Chương 229: 5.27 Tides

That pattern continued into the following days and weeks, much to everyone's frustration. Their mission to irritate Illius into making a fatal blunder was foiled by simple abstinence from any and all social gatherings. He simply did not even give them an opportunity to try and provoke him. This was naturally far from optimal, but there was little that could be done.

Eyes were still on Illius and, from what Irwyn understood, the heir spent most of his days locked in relative privacy, barely even talking to his assigned staff. That was apparently not usual for him in any sense of the word.

"He is cruel and revels in it," Elizabeth explained.

"We have seen that, but I don't think his staff has it any better. In fact, I asked and his abuses had abruptly stopped after our meeting with him." Yet, an abrupt change in behavior was not enough for an arrest. The best that could be done was assigning a group of Inquisitors to perform an interview with Illius, but nothing arose from that. Irwyn had also made sure to take a few walks right by the mansion, but felt not the slightest hint of that rotten smell.

It was deeply frustrating to be certain that something was off with the Brightbeak, but have not a smidgen of physical proof. This state of affairs stretched into days, and then weeks. Eventually, they simply had no option but to lower their guards somewhat. Irwyn still kept regularly striding through Illius' neighbourhood, but to no avail. Same went for the subtler observations, which were most of what was left.

It simply wasn't reasonable to keep sending in a steady flow of Inquisitors when several previous examinations had shown no results. Irwyn had even briefly floated the idea of falsely reporting a rotten smell, but decided to refrain. They didn't know to what extent Illius was involved with the Rot, and the chances he had kept all evidence buried seemed likely given his contirnued survival under so much scrutiny. At least their time was spent fruitfully.

Thanks to Elizabeth's dress, they had a training space always available to practice and spar. Since they had not changed overmuch yet, Irwyn still lost as many battles against Elizabeth as he won—excluding battles of attrition which still heavily favored him, though those would likely take hours anyhow. But there was no telling how that might turn out once they were actually tapping into their Domains. Dervish continued to prove himself a skilled teacher.

And since his recovery seemed rather slow, he would likely stay with them for a while. Perhaps as long as several months, if they even remained in Spireholm that long. Which seemed possible, in all honesty. The War outside was going well, according to Elizabeth's information. Irwyn's existence and continued random visits from various presumed strategists were severely limiting the utility that a converted Duke of Cyan posed to the Rot.

And with many of the titled undead injured or outright killed after their ill-fated failed ambush, the Federation's Truth mages were far free-er to act. In fact, the advantage was such that some were calling the conflict basically over. Elizabeth agreed with that assessment. The undead would most likely soon cut their losses. Prevent more Raveners from being taken out for no gain.

Which would mean going into hiding in some forgotten cave system somewhere in the wilderness or even outside the Federation, where the chances of finding them were practically nil, and then hibernating until the next war came. Many would not be allowed to retreat, though. Especially the weaker undead who would be culled without the support of more powerful mages. Then the Federation would begin earnestly hunting the remnants and recovering.

Especially the former diviner Duke and whatever had allowed the titled undead to recover in half the expected time from the previous war. If that became the norm, it would massively increase the strain the entire Realm could come under. The Federation would still adapt, but that would hurt. According to Elizabeth, many were already preparing for that possibility either way. But that was the whole theater of war. Their group of five was mostly focused on training.

As weeks passed, they couldn't help but let the tension drain away. In accord with Irwyn's insistence, the surveillance around Illius was never truly abandoned, but it was loosening. Less manpower dedicated to a thankless task. The mood for such intrusion was further souring as days passed and the War apparently neared its end. Even Dervish speculated that whatever plans the Rot had with Illius, they may well have been scrapped.

The security around him remained tight and allowed for no unmonitored communication at the very least. Perhaps that meant he would not be used before the end of the War, and everyone seemed confident that Illius would not get to live until the next one. It became wasteful to keep looking into someone fated for execution in the near future. Irwyn wasn't sure he believed that. Even after weeks had passed, he recalled the vision. Could it really be wrong just because the Rot had changed its collective mind?

A prophecy would have surely accounted for that. But alas… All they could do was keep up with their practice. Spending more and more time in that otherworldly training hall as weeks left them behind. Waiting for a change. Her love was dead. For the briefest of moments, that certainty flashed through the Duchess' mind, threatening to shatter her like ice. It was such a vile, agonizing thought, that she rather descended back into blissful mania. What was the point of a world without her Light?

"Just a few steps further. It's what he would have wanted," a voice soothed her from the side. It was familiar, yet so very distant. Her entire world was submerged in stinging acid. Had been for so long she no longer remembered what it was like to not be in agony. Her love was dead.

"He believes in you. He wants you to do this," the voice spoke again. Magic surged, and for the briefest of moments, the dissonant veil dropped. She looked at the man, recognising the Duke of White. Though he was not truly present in person, she could still tell that much, but his magic was true. It was the only thing granted her an instant of lucidity.

"End it," she begged.

"That is why we are here." Another surge of power, then sharp pain. She screamed as her very essence imploded. Her Soul, that great weave she had stitched from Light and Loyalty, finally burst, old seams tearing and revealing that she was more of a bomb than a person at that point. Her screech of agony was joined by a million others. Broken people, just as shattered and twisted as her in their own way. So much hate, and pain, and fear, and confusion.

Melding together until she was one with the mass and the mass was one with her. And in that moment, for the briefest of instants, the Duchess remembered her purpose. She was LOYALBORN. From skin to marrow. Between her first breath and her last, there had always been purpose. Rules she understood more than herself. That had accompanied a life for so long it became indistinguishable from them. And one surged to the forefront: Sometimes the loyal had to die.

Part of true loyalty was to not fight against that necessity. And when the truest expression of a Truth becomes self-anihilation, there was little even another equal mage could do to stop it. The endless hateful voices tried to overwhelm her and wrest away that meaning, but nothing short of an Edict could have shaken her resolve, however brief. And the Rot perished alongside her, for she had partly melded into it. Her love was dead. Finally, so was she.

In her last moments of consciousness, the once Duchess felt serene, for there was no greater reward than to fulfil one's purpose. No fraction of her was left wondering why a splinter of her Truth had split away to attack her noble executioner, nor why the Duke of White was swearing in the distance. One day, after a training session, turned to sparing, turned to Elizabeth making use of their privacy, they left the separate space of the room, only for Irwyn to flinch, startled.

"Rot," he quickly stated, feeling the smell in his nostrils.

"How strong?" Elizabeth immediately asked.

"I would say medium, likely still just Draugr."

"Communications are blocked," she said after a moment, pointing at her ring.

"Where is Dervish?"

"Present," the Shadow said. He had been lounging with the rest of the group right beside them, which had made him easier to miss.

"Do you know from where?"

"Roughly. I will need to get closer to pinpoint the exact area, but I think it's just one cluster somewhere above."

"If they blocked even my ring, there is more to this," Elizabeth frowned.

"Blocked communication should cause an immediate panic. How is the city not already rising in arms?"

"I have an idea," Dervish said, then brought forth a small pin. From context, it was likewise a communication item, which was quickly activated.

"I need to order a shipment of beef, the usual amount."

"Sounds good, sir," a voice sounded from the opposite side.

"We have a bit of a mess to deal with right now, so there might be some slight delays, but I assure you it will not be by much." You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Where is Joe?" Dervish pressed.

"He's called in sick today. Martin speaking. I have only worked here for a short time, so we probably haven't talked before. Did you need anything specific from him?"

"No, it's not a problem. I can wait for the delivery," Dervish said, then brought the device away with a frown.

"And I thought Guild cants were incomprehensible at times," Desir opined from the side.

"That wasn't a hidden message. Not after the first sentence, at least." Dervish shook his head.

"Something is actively intercepting outgoing communications. But they clearly cannot tell exactly what is happening here or who is actually sending the messages."

"Hence why mine was outright blocked. The ring too heavily secured to be actually intercepted," Elizabeth exclaimed.

"How?" Alice asked.

"They would need to simulate conversations for everyone in the whole city."

"A cluster of a few thousand bound souls would be up to the task," Dervish answered.

"It is not a particularly rare method. The interception itself is much harder. I presume it is coming from outside the city itself, since Irwyn doesn't smell anything of that scale."

"So communication within Spireholm should still work?" Elizabeth asked.

"Maybe, but we cannot be sure. Some items make the messages travel further than you would expect before being actually delivered. And if a warning message is intercepted, we will notify the undead that we know, which will make them pivot without hesitation. For the moment, I think it's better to rely on physical delivery so that not everyone is caught off guard."

"But we still need to alert the Federation. This could be part of something bigger," Elizabeth pointed out.

"Leave that to us," Desir volunteered.

"I know my way around this place now. I can get the city rallied fast enough with your brother's help. Or at least this tower, which hopefully has a secure alarm and something designed to break through exactly this kind of trick."

"They should. But be careful about teleportation," Dervish advised.

"I don't think they have infiltrated the actual warding, but it's best to not get careless."

"I know," Alice nodded. To demonstrate, she visibly retrieved that testing vial of red liquid from her bag. Irwyn had yet to see it actually happen, but it would supposedly trigger hidden traps meant to only activate when a living person teleported.

"Any cords on you?" Elizabeth asked.

"I only have one left, and I may not deploy it unless I confirm at least a Ravener sighting."

"They should know I am in the city with my smell," Irwyn suggested.

"This sounds like a trap."

"Possibly." Dervish nodded.

"They could have miscalculated and failed to hide it. But physically infiltrating the city is no joking matter, Irwyn. Spireholm especially. Even getting a Ravener through would require incredible investment from the Rot. Anything beyond that I will call outright impossible. So, in the realistic worst-case scenario, the trap will most likely be a single Ravener selected specifically to counter and kill me. In which case, the Rot will be in for a surprise.

They will not be ready for you two being help instead of burden."

"Yes, they would be," Elizabeth nodded, then turned to Desir.

"Go. We will see each other when this is over." And so they did. While teleportation was deemed rather risky, Elizabeth still dared do a bit of Voidwalking, dragging Irwyn and Dervish along. The outside of Spireholm and the inner city were still separated by a potent boundary, but Elizabeth could still travel within the sizable local Void. The only problem was that she needed to pause at times to get directions from Irwyn's nose.

That quickly led them outside the Blackburg tower and then high above most of the others. The faint smell was not the easiest to track, so it took them several minutes to find its source, but when they did, it was obvious. They reached the very top of the settlement, where the Temporal Beacon was anchored.

"Something to do with the Beacon," Elizabeth guessed.

"I don't dare to transport us any closer to it, the wards there are far harsher than the rest of the city."

"Move fast. I will hide and intercept any Ravener if there is one," Dervish said, then transformed. He quickly became a dagger attached to Elizabeth side, or it at least appeared that way. By pretending to be a decorational blade carried around without care, the man became noticeably harder to detect. It was hellishly difficult to hide that a person embodied a Domain, but evading being perceived altogether was much more possible.

"Good luck." Then they rushed in. A large archway welcomed them into a hallway, where they had walked during their first visit to Spireholm. The public entrance was still only lightly guarded with a pair of early Conception mages, perhaps the very same ones they had met before. Unfortunately, they were no longer alive. Irwyn could smell that much. He released them from undeath with a surge of Starfire before so much as a word could be exchanged.

Then they reached the viewing platform, and the smell of Rot multiplied, as if a boundary had been passed. Down below them, they could see the Beacon, its incomprehensible spacial construction still eluded most of Irwyn's senses. Next to it stood Illius, a strong gaze focused on said Beacon with occasional pulses of magic being channelled towards it. As far as Irwyn could tell, the Brightbeak was still alive. The same could not be said about his guardian.

Not far away stood a woman with a blank expression and dead eyes, one outright rotated out of place until only the white and red of it was visible. Irwyn recognised her as the very same person who had accompanied Illius during their first meeting in Steelmire. Though obviously she had been alive then. Now, the poor woman was the source of the vast majority of the smell Irwyn was experiencing. A Ravener, even if perhaps a fresh one.

They would have to figure out how she had even been converted later, since he was feeling no necromancer. For the moment, she was the main threat with at least two Domains, but not more than three.

"Finally!" Illius exclaimed as he suddenly turned. His timing was such that he did so just as their group jumped down from the platform above the Brightbeak. In abundance of caution, neither side had struck yet as they landed.

"Illius, finally opted for assisted suicide?" Elizabeth said with a sneer.

"Do you have any idea how infuriating you have been?" The opposing youth simply shook his head instead, grimacing. At the same time he reached into his bag and withdrew a simple steel dagger.

"How the sight of you makes this damned blood boil?"

"I am glad to hear that, Illius. Now you will be subdued. Please, resist. Or maybe you would prefer something self-inflicted with that little knife? I can certainly make it look that way." Elizabeth taunted, but she was a bit wary. She had a bag full of tricks herself, so knew better than to be careless. There was no telling how many last measures had been confiscated from the Brightbeak heir. Even if the dagger seemed completely mundane. It was at this moment that Dervish struck.

His knife form surged forward at a speed too fast to follow, striking at the Ravener to the side. Not caught off guard, she deflected that strike. Irwyn couldn't quite put his finger on what Domain she had used, too focused on Illius for proper analysis, but he was confident her other was LIGHT. Dervish returned to a human form in Irwyn's peripheral, then began to summon a swarm of blades, when everything was suddenly flipped on his head." HALT" Illius commanded, and the world stopped.

Irwyn felt his body likewise grind to a complete pause. His limbs did not obey him. His mana might as well have been ice for how it was fixed in place within the Vessel. The command was absolute, to the point Irwyn could not even fight to resist it. How?

"The sheer fucking gall, though I would expect nothing less than blind arrogance, given your record," Illius monologued in the following silence. He was talking fast. Fast enough that Irwyn, even with his supernatural senses, could barely keep up.

"Do you need me to give you a count? Actually, I don't care what you need. A second." Then, Illius slit his throat. The motion was so casual Irwyn took a moment to register it. By then, the blood was surging out at an unnatural speed. The Brightbeak, or whatever else stood before them, was not just bleeding out. He was actively exsanguinating himself. And as he did, Irwyn felt the smell slam into him like a rockslide.

Worse than Abonisle, worse than that inverted ambush during their Inquisitorial days where Truths fought. Two orders of magnitude more potent than the strongest rotten smell he had ever experienced. He would have retched if his body allowed him to move a single muscle. Instead, he was forced to silently choke. They had made a terrible miscalculation.

"Much better. I don't understand how you deal with it," Illius' now pale face twisted into a snarl.

"The incessant beating of the heart, the constant fucking badum of blood and bowls. Enough to drive you mad. Speaking of, your account." He turned again towards the Temporal Beacon, occasional bursts of magic striking into it. Irwyn still had no idea what was going on. He was struggling against the command, but normal means were futile. He was thinking of several ideas that could perhaps briefly free him, but the situation seemed bleak. He needed an opening before he tried anything.

If they were indeed facing something beyond even Domains like he suspected… no, he could not lose hope.

"First, Abonisle," Illius began counting on his fingers without turning away from the Beacon.

"Fair enough, that was my miscalculation. I had commanded the little ones there to drag out your suffering a bit rather than go straight for the kill—is a bit of false hope to savor too much to ask? Your chances of survival should have been nil.

"Second, during that detestable little gathering you people held afterward. First surviving the broken barrier with a treasure, though that had been a longshot to begin with. But then, Irwyn's Soul should have fucking shattered within the hour of being cursed. Even if I had just empowered a dormant and shattered remnant, no one without a Concept should have lived long enough to receive treatment.

"Three, those assassins I sent to Ebon Respite. Do you know into what lengths I went to irrefutably frame certain people for providing those Immaculate Cords? What kind of internal mayhem that was supposed to cause? But not only did you not have the basic decency to die, you dumb shits managed to somehow put the blame on some worthless nobody girl and refused to investigate further afterwards.

"Fourth, of course, is the child I sent to the Northern border to execute you on arrival. I have no idea what kind of opportunity allowed you to progress so fast outside the Federation, but I am sure it will be an interesting memory to slowly peel from your Souls.

"Fifth then, being the ambush on Marmian where no one had any business surviving. It is absolutely abominable that your low trickery worked. But don't worry. Once I have your resistance to divination, I will be sure to get far more use than the Federation ever did.

"And lastly, just today. You two are thirty fucking minutes late. I explicitly let the smell out to bait you here just in time so that we could have some fun together. Were you sleeping in the middle of the day? You are supposed to be watching me. Did sheer fucking incompetence stop you from coming here earlier, so that I can't let loose at least a tiny figment of this frustration? Absolutely unbelievable." The Beacon was sparkling with some kind of power by then, Irwyn realised.

He could feel something was raging within, but not what. Illius, however, seemed almost satisfied. Instead of continuing his infusions, he took a few steps to the side, where Dervish was likewise completely halted. With a flick of his wrist, he touched the Shadow's forehead. A moment later the man fell to the ground, dead. Irwyn wanted to scream, but his lungs would not let him. Instead, he was forced to watch as Illius forced the corpse to turn into a dagger again, which he then secured in his side.

All the while he did not stop talking.

"That is six transgressions. The last time someone had slighted me so many times, I bound the little bastard's Soul to a lamp that would make them continuously experience the death of all their loved ones every time it were lit, then donated the thing to a public library, which I made damn sure would stay open for decades afterward. Unfortunately, there is a schedule to keep, which you have so rudely failed to conform to. Regretfully, I will have to deal with watching you suffer second hand. At least for now."

Illius approached the shimmering Beacon, the energies within it getting progressively more rampant, turning back towards them for a final moment. His former guardian remained where she had been standing the entire time, almost appearing frozen like them, expression blank. The Brightbeak's snarl had only grown more feral, though. Out of all the undead Irwyn had seen first hand, Illius was the most expressive. And all he could feel from him was bottomless rage.

"Kill each other, then yourselves. Fuck you both." Then Illius stepped into the supposedly indestructible Beacon. It shattered into a million pieces a moment later.