had belonged to none other than Viceroy Lorelei Bismarck of Orion Province.

It was like a thunderbolt to the head.

Lorelei Bismarck—the enigmatic Viceroy who had been personally appointed by Emperor Godric after the previous Viceroy, Severus von Stahlmark, had died under "mysterious circumstances." The pink-haired administrator whose progressive policies had transformed Orion into the Empire's technological powerhouse. She was also a woman whose true power remained a subject of whispered speculation even among the highest echelons of the underworld.

She was working with Pandora. All along.

"Surprised?"

Even her giggle made the half-cognizant Siegfried clench his teeth.

"I bet you are. After all, it's not every day that a Viceroy takes the time to have a personal conversation with a criminal, is it? One so famous as the Nemesis himself, no less!"

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Why? What was the meaning of this? What did she want?

He didn't want to be a slave notagainnotagainnotagainaga—

"I truly wonder... was seeing that mercury again nostalgic to you? How does it feel to have the same poison that killed Bianca Idrina slowly kill you, too? Slowly? Agonizingly?"

That was the first time that he tried to crush the receiver.

"Joking, joking," she laughed, "I'm just teasing you, silly~"

"What... the... hell... do you want...?"

"Ah, right, I forgot, you're dying, aren't you? Well, approximately in 14 days if you don't receive a second antidote or proper treatment to begin the purging process. Which I happen to conveniently have the solution for."

There was no way that she was bluffing.

She knew about what really happened to Bianca, and she seemed to have aided Pandora with the info gathering process to counter his scheme of using informants in Ocarina and Cagliostro Narma as vectors to entrap the High Inquisitor.

So, just as the slave of the military, he was just the slave of a territory lord. And he was going to die without even being able to decide his own fate. His life was in the hands of this pink-haired devil.

Begging. Groveling. That's all he was good for.

"...I'll do anything, just... please... don't let us die."

"Hmm~? You'll do 'anything'?"

"Pandora talked about Helen Vessalius... right? W-we'll do it! Please! D-don't let us... d-die..."

He couldn't even recognize his voice at this point. Just a pathetic shadow of a man who once was. A disgrace of a former soldier, a disgrace of an assassin.

"That's a good boy. You're learning. Very, very quickly indeed. Now, listen carefully..."

First, Lorelei had him call Cagliostro Narma to terminate their contract to kill Acacia. Then she had outlined exactly what would happen next—how they would acquire false identities, how they would infiltrate Dennis Sparrow's crew of migrant workers, and how they would use that cover to enter San Corona for their true mission: the assassination of High General Helen Vessalius.

"Do not try to do anything smart, I advise you. If I catch wind of your disobedience, then that healer of yours that was working as an informant down in Ocarina... Jasmine was it? Well, let's say that she's under the surveillance of men in an area where you won't even dream of finding in time. I won't hesitate to make her suffer before she dies. And you, my poisoned friend, will follow her into the grave within two weeks. Mercury poisoning is such a terrifying way to go out."

They had no choice.

By the afternoon of June 11th, they were at Dennis Sparrow's recruitment drive in Fiora, armed with meticulously forged documents and resumes that marked them as experienced workers.

Now, on June 12th, they slogged through the Alexandria Forest toward San Corona to assassinate a devil in female flesh.

And what of the Bloodhounds? The criminal empire he had built from nothing over seven years of blood and cunning? Apollo and Malleus walked beside him now, but the rest of his organization remained in Desperado, headless and vulnerable. How long before Trident, or any other syndicate, sensed weakness and moved to claim their territory?

Everything that Siegfried had worked so hard to achieve was crumbling before his very eyes.

Once we get out of this mess…

"Haul ass, Fischer! Yer holdin' up the line!" Dennis barked from somewhere ahead.

Siegfried bit back the appropriate response, being that of removing Dennis's spine through his throat. Instead, he quickened his pace, ignored the burning in his lungs, and trudged on. He just needed to survive long enough to complete the mission, and if that meant playing the obedient migrant worker for now, so be it.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted Malleus staring at him with a concerned frown. She had been doing that a lot lately. He ignored it, just as he ignored Apollo's constant muttering about how they were 'screwed more than a prostitute on payday.' He didn't have the patience for their antics right now.

He just wanted to sleep and forget all about this mess.

"Yo, Fischer!"

Rocks sidled up beside him. The towering youth was sweating profusely with a sweltering face red from exertion. Despite his size, the conditions of the forest were taking a toll on him.

Siegfried glanced at him, then returned his gaze to the path ahead.

"The hell do you want?"

"Seems here to me that our lil' journey here ain't too much of an issue for ya. Yer not even breakin' a sweat, bless the souls fer the rest of us." Rocks wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Guess I'm used to hard work."

"Hard work, eh? Well, I'd call this sumthin' a little harder than just yer average labor. We gettin' hosed here! Saltshire Pie here knows it! I'm tellin' ya, we've got to do sumthin' about this!"

"Oi, like what? If we quit, we get fined at best and arrested at worst."

"Well... uh, maybe that's actually a better deal than dyin' in this here forest. At least in jail, you'll be fed and watered. We on the verge of starvin'."

"Speak for yourself. I'm fine."

Siegfried kept walking, ignoring the incredulous look Rocks shot him.

But then he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing him to stop. Siegfried's eyes narrowed as he turned to face the big man.

"What?"

Rocks released his grip, holding up his hands placatingly. "Whoa, whoa, settle down there, buddy! Didn't mean to rattle yer cage!"

"Then what do you want?"

"Just think we should converse, is all."

Siegfried sighed and glanced at the rest of the group, who were moving farther and farther ahead. He could already hear Dennis's shrill voice shouting at them to hurry up.

"Talk."

Rocks nodded, then leaned in conspiratorially.

"You're a Bloodgilt, ain't ya?"

Siegfried's blood ran cold.

"...The hell did you just call me?"

"A Bloodgilt," Rocks repeated in a whisper. "Ya know what that is, right? Or did they not teach ya that in yer fancy Legion trainin'?"

One of the most vicious slurs in the Tachyon Empire's underclass lexicon. A hateful portmanteau that branded decorated veterans of World War III as opportunists who had climbed to success on the corpses of their less fortunate comrades. Blood for the countless lives sacrificed; gilt for both the gilded medals they wore and the guilt they supposedly carried. To the impoverished masses of southern provinces like Fiora, Bloodgilts were traitors to their class… men and women who had escaped poverty by joining the establishment that continued to oppress those they'd left behind.

Siegfried had heard the rumors during his time in the Legion.

Soldiers from Fiora and Solaria spoke fearingly about what awaited them if they survived the war and returned home with honors. They described the fate of World War II veterans decades earlier—how neighbors consumed by jealousy had enacted "bloodlettings," ambushing decorated soldiers in darkened alleys, gutting them with rusted blades, and leaving their entrails spilled across filthy streets as "justice" for daring to rise above their station.

Calling someone a Bloodgilt was the equivalent of marking them for death.