Alba was standing on a green hill not far from the medical tents. However, the wounded soldiers, no matter how hard the medics tried, simply couldn’t be found, but you can easily see from afar, from five kilometers away, a mountain of dead, killed by the last explosion. A few minutes ago, a kilometer from where Alba stood, the metentises had dug a huge hole with the help of the metovis, and now the medical squad was constantly carrying stretchers past him with mutilated corpses – some of which were still smoking - with faces frozen in death agony and dry black blood covering all the bodies. Priests in white and gold robes and expensive mitres encrusted with VV crystals also passed by. They nodded their heads to Alba in greeting and walked away in the direction of the acrid smell of decaying corpses for a funeral prayer for the repose of the souls of the dead.

"I can't take it anymore," Alba said to himself.

He walked down the hill to a plain dotted with green herbaceous plants. At last, the strange sounds of turmoil and mess subsided, and in their place came the sounds of nature, quiet and peaceful. Nothing could disturb his inner state anymore, no one knew exactly where he was now, it was for the best. Alba sat down on the cold ground and watched the grass sway in time with the warm autumn wind. Ahead, the clear blue river curved away into the elusive distant horizon. The idyllic natural landscape opened its gates in front of Alba's eyes. As if nothing had happened nearby. As if for this planet, a human tragedy is an imperceptible moment, which is not worth paying attention to. Untouched, isolated in its unconsciousness, a corner of nature, in the midst of a world of battles and massacres. For a moment, it seemed to Alba like the world had turned upside down, and the sky, reborn after the ashes of war, reflected this serene blue line, filled with fish and algae.

Several hours had passed, and Alba still didn't want to go anywhere. Let this moment last for at least another day, he thought. From the direction of the burial pit, the wind brought barely audible sounds of chanting, mourning, but all this action seemed so far away that it was perceived as something distant, unrelated to him. But the happiness of being isolated from military affairs was disturbed by the painfully unpleasant sound from the hill, from a SM-200 Messenger motorcycle, which was driven by couriers working for the Holy Inquisition. And if such a thing came to the scene of the battle, it means that Gennox wants something.

SM-200 Messenger (Motorcycle with a 200 range capacity)

The concept of the inventor of Heron

"I don't give a shit about you all," Alba said, and didn't move.

He lay down, plunged into the green, soft layer of the grassy field, and looked up. The fading stars were reflected in the blue sky with their dim, faint light. His face was softly caressed by the growing wind. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath of the clean air, and imagined himself drowning on a mother-made bed, with a blue blanket covering him from the top. Whatever the reason, he wanted to postpone the conversation for as long as possible. Alba had already begun to think about going to the river to look at the tadpoles or other representatives of the water world, perhaps somewhere there he would find a pristine, spouting from the ground source, hidden in the forest shade; or something else interesting, untouched by man. But his plans were not destined to happen, because at that moment, ten centimeters away from him, the body of Attila fell with a heavy meteor impact.

"How did you find me so quickly?"

"A black spot in the middle of the grass."

"I see. When did you start riding motorcycles that were intended for our couriers?"

"When business is urgent. I have two pieces of news, bad and bad, which one should I start with?"

"Start with the one I don't give a shit about."

"There's a rebellion in Agernox. A huge gang of rebellions armed themselves with weapons and began to tear down the city demanding to meet with the government."

"Let Gennox handle it. It's high time they got out of their cage. They showed themselves once, so let it become the second time."

"I wouldn't want a second time."

"What else did you want to tell me?"

"Thomas said to tell you that Metyr is dead."

Alba raised himself to a reclining position, put his hands on the ground, fell silent, and the sound of grasshoppers crackled from the grass. He honored his friend with a moment of silence, and then asked:

"Did Thomas kill him?"

"Yeah. On Their orders."

"I see. And that's why you came to me?"

"You need to get back to the capital. They're calling you. I'll take your place for a while. Do you have a task for me?"

"Find out why there are no cemeteries in Porhol land. And also scan the area more carefully. We were seriously sabotaged due to negligence and lost a lot of people."

"How did it happen?"

"They left one metentis in a place we couldn't see, and when the equipment and some of the soldiers entered the village, the old man used the highest level of metovis and sacrificed himself and destroyed everyone who crossed this cursed place, including our vehicles. And a few minutes later, there was a second explosion, in our back rows. It was someone else, the explosion was weaker, and we didn't find the enemy metentis. It was probably the same person who is blowing up our underground and surface roadways. Be careful."

"Leave it to me."

Atilla lay down on the grass, leaned on the rock he had created with metovis' help, and watched as Alba walked away, reluctantly climbing the hill to meet the chaos and the running. To meet Agernox and Gennox.

***

Alba rode his motorcycle up to the west gate of Agernox, that was about twenty meters high. On either side of the entrance were cumbersome observation towers, like impersonal gray geysers trying to break through the firmament with their stone fountain of concentrated steam. On the left side of the gate, opposite the wall, stood a twenty-five-meter monument to the nameless fallen warrior, in his hands he held a sword, the point stuck in the ground, and his head lay at his own feet, staring with his frightening gaze at the sky, as if dreaming of an unattainable paradise. Unlike the other gates, whether north, east, or south, this one was part of a large castle, with tall, three-meter-high lancet windows, a cracked stone wall, and vines growing around the pillars.

Alba stopped the motorcycle in front of portcullis, turned his head to the left and saw the warrior's finger, which surpassed him in height by a couple of heads. He raised his head, looking at the monument from top to bottom for a few minutes: the ancient metal plates of armor, the chain mail hidden under them, the chains on his hands and feet – all this seemed to him to be the masterful work of a stone sculptor. Another five minutes passed, and the anticipation turned to anger.

"Hey! Did you fall asleep there?" he shouted. "Sentry!"

Immediately, a short guard in full uniform and an improved steam crossbow with a telescopic sight appeared on the parapet. He immediately recognized his superior, turned around, looked at the observation tower, and waved his hands. The watchman waved his hands to the others, and portcullis began to rise up, revealing its sharp spears. The metal portcullis smoothly slid up the vertical grooves. Alba turned on the motorcycle and drove forward and waited for the next obstacle to open in his path – a wooden gate. Usually entrance gates, were open, but, as he was told, martial law was imposed in the city.

When Alba entered the city itself, for the first time in many years, he did not hear the heavy metal sounds of machine tools working, did not see factories spewing production steam into the atmosphere, and did not see hundreds of people going to work in the morning. The roads were covered with mud and slush, the wind carried yellow fallen leaves and ashes, and from the direction of the working-class district there were shouts and several muffled explosions. It was like the beginning of a post-apocalyptic era.

The massive gate slammed shut behind. Alba turned to the guard, who had already come down, and asked about the situation in the city. He said that the enemies had made their way into the forbidden city and were now holding a rally near the gate leading to the government chambers. In addition, many workers, not happy with their salaries or working conditions, took the opportunity to join the rebellion and began to smash and rob stores in order to steal expensive stuff under the guise and then resell them. There were also small gangs and lone robbers that went out for the night.

Alba nodded his head, listened to every word. When the guard finished his story, he pointed to the safe road to the forbidden city. Alba thanked him and went in the opposite direction, to the working-class district. He rode at a steady pace, ignoring the onlookers peering out of the windows of the nearby houses. He noticed that stray dogs, cats, and other underground animals had even stopped running through the streets.

Ten minutes later, Alba watched as two armed workers smashed a jewelry store window with the butts of their automatic steam crossbows, and the other three began to carry out a lot of fine jewelry into a small steam engine stagecoach. The owner was already tied up in the back room, she screamed and called for help, and then someone hit her, and she fell silent. Alba approached them as close as possible and asked what such pious citizens were doing at this difficult hour for Agernox. Two masked men pointed guns at him and ordered him to stand still.

"You don't recognize me?" Alba asked, and smiled.

"Get the hell out of here, holy man," one of them said, and fired a warning shot so that the arrow missed Alba's head by inches.

He wasn't afraid, and he didn't even move. He felt the arrow fly past his ear, cutting through the air, and then losing its kinetic energy, it fell on the road.

"Move the jewels faster!" One of the men who held Alba at the crossbow's point shouted.

"I wouldn't do that. You're breaking the law. I suggest you return to your families. In that case, I'll forget what you did here, including this shot, and a squad of inquisitors won't come and kill your family after I kill you all by myself," Alba said, and smiled.

In less than a few seconds, both men fired a shot. Alba ducked, the first arrow flew over his head, and then with his right hand, as if he had been practicing this trick for years, with lightning speed grabbed the second arrow in flight. He glanced at the arrowhead aimed directly at his heart, broke the shaft in half and threw it to the ground, then looked at the entire gang, who were frozen in fear and staring at Alba with round eyes.

"Only soldiers can shoot so well."

"Why do you care who we are?"

"Last chance," Alba said, and looked around.

From all sides of the apartment buildings, curious faces peered out from behind the curtains. Alba shook his head.

"We've loaded everything," one bandit said to the others in a whisper.

"Let's just deal with this scumbag," the second man said, and fired a second shot at Alba.

The Inquisitor was not at a loss and easily dodged the arrow, slightly tilting his head to the side. Then he swore and ran at them head-on. Two more shots were fired. Alba caught two of the arrows and flicked them aside. Then he calculated how long it takes to recharge - 3 seconds. More shots were fired. The first arrow flew straight at his leg, and Alba leaped to the side, stooped, and in the last split second saw the second arrow fly straight at his eye. He suddenly realized that the first shot was a decoy. He would not be able to dodge or catch the second arrow, so all he had to do and what he could to do was cover his face with the forearm part of his hand. A steely sound rang out, a faint shock wave rippling through Alba's entire body. The arrow fell to the ground. A surprised yell sounded.

Alba rushed back to the bandits. They hesitated. The next two shots were fired 5 seconds later, when he was two meters away from the enemy. The arrows slammed into the steel armor on his body - hidden under the black cloak.

“How I couldn't break thro…”

Alba took advantage of the moment to jump forward and put the first shooter down in one blow, then turned around and knocked the crossbow out of the second's hands with the next blow. With his left foot, Alba kicked away a bandit standing next to him, trying to help his friends desperately.

He hit the curb and broke his head. Alba dived down, dodging a left hook, grabbed the shooter's wrist, and with the other hand, bent at the elbow, hit his elbow so that the elbow joint arched into an unnatural position, accompanied by a dull crack of breaking bones. The bandit screamed in pain, but the cry was not long, for Alba's next attack was aimed directly at his throat. The enemy fell, writhing in the death throes, trying to grab at least some air, the body convulsed.

"Two left," Alba said.

Captured by the fear of what had happened, the enemies did not offer proper resistance. Their movements were clumsy and disoriented. Alba easily broke the neck of the first, and for the second one, he first knocked out the kneecap, and then pulled out one eye.

The battle was over. Alba sighed, surrounded by that gunmetal light and the ashes of a dying world whirling back and forth in the ashen-gray street. He examined the small holes left by the arrows. First, his gaze fell on the chest part. After that, he raised his hand and looked at the area of the forearm, the hole was larger than he expected, black armor with fluorescent blue lines shone through it. He covered the area with his palm, hiding it from the watchful eyes of the witnesses, used metovis to cast a shadow behind it. There was no need to say anything, since people saw everything with their own eyes from the windows of their houses. The case was left to the fate - for the rumors about what happened to spread. Alba took another look at the scene of the showdown, the first shooter still moving and breathing heavily. He didn't finish him off, just walked away, dusting off his robe. The guards stood at their posts, looking at the floor like they had done something wrong.

"There are five bandits on the corner of the street ten minutes away. Remove the bodies and untie the owner of the jewelry store."

"Yes, sir!"

"Oh, yes, in case the shopkeeper is dead, transfer her property to the Holy Inquisition."

Alba took the road that the guard had pointed out to him earlier. Half an hour later, he walked past the street with the storage facilities, out into the street where all the shady people of this city lived. It seemed to him that the silence in these parts rang too strongly, despite the fact that there were no people nearby, no wandering robbers, no onlookers secretly peering out of the windows. A little further down the street, he saw shards of broken glass on the ground, in the mud, reflecting the sunlight. And a few meters later, he saw about fifteen bodies. He came closer and said:

"What a massacre there was. The bodies are fresh. Explains the silence…"

Alba stepped over a couple of corpses and noticed a dead inquisitor with a disfigured face.

"This one isn't as fresh as it used to be... Seems, he wasn't killed the same way as the rest of them."

Alba crouched down next to the inquisitor and saw the rope marks on his wrists. He looked at the strange old man next to him, with the same difficult-to-identify face, who have died around the same time, looked at his wrists and saw the same marks.

"Interesting," he thought aloud.

He stood up, looked around. There were many signs of a struggle on the wet mud road. Next to the broken windows of the houses, arrows were lying. Poisoned. All the doors of the houses were closed, except for one. Alba walked over to it and went inside. There were traces of dried mud on the hallway carpet and traces of shoe treads and most striking of all were the two bloody straight lines leading into the living room. He walked on and saw utter chaos.

On the floor, there were pieces of furniture, torn books, wardrobes, and other household junk. In the very center of the room, a morning star lay with a bloody metal ball on a chain. He touched the blood, thick and blackened. A little to the left, Alba saw the remains of a human brain and skull lay like archaeological relics. Further research of the area made it clear that the metovis of the dark element was used here. Then he went into the next room. The same devastation, and the same pitch-blackness.

"Light (rank 1)," he said, and the room lit up.

In the far corner, he saw ropes and two glasses of water. Then Alba went back to the hallway and looked around the whole house, and on the second floor he saw some more blood, this time with a very unusual color. He looked out the window and saw the traces of the battle on the street. Then he went back down the creaking spiral staircase made of black pine, turned into the kitchen, and drank some spring water.

When Alba went outside, he met a small police squad.

"Sir Alba! We've finally found you," Said the squad leader, whose name was Alason. "We were sent to accompany you. What a mess happened here!?"

"Gang fight. Nothing unusual. I don't need an escort. Better tell me what is happening at the government chambers now."

"A squad of revolutionaries has just finished a rally there and is about to storm it!"

"I see. Find out what happened here. This is the house where an Inquisitor was killed. Figure out who did it."

"This is pure carnage! Now people are very hostile to the Inquisition, so he could get caught in the cross fire. As for me, everything is clear here."

"No. The body was planted here after. From this house, "Alba pointed," do you understand the order?"

"Yes, sir!" Alason answered.

"You should have done it right away. By the way, do you know where Thomas is?"

"He's in the government chambers."

"Good, Alason, I'm counting on you. And I'm going to deal with all this shit," Alba said, and left.