Chương 54: Interesting

"That's big talk coming from the soulstealer," Pallor said, pounding his fist against the palm of his hand.

"That's the only insult you have?" I tilted my head.

"What, you didn't have time to come up with something slightly more creative than soulstealer?"

"Enough of this. We've come to teach you a lesson," Pallor continued.

"And—""Teach me a lesson? I'm honoured you think I'm worthy enough to learn."

"Shut up."

"So you're going to start a fight in the mess hall. With the Drillmaster watching," I said.

"You know, he might approve of a little infighting, but I think that goes a little too far for even him."

"We're going to teach you to keep your nose out of other people's business."

"You know, my dad wasn't around much," I said.

"But he did teach me a few things. If someone's in trouble, you don't just stand by and do nothing." I paused.

"Not sure how much he really meant it or if it was just something that sounded good to him, considering how things went, but that's beside the point—""Levi!" Anchor hissed.

"If you get into a fight here, it's not going to end well. You're an Atoning. They won't go easy on you." I grimaced, but I had no plans on getting into an unsanctioned fight. Pallor, on the other hand, seemed to think otherwise. He stepped forward, continuing to pound his fist on his palm, probably thinking it made him look more menacing.

"Careful you don't hurt your hand," I said.

"Or you won't be able to fight me."

"The rest of us didn't have fathers," Pallor said.

"I can tell."

"Well—""Now, listen up," I said.

"I'm not going to fight you here." Fighting here was a mistake. The last thing I needed was to get in a scuffle, because even if it wasn't my fault, the Drillmaster had no way of knowing. At best, we'd get even punishments. But if Pallor did truly have some sway, given his rankings, there was a chance he'd be favoured over me, and I'd get in more trouble than him. I continued, "If you attack me, so be it, but you'll be the only one fighting. You'll beat me up, and blame will fall on you, and you alone.

Have you ever been lashed?" Pallor scowled. He took another step forward.

"I'm going to—" I held up a hand.

"Wait a second. Just wait." Pallor stopped. With a grin, I said, "Good. Now, I challenge you to a duel."

"When?"

"Choose," I said.

"You want to fight me, let's do it right after dinner. If you really think you can beat me, then it won't be a problem, will it?"

"T—tomorrow," Pallor said.

"Tomorrow evening." I raised my eyebrows.

"Need some time to prepare, do you?" Pallor shook his head, but didn't reply.

"Just shut up and fight me tomorrow. Tomorrow evening."

"Fine then. I accept." ~ ~ ~"You really think you can defeat him, brother?" Brawl asked tomorrow morning—while we jogged a circle around the castle grounds. Today, we all wore weighted backpacks to make it more difficult.

"He's ranked number three out of a hundred, you know," Anchor said.

"I know," I replied.

"But I've got to."

"Why?"

"There's only one way people like him learn," I replied.

"You have to punch them in the nose."

"You have experience with this, brother?" I grimaced.

"I wish. Back in my younger days, I let myself get bullied quite a lot. I wish I'd started throwing hands while I could." The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Throwing hands?"

"It's…an expression. Come on, you can't tell me that one wasn't a little bit self-explanatory."

"How do you know that this will actually make him learn?" Anchor asked.

"I mean, really. You have no experience with this. You're not some wisened sage or anything."

"As if our little sister is wise," Brawl muttered.

"Wiser than you. And I didn't mean her when I said 'sage.' Just a sage. Any sage," Anchor replied.

"You could have meant her," Brawl countered.

"Guys," I said, shaking my head.

"I may not know everything about this world, but I don't see any other way out of this. And I need to show everyone that I'm not just going to sit around and tolerate their abuses. And I'm not going to let them do it to anyone else, either. Do you really think we stand a chance against the forces of vorghul if we let men like Pallor fester in our ranks?"

"... No, brother," Brawl said.

"Exactly. I have to—" The column of jogging Dupes had stopped. I nearly ran into the man in front of me. Rising up onto my tip-toes, I looked over the heads of the other Dupes. Amusingly, we weren't all the same height, and there were subtle differences—of which I was on the higher end already—but it wasn't difficult to see to the front of the column. We were at the edge of the castle's estate, and a pair of mounted riders trotted up to the head of the column.

Frythlid and a non-Dupe in matching armour, with a black cloak and orange eye on it, stopped in front of us. That was probably one of her subordinates. The Subtle Men that she talked about.

"DD-333," Frythlid said.

"You are requested for questioning at once." My stomach plummeted, but I held it together. Had I done something wrong? Had I done something obvious, something to make them think I didn't exactly agree with all the things the Warlord was doing? The more nervous I was, the more obvious it was that I might have actually been guilty. But then again, if I was truly innocent, I would have been just as surprised. I pointed at myself and blinked a few times. Both Brawl and Anchor stepped back.

"Yes, you, Duplicate," Frythlid said.

"Come with us at once." I winced, then stepped off the side of the path and walked over to the horses.

"Questioning, ma—my lady?" I almost called her ma'am, but that was the worst choice I could have made.

"Come with us," said her helper. He leaned over and grabbed my shoulder. His grip was strong, and he wore a silver pendant around his neck as well. He was a Silver-tier Path-walker. They led me away from the rest of the Dupes, trotting at an average pace for horses but forcing me to walk faster than comfortable. We returned to the castle and passed through the gates, then walked to the keep and ascended to an office much like the Drillmaster's—only this office had no windows.

There was a desk in the center with a chair on either side, and it reminded me far more of a police interrogation chamber. But hey, at least they hadn't cuffed me, and there were no obvious torture devices. They couldn't have been too afraid of me—yet.

"Please take a seat," Frythlid said. The Subtle Man shut the door and stood in front of it, his fingers brushing over the pommel of his sword. I did as I was asked.

"Keep your hands on the table," Frythlid demanded. I did.

"We received an anonymous tip that you have been conspiring to overthrow the Warlord. With you being an Atoning, I wouldn't be surprised. Your kind don't know our ways. Don't know our culture, and think you can replace it with your own."

"Apologies, my lady," I said.

"I assure you, I mean no harm to Gate." God, their way of speaking was starting to rub off on me. The corners of her lips quirked up into a non-believing smile.

"I should warn you, the Subtle Men and I are all sorcerers who have learned a certain Art that gives us insight into truths and lies. You cannot deceive us."

"Was I lying?" I asked.

"Surprisingly, you weren't." She folded her fingers together.

"I have more inquiries for you, then. You are the first Atoning in decades to ever become a sapper, and as I understand it, you have only had this body for a few months."

"Correct."

"So what is it that drives you to fight so hard for us? Most Atoning care even less than the average Duplicate. You Atoning only seem interested in surviving until the next payday. How are we to know you don't have any ulterior motives?" I shrugged.

"You can keep asking questions."

"Don't give me lip, soldier."

"Sorry."

"What do you think the Warlord does?" I believed her when she said she could read my mind—or at the very least, detect if I was lying. I could give her the textbook answer (that the Warlord was simply the highest commander of Gate's army, subservient to the king's will), but she'd know I was lying. I said, "He's the true head of state. The one calling all the shots. The king is a figurehead."

"It isn't very well hidden, isn't it? But it's impolite to say so."

"I didn't think it was very wise to lie to you. And that was more important than being polite."

"Indeed, the truth is more important." She drummed her fingers on the desk.

"Do you have any desire to overthrow the Warlord?"

"No," I said with certainty. At the moment, it was true. How was I just supposed to overthrow the most powerful Path-walker in the kingdom as an Iron? It was a ridiculous proposition. Plus, I had to weigh the costs and benefits. If someone overthrew the Warlord and there was no plan for anyone to take over, the nation would be thrown into chaos—and that was the last thing anyone needed while trying to push back an orc invasion.

The Warlord might have been a bit indolent, but there were worse alternatives at the moment. I watched Frythlid's face carefully. She studied me carefully. My heart rate increased, and I forced myself to breathe slowly. But I couldn't quell all the dissenting thoughts. If the Warlord and his entrenched ways were weakening us, making it nearly impossible to fight off the orcs, then how could I in good conscience not oppose him? That hadn't been the question, though. Did I desire to overthrow him?

No, not at the moment. After a few seconds, Frythlid finally said, "Interesting."