-Blaire

“GO!”

That was the last word she heard from Arwen before being shoved into the crowd. Instantly she was surrounded by tall wagons and tall horses and tall people. The world became the pillars of flesh and cloth that pressed and shoved around her.

She grasped the bags as best she could, there was little else she could do but hold on and pray to the skies that she wasn’t crushed or became lost. This was why dwarves hated crowds, everyone was taller, and it became impossible to see farther ahead than the person right in front of her.

The worst part was that she knew the soldiers were coming, they were coming for her and the human. Somehow, Cu had come into contact with the local church force and would be hunting her down. The thought of being forced to return made Blaire’s jaw clenched shut.

A deep breath followed a charge forwards, she would not let herself get caught, and she would reunite with Arwen once they’d made it out alive before continuing towards the southern bridge to meet with Uryuc.

“Dragon!”

“There’s a dragon!”

“Run for your life!”

“Run! Don’t get eaten!”

The voices rose with intensity, panic quick to settle as the mostly organized crowd became total chaos. Everyone at once started to shove forwards, pushing each other and forcing themselves into a quickly contracting and expanding mass of flesh.

Blaire quickly became swept by the stampede of people, she moved her feet as best she could while seeking refugee from the tide. She couldn’t keep up with the long-legs, she knew, a shriek escaped her when someone kicked her down, but the sound was drowned by the screams of the mob.

The dwarf had been fortunate no to fall down from the impact, managing to catch her balance against a wagon as it began to move.

Not willing to let go of her little island of stability in the sea of chaos, the dwarf kept herself firmly to the wagon’s side, waiting and praying to see where it would lead her.

Which had been rather far.

It had taken three hours for the crowd to calm down and get back under some semblance of control. All this time, Blaire had remained to the side of the wagon that had saved her from being crushed to death. Though she was glad that it had managed to slip by the soldier checkpoint during the stampede, it seemed it would soon start twisting eastwards.

Which left Blaire with a conundrum.

Currently she was carrying too much. Between the bags, sacks, and pouches, the burden of travelling was massive, not to mention leaving her so encumbered she wouldn’t be able to easily escape from an ambush or attempted theft. Travelling on her own meant being incredibly vulnerable, specially to bandits as they’d see her loaded and alone and undoubtedly take the easy pickings.

But how was she expected to find Arwen after all the chaos? Or for him to find her for that matter. By the looks of it, she couldn’t even trust that he wasn’t actually ahead of her rather than behind. Should she move along towards the bridge and wait there?

She groaned, was she supposed to head to the bridge? But that’d mean Arwen would be left with no money nor supplies to fend himself off with.

But… should she care about such a thing? The question rung through her mind, she barely knew the human at all, and in some occasions she still felt this odd sense from her gut that told her she shouldn’t relax around him. Before, she’d agreed to take the same direction as him because there was little sense and too much risk on going on her own, but…

But.

The word was there, ringing loud and clear in her mind. “But should you really stay with him? Isn’t now the best chance to go on your own? Do you owe him anything at all to be considering taking risks to find him and continuing the risk of being near him?”

Would it be too late to go back to Cu? Maybe he’d be lenient, maybe he’d just whip her a couple times, it’s not like she did anything heinous like attack him; the dwarven Master wouldn’t...

”Blaire chains here”

Her finger poked her own forehead, and she closed her eyes in focus. “Blaire’s chains are here.” She applied a bit more pressure against her head. Arwen had told her loud and clear the chains that had been put on her were in her mind, that there were many.

Blaire’s jaw tightened, it felt unfair, all the human had had to do to escape was remove the cuffs. But for her? Even now that she had slept feeling safer in the wilderness than she ever had in the manor, she was thinking of the possibility of going back.

Maybe Uryuc had been right in not trusting her.

No, she shook her head, no. With a wave of determination, she stepped away from the wagon and moved towards the fields so she’d escape the crowd to get better perspective of those walking through.

She was going to find Arwen, and they would go towards the bridge to meet the half-elf together.

Just as she made her mind, her ears picked up on a peculiar sound, a familiar sound. Her instincts told her to focus on it and she did, and soon she realized it was someone talking gibberish. But it was familiar gibberish.

“Oh no.” Was all she could muster to say once she realized the sound was coming from within a prisoner-carriage being escorted by the Church’s soldiers.

-Rainer

“Don’t you dare drop your arms!” The Inquisitor intoned with a bark of command.

Rainer and Yselda were walking while the other members of the Church had been riding. The two minotaurs were holding loaded bags on either hand and keeping them at shoulder height while also as far away from their bodies as they could manage.

It was their training, the Inquisitor had decreed they would be doing this while travelling towards the capital. The minotaurs would ride along with the acolytes for most of the way, but once the horses began to tire the Inquisitor would have them walk while also doing odd repetitive exercises.

At some point there had been a complain about being left too tired could prove a liability in the event of bandits, but the Inquisitor all but laughed at Yselda’s words and doubled her load for the rest of the day. “If you have the energy to complain then you have the energy to train harder.”

It was gruelling. Two days in and they could feel their muscles creaking in agony when they woke up. But neither complained any further our of fear their punishment would be another increase in the load they’d have to carry.

“I must have gone deaf.” The large man growled down at them from his brutally sized warhorse. “I said not do drop your arms didn’t I?”

Rainer instantly reacted by tensing his shoulders and raising the bags slightly higher. “Yes, Inquisitor!” He barked loudly, feeling his arms burning from the effort. This was their requirement, this was the training they’d need to endure to not be a burden in the battlefield. This would be the only way for them to be allowed to find retribution.

“Yes… haaaaa… Inquisitor!” Yselda answered a beat later, panting for breath. She couldn’t manage to pull up her bags to shoulder height and already the signs of exhaustion were far clearer than those on Rainer.

The man looked down at them through the hole of his helmet. “You must be asking yourselves why I order you to exhaust yourselves like this.” He stated flatly and without humour, pausing to make it clear it was actually a question.

“No sir!” Rainer and Yselda replied instantly.

“Good.” He replied flatly. “As Initiates, it is not your job to question but to obey. You will have the right to make questions once you’re actually useful.”

Yselda gnashed her jaw tighter, raising her hands to shoulder height once more.

“Good.” The Inquisitor spoke the closest thing to praise he’s said thus far. “Keep pace Initiates, we will be making camp soon and if you fall behind you will have no food.” At his words his horse began to clop into a little trot. “And don’t let those arms fall down!”

Yselda and Rainer gulped and tightened their hold on the bags as they raised their speed as best they could, stumbling along the road and following the horses as best they could.

The task was gruelling, the time spent in their labour feeling increasingly draining.

Utterly exhausted, both minotaurs fell on the ground with little regards to everything else in the world once the Inquisitor declared they would be preparing to spend the night there.

They were drenched in sweat, and places they’d never known could hurt were hurting badly. There was barely enough presence of mind to consider they were thirsty. It took them several minutes more before they had gathered the strength to move again.

“You’re up, good.” The Inquisitor’s words reverberated like a bell from within his armor, he motioned for them to come closer. “Help me remove my armor.”

Both minotaurs glanced at one another with slight confusion. “We’ve never…”

“Are you refusing an order, Initiate?”

“No, Inquisitor.” They replied in unison, approaching to do as he had bidden them to do.

“Use the straps on my shoulders first.” The man guided them, motioning where their focus ought to be to properly remove the pieces.

At first Rainer had thought the plate armor was like any normal armor he’d seen in knights, but the motion died the instant he had touched the metal. It was heavy, heavier than it looked. Disengaging the straps was an effort and carrying the pieces more so. The steel was thick, but there was something off about it Rainer couldn’t quite put his finger on, it felt far more flexible than it should have when at that thickness.

The task to remove the whole armor was arduous, and with each piece they took off the more they realized just how powerful the Inquisitor was. The weight alone of the whole thing had to be at least a hundred kilograms!

“Sir…” Yselda spoke with a mix of reverence and worry in her voice. “I’ve never seen armor this heavy before, does it not hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t.” The man spoke solemnly. “It is a special armor created by the Church’s best smiths and mages, it is made to grant protection against a great many things. To qualify to wear one requires passing the trials of Saint Marine.” There was pride in his words. “It is a very arduous thing, some don’t survive it.”

“Is it a condition to become Inquisitor?”

“No.” He shook his head. “To become an Inquisitor you must either be selected by an Inquisitor and approved by an Inquisitorial Lord, or you must apply for the position and be approved by three separate Inquisitors as well as an Inquisitorial Lord. Because of this, there are many different kinds of Inquisitors.” The words were spoken solemnly and openly, but there was something unrecognizable in his eyes as he said this. “But that isn’t something you should concern yourselves with, you have only just now started on your path, and you’ve begun late. There is much you must have to catch up on unless you’d rather be considered the same rank as a teenage whelp whose balls have yet not fully dropped.”

His words made them both squirm slightly. “No sir.”

“Then it’s time for learning.” With large massive hands, the man reached into his bags and pulled out a thick leather-bound book with the golden cross printed on the cover. “Sit, I will read you the Holy scripture.” There was a surprising deftness to his coarse oversized fingers as he flipped through the pages of the book, stopping at a particular point. “We will read about Saint Earl and his path of humbleness.” Carefully, he offered the book to Rainer. “Read.”

The minotaur gulped as he took the book and looked down at the symbols. He knew how to read, but the scriptures were written slightly differently than the letters he’d known, which made reading them a harder task than he would’ve felt comfortable with.

A tender hand touched his wrist, and he looked at Yselda as she gave him a reassuring squeeze.

Nodding, he took a deep breath and began to read.

-Uryuc

Night had fallen after having split up from the others. The half-elf had tied the horses together and had decided to make camp but without a fire. The last thing he wanted was to be found out by roaming bandits or opportunists.

The day had been long, specially after the chaos from the panic that had sprouted not long after they’d split. But after a day heading eastwards he was sure he’d need only half more before he was far enough from Hightower it would allow him more easily circumvent the castle and the watchers posted around it.

Not for the first time Uryuc considered whether to continue eastwards, but the notion was stomped out as quickly as it came. Betraying Arwen like that after he’d been the one to free them left an intensely sour taste in his mouth. Even now his wrists still ached from where the cuffs had been so tightly restraining him for all those months. At least the sores were getting better.

Cu’s name was followed with a curse within his mind.

Shaking his head the red-headed male pushed those thoughts out. He merely sat down and brought out the sword he’d taken from the minotaur, in the noon sun the metal looked polished and clean, a blade that had barely been used… still, it was perfect for him. With some effort, Uryuc removed a thick branch from a nearby tree and chopped it into several fist-sized blocks of wood. Sitting down cross-legged, he nestled the blade on his lap and brought out the first piece of wood.

Carefully, he ran the piece against the blade’s sharp edge. Bit by bit, he began to carve the wood into shape.

Now that he was free, Uryuc reminded himself of the importance of keeping one’s skills sharp and honed. Maybe one day he would’ve managed to gather enough gold to open his own shop. The image in his mind felt whimsical and brought a soft smile to the male’s lips, even a short chuckle imagining that if Arwen did indeed learn magic, then the both of them working together to make enchanted items.

The chuckle turned into a barked laugh at the notion of the sunny smile the human would seem to get in everything relating to magic during those few occasions he could express anything through that severely limited vocabulary he could handle.

Uryuc didn’t feel like stopping himself from having these flights of fancy, after all, they were the clearest sign he could have that he was no longer anyone’s prisoner, that he could decide his own future.

Idly, he considered how he’d manage to translate the idea of buying a forge and working in it to the strange human.

-Arwen

He let out a heavy groan as he looked down at his plate of a piece of dried bread and gruel. There were also a couple pieces of overly chewy meat, rewards from the old man from having managed to get the demon to say a word. The groan deepened as he knew he wasn’t going to eat the entirety of this pathetic excuse of a meal.

Taking only half, he then strained his ear trying to figure out whether the jailor would be coming back soon or not, and then pushed the plate to the cell next to him.

The demon in question, Margad, used his long blue tail to pull the bowl closer for inspection. Now having decided not to speak again, he glared at me as he sniffed it.

“Shut up and eat it.” I muttered dejectedly. “Your meals are going to start getting drugged soon and I’d rather you be in a condition you could help me escape.”

“...” He was looking at me intensely with those faintly glowing dim green eyes.

“Fine, whatever, if you don’t want it then give it back, I’m hungry.” I stated with a growl.

The bowl did not move from where it was, instead the demon inspected it with a sniff and then looked back to me. I damn well heard the groaning of his stomach, and Margad’s eyes thinned as he strained to break his composed appearance.

Without a word, he dipped the spade-tipped tail into the bowl and used it as an improvised spoon, moving the food up to his mouth. It was slightly surprising but at the same time something I should’ve expected considering he had both chained tied up against the wall. At first it was just a small taste, but soon he was digging in like he hadn’t eaten in days… which he probably hadn’t.

I carefully organized my thoughts as the demon finished the meal and tossed the bowl over to me.

“It’s horrible.” He said as he eyed me with suspicion, his voice carried a slight accent I couldn’t pin down.

“I know, but it’s not like we have a pantry down here.” I grumbled in return with a roll of my eyes. “So, where did you learn English?”

“Same place you did, the only place one can learn it.” The words came with a bite, oh, so he’d caught on that I was interrogating him.

“But this isn’t Demonic, right?” I threw him a curve ball, quite certain English and Demonic were not one and the same, I’d made up enough Demonic words to be fairly sure.

As expected, Margad shot me a bewildered look. I inwardly sighed in relief, if what I’d been spoken this whole time were Demonic, I would’ve sooner or later gotten some very awkward questions I’d rather not attempt answering. So if it wasn’t Demonic, what language was it? I sifted through my knowledge of what was spoken within the setting, and stopped when I found the only answer that “could only be learnt in one place”.

My mind twirled with the possibilities as I did my best to recall everything about the first BBEG the hero would have to defeat. Margad the Demon-Lord’s nephew. “For a moment I’d been fairly sure the Ruler of Spirits had pranked me… well, he sort of did anyways, took away my Common. It’s been a very interesting few weeks I tell you.”

Margad’s eyes narrowed further at my comment. “When did you meet the Ruler of Spirits.”

“Oh, about the same time you and your entourage released Rëa from her seal under the Church’s cathedral.” I gave him a wry amused grin.

“How do you know this.” He growled.

I gave him a shrug. “I know a lot of things, kid.”

That irritated him further. “Demons can live for hundreds of years without aging.”

“But you’re not one such demon, you were born under the moon-blood eclipse seventeen winters ago, Margad son of Jakor the Shadow General, and nephew of the Demon Lord.” It was damn hard to keep from laughing at the way his

My words were like a hard slap to his face, the demon shaking his head in disbelief before his eyes narrowed dangerously, there was a flash of power which the magic suppressing cuffs around his wrists quickly began to disperse and scatter before it could turn into an actual spell. “You are a human spy.” He hissed, his tail lashing towards the metal bars separating our cells and slapping them with such force they rang like a bell.

I merely raised an eyebrow. “Do you think they would be treating you the way they have thus far if they knew you weren’t just some random weak demon they can use to learn more about the demon race?” A hollow laughter followed. “C’mon, the Church may be moronic but they’re not incompetent. They caught you after all.”

A long pause as he had to chew through my words. Inwardly I crossed my fingers, with the information I’d given him it should be a big enough hint that I could very well be not only an ally of the demon race but an agent. But I also hadn’t volunteered everything I should have to irrevocably prove I was an agent, the best way to handle Mardac was always make him believe the conclusions you were leading him to were his own. Telling him what he should think or trust about you would only result in the opposite even if you gave him evidence to back it up.

So his next question should be…

“Did my father send you?” He spoke with a frown.

I balked and blinked in disbelief at the question, that… had not been the question I’d been expecting. “What?” I couldn’t help myself, Margad should’ve asked me the secret phrase meant for agents to reveal themselves. Wait… I frowned and sighed. “You forgot the secret code didn’t you.”

“No I didn’t.” He replied flatly. “I was just testing whether you knew it or not.”

“Of… course you did.” Rolling my eyes, I reminded myself Margad wasn’t the intellectual sort of BBEG, his strengths lied in his willingness of self-sacrifice and brutally powerful self-boosting magic. The Hero was meant to outwit him in the fight and learn muscles and magical power weren’t the end-all be-all in a fight. “So you’re going to ask the question now?”

“No need to, you’ve proven you are an agent already.” The blue skinned demon spoke with absolute confidence, had I not known the answer to my question already, I’d been sure he actually meant that. “What was the mission given to you?”

I shook my head. “I cannot tell you.” I replied flatly.

The eyes narrowed once more. “You know who I am and dare to refuse my command?”

“And yet my orders come from someone who outranks you, fourth prince, and they specify I should not reveal the full nature of my mission.” I spoke with a deep frown, then relaxed. Better make him think I’m giving him a bone. “But… what I can tell you was that we were meant to briefly meet after you left Hightower.”

That gave him pause for thought. “So why are you here?”

“I’m here to tell you that your sacrifice was not in vain, and that they’re coming to rescue you.” I paused for a moment, making sure to meet his eyes firmly. Inwardly I was quite curious as to how it was that I’d ended up down here in the same room, I couldn’t be sure, but it was probably that because of the rampaging dragoness had wrecked enough of the Church the Inquisitors hadn’t felt like filling their cells with prisoners and instead had been applying a more ‘to the point’ interrogation on new prisoners, meaning most cells down here were empty… or maybe someone far above the Church themselves was pulling the strings to ensure this meeting happened here and now. “I couldn’t come into contact with them because of my orders, but it’s in my specialty to handle information, and right now your four subordinates are preparing to free you soon.”

Even with all the bullshit I was selling about my identity and role, I was sure the young demon would have come to distrust me quite soon if I didn’t show any capability to free the both of us. An agent who willingly put themselves in a cell without an escape plan was not an agent you ought to rely on let alone send on a mission of any sort. That… and the biggest thing that had been eating at him throughout his time under the Church’s “care” had been the uncertainty whether his friends had escaped or not... and now I’d given him a clear answer to cling to.

“I… see.” I could hear the sigh of relief, and see the corners of his mouth twitch with a slight relieved smile. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply and raised his eyes to look at me. “Thank you.”

‘Got you.’ I thought while returning the gesture with a nod.

The vision to the ideal ending I was aiming for became a little clearer now that I had secured the honourable young demon-prince’s ear and trust. “Now, I’m going to need your help.”

A moment consideration followed. “Is it related to your mission?”

“Not directly, but it would surely make it easier.” I grimaced.

“What do you need?” He rattled the chains holding his wrists to show he didn’t exactly have much freedom of movement. “I don’t think this is the best place to be asking for my assistance in anything.”

“Oh no, right here is perfect actually.” My smile widened. “I’m going to need some help relearning Common after all.”

-Blaire-

The Church had captured Arwen. What little doubt about it there was, it had been gone when she’d gotten close enough to be able to better hear the odd ramblings. It was definitely Arwen’s. And though she didn’t understand a single word, the tone and intensity felt like he was cursing the entirety of the family tree of every soldier present.

Blaire was left stunned and confused, why had the Church apprehended him? Dread blossomed at the thought they’d done so under Cu’s orders. Had the dwarvish Master managed to spread a bounty on their heads that quickly?

Regardless of the whys, Arwen was now detained.

Because the wagon was so big and easy to spot, Blaire decided to follow them towards Hightower city while keeping a healthy distance between herself and them. She wanted to see where they were going to and whether they’d release Arwen sooner than later… and hopefully in one piece.

But things wouldn't follow her expectations, or perhaps they did.

The feeling of despair was akin to having her heart drop from her chest all the way down to her feet. No, it must have been exactly that what happened. She had trailed the wagon well enough, and though she was alone and overloaded there hadn’t been any attempts on what little wealth she carried… likely due to the large number of soldiers waltzing around.

As expected, the Church soldiers had gone into the city, and from there had traversed all the way to an oversized barbacane attached to the inner walls. The heavy religious symbology that had been painted or tacked on the roof and walls heavily implied this place had been appropriated by the church not that long ago. The whole structure was littered with soldiers and it looked like it was being worked on to increase its fortifications.

For a brief instant, Blaire had seen Arwen being unloaded from the cart and dragged off into the stone structure along with the others.

The dwarf just stood there, stunned, not sure what was supposed to happen now. Arwen had been captured, and she didn’t have a clue what she should do about it. Was this the point where it would be better to turn around and leave? She was quite certain there was no way in the seven heavens she would be able to get the human out of that place no matter how much help she had.

Dejectedly, the only thing she could manage to do was to just… sit down and look at the tiny fortress and its soot-covered walls. Normally she wouldn’t be able to observe the place from so far away, but with the large amount of ruined and burned down houses, there was quite the long line of sight all things considered.

All around Blaire the city was in varying degrees of destruction and rubble, except for that barbacane where soldiers were hard at work either patrolling or working to fix what little damage there appeared to be. The dwarf felt slightly like she was in a desolate world of her own, the catastrophe that had killed so many had happened not that long ago… a part of her made the grim note that she could likely find burnt corpses amongst the ruined houses if she started looking for them.

She wouldn’t be surprised at all if the looting of these ruins was still taking place even right now in broad daylight.

After what felt like hours just sitting and watching trying to rack her brains for any way she could help Arwen, she saw movement, the front doors opening slowly. Blaire held her breath as she saw five figures stepping out, all dressed in rags and being shoved towards the streets. She instantly recognized one of them to have been amongst those that had been forced into the building by the soldiers.

But there was no Arwen amongst those shoved back out.

Sensing an opportunity for more information, she moved to intercept the lepus beast-kin as he seemed the one that could least threaten her of the bunch. He had stepped out of the soldier’s-marked perimeter before looking at something at his right and walking fast towards Blaire’s general direction. “Excuse me.” She called out as soon as he was within half a dozen meters or so. “I’d like to know about the loud human that went in there with you.” Blaire made a motion towards the fortification.

The man had hesitated and took a step back when he’d seen her wielding the spear. “You’re with that orc aren’t you.”

Orc? Blaire ignored the accusation, instead reaching into her pocket and pulling out a silver coin she tossed at the man. “Answer the question.”

He hesitatingly picked up the coin, furry white ears swivelling this way and that. “All I know is they asked me where I came from, whether I had children or any living blood-relative, and then a mage touched me and said to scram.” A grimace followed. “If that human wasn’t let out, then he’s most likely dead by now, none of the soldiers there seemed to like him very much.”

Blaire mulled the words and wondered wordlessly, ignoring the beast-kin as he rushed away as soon as it was certain Blaire was over with the ‘transaction’. The dwarf for her part couldn’t stop rethinking of how to approach this, right now it almost looked like Arwen’s imprisonment had nothing to do with Master Cu, which then begged the question as to why he hadn’t been freed.

She didn’t even question whether he was still alive or not. He must be, she wouldn’t allow for any alternatives until she saw a corpse.

But there didn’t seem like there could be anything else she could do here.

The dwarf had been about to turn and set out to look for an inn or someplace safe for her to spend the night, when she saw the door to a not fully-ruined house open. Out stepped a tall cloaked figure that hurried towards the tighter alleyways. There had been a sense of urgency in its steps, and the action had caught Blaire’s attention instantly.

The figure had been too far for her to be able to rush and catch up, so instead she found herself looking at the charred door the hooded character had left ajar. Glancing inside she could see the house was in only half-way in a state of ruin, the southern end having collapsed entirely on itself. Cautiously, she stepped inside, eyes carefully keeping track of any suspicious movement.

She spotted the dusty footprints of the figure and followed them to the second floor. The odd person had come in straight up there, and by the looks of it had not gone anywhere other than the one room with two shattered windows.

Blaire glanced around with a frown, the room was wrecked, but it didn’t seem sacked. As she approached the singular non-burnt piece of furniture to open its drawers, she found a copper brooch and an assortment of small knicknacks she’d be probably be able to sell for a silver or two.

That made her frown, the figure hadn’t been here to scavenge for valuables? Her eyes traversed the room once more and then checked the dusty trail of steps the stranger had left. It was a single trajectory into this room, and then another out. But the trail was lost to a simple cloth rug that occupied the majority of the room’s surface. There was a hole on the roof on the northern corner, burnt and collapsed, the door to the adjacent room was impossible to open due to the rubble on the other side.

Looking out the window, Blaire noted the building the Church men were stationed at still looked threateningly sturdy even when seen from up there. She shook her head, now wasn’t the time to dwell on the strange actions of a stranger.

Glancing out the window at the daunting impossibility she was far too sure she wouldn’t be able to solve, she set out to look somewhere to spend the night and gather her thoughts.

- Arwen -

The moment the Old Man stepped into the cell, he had cast a spell of some sort and the cuffs and chains in my cell came to life. My wrists rose into the air until my feet were left dangling no longer able to touch the floor. My legs were chained together and I was left there for a very long second.

Then, the Old Man spoke a phrase I didn’t understand. I just looked at him and repeated the same sentence from our previous meeting. “”

On the corner of my eye, Margad gave me a silent look. He’d told me that the Old Man would torture me when he came back, and that he had made a mistake of talking in the presence of the human, and that he would not make that mistake again. I’d felt an odd chagrin but agreed, the last thing we needed was the Church coming to believe the Demon held any level of affiliation with a human.

Old Man spoke again, another phrase that sounded different. “” I reiterated with a sigh and a roll of my eyes, unaware of what was being told to me, or what was soon to come.

Five more times he spoke and five more times I repeated my tired old phrase. Old Man merely grinned a wicked unnerving grin and made a gesture with his crookedly old hands. The chains holding me mid-air rattled and shifted, and I was floated out of the cell, Old Man taking his sweet time to give me one good look over before calmly sitting down on a small wooden stool next to the board I’d originally seen Margad tied to.

The chains moved with enough strength it was impossible for me to fight against, quickly leaving me tied in a “crucifixion” pose on the table with my right hand being forced into an odd looking metal glove. It looked like a gauntlet, but it wasn’t just inflexible but was also missing most of its surfaces. The whole thing left the back of my hand exposed and only truly “covered” the tips of my fingers.

Then, Old Man brought out a small brown hammer no larger than a spoon, its surface encrusted with magical silver circuitry.

He smiled, and spoke unintelligible words once more.

I would begin screaming soon after.

And more and more I screamed.

I’d thought the treatment I’d received at the hands of Cu and his pet minotaur had been a torment, their own little form of torture to break me in. Now I’m sure it hadn’t been, they’d been just beating me for the sake of culling unobedient behaviour.

That the altar of recharging was the most painful thing one could experience and nothing else could compare.

No, that had not been torture. Torture was far more than just pain.

I had been expecting to be whipped, or punched, or beaten in some way. I’d been wrong.

The Little Hammer worked in a very simple way. Old Man would tap one of the bones on my hand, maybe a knuckle, maybe a falange, maybe the wrist. It wouldn’t matter.

Tack - it would go, it’s touch barely registering.

A second would pass and I’d tighten my jaw firmly shut, paling at what was about to happen. The afflicted bone began to vibrate under my flesh with increasing force until…

Crack

I could feel how the whole area turned into a fire of pain as everything underneath the skin was shifted from the violence of the destroyed bone. It was at this point that I’d be unable to restrain myself further and scream out. Scream and scream loudly before the red and blue and purple lump of flesh where the bone had been instants ago began to feel warm.

Then, I would feel how all the splinters of the shattered bone would slowly drag themselves back together and the flesh would be regenerated and fixed. This was worse than the bones exploding, it was like having someone carve dozens of bloody lines within me with red hot knives.

The pain would vanish suddenly, and it would leave me reeling in.

Tack - He would go again, choosing somewhere else to torment.

And my screams would become louder.

- Margad -

The human had been babbling for over an hour now, it was a string of profanities the likes of which Margad had not heard spoken in the language of Spirits before. The demon had not even considered there would be anyone who’d use the Sacred Tongue for such a thing to begin with, and to a point it made him feel flustered.

Still, the demon had to ask himself if the human-agent was acting. What few human slaves were deemed trustworthy and dependable enough to be sent as spies or agents should have astounding qualities to them. And an iron will was indispensable, otherwise the risk of revealing secrets about the demon-realm to someone else could pose too great a risk to allow them to work behind enemy lines.

“” The human spoke as he rubbed his chin, nonchalantly, he tapped one of the knuckles and watched in apparent fascination how it broke and then healed itself back up. “”

Tack - Another application of the device.

“Oh you gether-uping-blate-maw, bleathering, gomeril…!” His words were cut short with his jaw shutting tightly and the muffled scream muting everything he said after. “...nyaff, plookie, wormeyed hotten blaugh!”

Margad was rather certain that had the human’s magic not been restrained, the venom in those words would’ve resulted in calling a powerful spirit of vengeance, beings renowned for claiming the life of the targets as well as that of the caster. Was he loosening his tongue precisely because his magic was shackled? Or most likely it came from him having lost knowledge of all languages and learned only the one of the Spirits.

The demon felt a pang of jealousy at that, he himself had never managed to convince the Ruler of Spirits for an exchange either of the two times his request for an audience had been answered. The creature was very whimsical and fickle, and not only could he take offense to the slightest gesture but the stories of its wrath made even dragons think twice to request an audience.

His memories drew him back to that those two meetings and how the very presence of the luminescent being had crushed him, the fourth in succession to the Lord’s throne, into near muteness on both accounts.

And this human had managed to strike a bargain?

The demon shook his head slightly, ignoring the screams. Perhaps the human had been toyed with, granted a ‘boon’ in exchange of his knowledge of all the languages he could handle as a form of entertainment for the Ruler. It would certainly not be the first time spirits gave ‘gifts’ that would be a curse in disguise.

With a derisive snort, he pushed the speculation away and instead watched as the old human let out a disappointed sigh while looking down at the violently shaking prisoner who was still spewing insults under his breath. “”

Slowly, he stood and moved to leave, but stopping at the door as he looked at Margad. “”

“...” Not a sound escaped him.

The human left, the door locking with a soft click.

“Motherfucking swine is what he is.” The remaining human spoke between shuddering breaths. The word 'fuck' appeared to be quite an integral part of his profanity's vocabulary.

Margad waited until after he confirmed there were no other humans nearby that would overhear them before he spoke. “For an agent, you seem rather useless.”

A humourless laugh followed. “That’s because I make up for what I lack with knowledge.”

“Doesn’t seem to be doing you any good.”

“Well, I wouldn’t normally be in this situation.” He coughed slightly. “But it just so happens a certain prince got himself caught… so here I am.”

The demon frowned at that. “You still haven’t been of much use.”

“Who says I came here to help you?” The response came with a short snort. “Your subordinates will get you out of here soon enough without me having needed to raise a finger. I’m here because it’s convenient for me.”

“...” Margad remained silent, waiting for the human to keep talking.

“My orders were to take a detour to my mission and come into contact with you to give you some information once you were well away from Hightower.” The human spoke dismissively. “Considering who you brought with you, me approaching you under normal circumstances would pose a big risk to me and my mission by extension. You wouldn’t readily trust my information unless it came sealed by the Demon King himself… and we both know why a spy should never be carrying something like that around.”

The frown deepened, his thoughts came back to the first time the human had given him half of his meal… “So you saw coming into contact with me here would increase the odds of me trusting you.” He hid the smirk he felt like showing right now. “If my subordinates come for me, should you not fear I will kill you once you give me the information and claim it was other humans who did it?”

“As I said, I know a lot.” He shrugged once more, the paleness to his complexion was slowly returning to him. “Your actions have spoken loudly of your… distaste… for betrayal against the interests of the Demon Lord.”

That comment brought out the smirk he’d been hiding. “And you trust I will believe I would see killing you as hindering the mission you’d been given, and as such think of it as going against the Demon Lord’s interests.”

“If you want to put it that way, yes.”

“And I wouldn’t punish you for the transgression of how your lack of respect towards me because…?” An inquisitive tone that hid a ruefully amused smirk.

“I see threatening people whose death would go against my interests and those of my mission as a useless endeavour that’s best avoided.” Tilting his head, he glanced towards the demon. “A philosophy I’d advise you follow as well.”

“You are in no position to lecture me, human.” He snorted dismissively.

A moment of silence, a look of deep thought crossed the human’s faceñ. “There is much I know about you, fourth prince, use my advice however you will.”

Those words struck a chord, Margad growled. “You dare claim to know the colour of my person?”

The human turned to look at him in the eyes, his expression stern and unwavering. “The second princess... her hair was a blue that did not belong to the sky nor the sea but to both. There was a freckle under her right brow, which she never did like much, and her nose was slightly crooked because she broke it during a spar once... but the reason she never revealed her face in public was because of her eyes, one red, the other-”

“Stop.” The demon’s hands clenched into fists, a wave of shame passing over him as he felt unable to look at the human in the eyes.

Stillness followed before Margad found his voice again. “Who were you to her?”

The human shook his head. “I’m not sure.” A heavy sigh followed, and the pale human focused on the demon once more. “Will you make the promise now, fourth prince Margad? That you won’t knowingly hinder my mission?”

He stopped his thoughts as he considered the callousness and directness the human had used to get to the point. “What’s your name?”

“What?” That caught the human by surprise.

“Your name, I forgot it.” Margad growled. “You’re the first human whose name I find worth remembering.”

The response seemed to startle him before he nodded slowly. “My name is Arwen.”

“Arwen.” He nodded. “I promise I will not knowingly hinder your mission so long as I agree with the objective of said mission. Even if my uncle gave you this mission, I cannot swear not to put a stop to it if I find its objective to be harmful for the demon race.”

The human grimaced and nodded again. “No point in promising a blank check, yes.” A long pause, a deep breath, a heavy sigh and a look of utter exhaustion appeared. “I cannot give you anything more than the broad strokes… my mission is to prevent all out war from happening.”

The words were an ice-cold slap to Margad’s face, fury rose in his chest. “The Demon Lord couldn’t have given you such a mission.”

“Think what you will.” Arwen shrugged. “But the population and resources available to the kingdoms in the mainland are several hundred times more than those of the demon realm. If they were to organize and mobilize as a unified war-front, demons wouldn’t stand a chance. It would take years, but it would be a losing battle.”

“We would kill their kings, slaughter their generals…”

“New ones would come. They would be less experienced, they would be more scared, and that fear would make them more brutal and willing to destroy everything to put a stop to demons.” The human continued. “If a structured army is destroyed because the ones giving orders get killed, then they would instead make it meaningless to target them. They would arm every peasant they could with whatever they’d have at hand, demons would have to kill every abled person in their path, the corpses would pile up and rot. They would salt the earth to deny conquered land from ever having crops, they would burn forests and poison the wells, and sooner or later, the demon advance would ground to a halt because there wouldn’t be enough resources to keep going.” His eyes hardened. “But they would keep coming, more and more, because this land is too vast and they would have too many places from where to draw resources and people from; while demons would find it increasingly hard to sustain their forces, until it just snaps.”

A cold stern moment of quiet followed, Arwen not blinking away from Margad’s glare. “The Demon Lord is quite aware of the very real risk that his plans for war will result in the annihilation of demon-kind, as have all previous Demon Lords. Why do you think it is only now that preparations for invasion are being made after hundreds of years of the great clans pushing for it? It is because there’s no alternative, the Demon-Realm alone can no longer sustain its population.” Sighing, he shook his head and sighed. “So yes, my mission is to ensure all out war does not happen and that peace remains on the table. Because it’s better to live and fight another day than to ensure demon-kind will have a slow and painful extinction at the hands of desperate peasants and starvation.”

The blue demon did not speak, lips thinning while his mind dwelled in uncomfortable thoughts.

-Yselda-

Her body hurt in ways she had not thought possible, and her head felt stuffed with how much the Inquisitor kept having them read as well with how much he read to them while he rode. And they’d have to learn it well, because if they couldn’t properly answer one of the Inquisitor’s many questions, they would have to endure even harsher methods.

At least they were allowed to eat to their fill, else they probably would’ve been unable to even take one more step by now.

But tonight it felt like it was worth it.

“The local forces inform they’ve captured someone matching the description, he’d been travelling with a blonde dwarf and attempted escape as soon as he spotted the soldiers.” The Inquisitor intoned. “Though he didn’t show signs of having used magic during his capture, he has been confirmed to have high mana and no core… an unblessed.” His eyes moved towards Yselda and Rainer as he furled the scroll back down. “The report also says he has only spoken a language none could recognize and not a lick of Common.”

The minotaurs looked at one another, and then at the Inquisitor with questioning gazes.

The Inquisitor’s lips curled slightly upwards ever so slightly. “We should be arriving to the garrison by tomorrow at dusk, earlier if we press on.”