A crowd of heroes entered through the door, weapons sheathed. A few talked between themselves, but most stayed silent, busy throwing evil glances all over the audience hall. They gathered in a half-circle facing the throne.

Mary stayed next to Nicolaus's remains, which placed her in a pretty awkward position. Still, she didn't think that standing in any of the empty spaces between the men and women gathered down the hall, she'd be any less out of place.

“Isayev,” Arthur said from his fancy chair, and a tall, fully armoured man took a step forward. “Report.”

“All the prisoners' issues are currently on hold, Pri. All rescuees made it to the camp, but we've lost Assaya, Artem... and Dimitri in the process.” He bowed deeply. ”I'm... sorry, my Pri.”

Arthur froze for a moment, with his eyes half-closed and a hand resting on the sword. Mary could feel the tension rising in the hall until the man rose to his feet and threw the sword blade-first on the ground, where it exploded into a green-flamed bonfire.

“One job. You had one job. One!” Arthur's voice was so withered and hoarse that Mary's throat hurt just from listening. Isayev flinched and lowered his bow. Green flashes reflected off his armour, like miniature infernos readying to consume him. “You knew that without a shadowmancer, half the heroes can go bite the sand just the same. You said you'd protect him with your life.”

A moment later, Arthur's fingers twitched, and the sword came back flying straight back to his hand, leaving a scorched hole in the floor. His voice was normal again. “No matter. We'll have to do without them.”

“Uhm...,” Mary started and felt dozens of unfriendly eyes snap into focusing on her. “Who are you talking about, and why was he so important?”

People looked around for any hidden cameras, apparently not believing anyone could be that stupid, but oh, how they hadn't known her...

“Shadowmancers are heroes whose powers can affect shadow-creatures the way we would never dare to attempt with simple magic. We need them to destroy any watchers the academy attached to our rescued heroes before they kill their hosts.” Arthur hesitated. He looked into the distance for a while, during which everyone watched him silently. Well, apart from Mossie's constant buzzing.

Finally, he shook himself off and replaced the steel in his sight. “We proceed with the plan. Magic will have to do.”

There were audible gasps from the gathered, even as some started to laugh.

The laughter died quickly under Arthur's gaze.

“My Pri... Are you serious?” One of the leather-covered women took a step forward. “You said it yourself: we need a shadowmancer.”

Arthur's eyes focused on the woman until her posture waivered, and she bowed so low her forehead almost touched her knees. Mary flinched internally even though the anger was not directed at her. Then Arthur's face gentled, and he gestured for the woman to rise. “I understand your concerns, Tiffany. However, there's one thing you failed to consider. What else can we do?”

The only answer was a long silence followed by some even deeper bowing.

“The plan stands.” Arthur glanced at Mary, who started fidgeting. “Now, I think we shall wait with further proceedings until all the prisoners are ready to join us. Especially since our esteemed guest will want to observe the releases herself.”

Yeah, that didn't sound ominous at all. Not a bit.

Two guards led her deeper and lower into the maze of corridors. One was surprisingly fat for a so-called hero and extremely tall for a human, while the other was shorter than Mary yet felt compressed rather than simply small. Judging by their faces, both tried to intimidate the walls into submission as a hobby. The short one kept a hand on the wall the entire way as if he was already wasted and needed the extra support to keep himself upright.

It was a long way down. Everything was made of the same sandstone and lit by the same torches. Mary was slowly losing her mind trying to map the maze of unending corridors in her head.

The guards weren't especially talkative, and it was all right by her. She had a lot to think about.

Finally, they reached a large, round chamber with walls covered in slightly rusted iron doors. There were dozens of men and women walking all over the place, each carrying a weapon or two and wearing armours of various degrees of practicality.

Well... and decency too.

Then, there was one man sitting on a wooden chair that fit this place like yoghurt fit on pizza. He had a white beard reaching his leather belt, a pointy green hat, and a set of the finest pink robes Mary had ever seen. He was smoking a pipe... or at least that was what she'd thought until the first soap bubbles rose from the wooden device.

And that was the man the guards were leading her to.

“So? What did our beloved Pri say?” He asked in a high-pitch voice as if his pipe was filled with helium.

“Bad news Frank. You'll have to do everything on your own.” The big guard said.

Judging by the pipe falling out of his mouth, this wasn't the news he was hoping for.

“What do you mean 'on my own'? Did he lose the other half of his dead brain on the way to the camp? There's no way I can hold those abominations long enough for that boy to form a mouth to scream, much less for the entire campaign! Who does he think-”

“Ekhm,” the other guard interrupted, nodding towards Mary. “The heroine here is the boy's friend, and Pri said that she's to see the operation as it goes.”

“She could be a freaking Joan d'Arc for all I care! I need a proper shadowmancer, and I need them today. Scratch that, I need them yesterday if this entire circus is to make any sense. So, my condolences, boy's friend,” he said, turning to Mary, “but he...”

He trailed off, suddenly focusing on Mossie. “Excuse me, but would that by any chance be an SJW flying around you?”

“Yes, it would. Do you have any problems with that?”

Frank ignored her question, looking at the thing so intently that it eventually hid behind Mary's back. Then, he gave Mary a taxing look, making her want to hide behind Mossie instead, which unfortunately wasn't really an option. Finally, his eyes stopped moving. He was just standing there, staring into the fourth dimension as his lips moved without uttering a single sound.

And then, a wicked smile entered the wizard's face. “Hm... maybe we could work with it. Still, tell Arthur he can go screw himself next time you see him, would you?”