The voice of animate halls penetrated the walls and reached the Duke’s study room and the five people within it. Compared to the last time Iphis was here, the room was slightly tidier, though still cluttered by papers and documents, except in larger and fewer piles than previously.

The Duke sat behind his desk, visibly shaken by the world and its hard reality. By his side stood Julius, his constable. Still in the dark plate, his arm rested on the hilt of the magical sword as his face contorted in emotion the undead could not read.

Viktor’s daughter, Lucy, was also here and stood by the window. Stuck in a world of her own, she feigned admiration in the stars, sighing and gasping at the falling ones and their limited lifespan. She kept mumbling under her nose something about a wish and rocked her head from one side to the other as if the glass was in her way. In secret though, her glance would always end up straying towards the undead, and each time he would catch it through the mask with a blunt turn of his head.

He did not like her. Ignoring that she was completely ignorant of the talk behind her, the sickening power coursing through her flesh… pulsed and grew. Foreign, confusing, it was something he as an undead felt the duty to extinguish. That life of hers was the incarnation of his weakness in the body of a meagre child.

As instinct fought reason within the immortal mind, Viktor spoke and Lucy’s shoulders tensed.

“You’re saying my son died to a goblin. . .?”

He held his head in his hands as depression slowly crept upon him. The royal robe seemingly choked him with its weight, the leather boots squeezed his legs and the glistening ring felt like it would crush his finger with its clasp. His son’s death hit him harder than he believed it could. Everything just seemed to have suddenly turned meaningless, empty, and against him.

“There were a few orcs, but yes. They overwhelmed and cut him to pieces, what I brought was all that was left,” said the undead, blunt and ignorant words cutting the man with every syllable.

Magus now fully focused on looking for gaps and chances to advance its plan, which was way off-track at this point. He expected to speak with the Duke alone, just as he did with the governor in Bargor, but ended up in a room with three extras. In part, it was his fault for being so naïve as to think that every human was a fool. It was only natural that a human leader would have someone to guard their weak self.

Another problem was the man himself. He was shocked or broken, or whatever always happens to the human mind. No matter how much the undead hoped to further its plot, he didn’t hear it and kept asking foolish questions.

“Did he suffer...?”

Just like those.

“Likely,” the undead would answer.

He could not see through the human. Something unpredictable had happened to Victor by the time they made it to this room. For some unknown reason, he fully believed that his son was killed by a goblin. He didn’t question it or wish for revenge. He didn’t deny everything as the living tended to do. It was completely unordinary; it was as if he was charmed.

Magus glimpsed at Iphis. She stood unmoving as if watching something from far away, but her eyes clearly moved around the room. He threw her all kinds of glances and signs, but she didn’t react. Indifferent to everything, she just stood there with fake sadness on her face.

Undead cogs tried turning again but reached no conclusion. Ultimately, now was not the time to explore the human mind. The undead sockets turned towards Viktor and stared at a man who simply had no choice but to follow the route diligently paved by the undead.

Throwing away all the excuses he had prepared, he concentrated on keeping the human on this path. Humans tended to panic and lose their minds when under pressure, having the Duke suddenly decide the undead was the root of all his problems and take revenge would send all his work to waste. All it could take was a single wrong step. Letting these things run their course was the only safe solution he could take at this moment.

Unfortunately, even this blessing wasn’t meant to be as the black knight stepped forward, almost face to face with the undead.

“. . . where did this happen?” He said, feeling the need to step in. His lord was in a pitiful state and he couldn’t believe that a mysterious mage was in no way involved in the death of his liege’s son. The timing was too convenient, and the man was too weird, mysterious, and dangerous to be left alone.

Magus took a short pause, collecting his thoughts. Sensing the disadvantage in answering, he decided to pass the problem to the only viable scapegoat in this room.

“In a village to the north. If you want details I’m sure lady Lucy can answer them for me, for I have no knowledge of this land.”

Suddenly mentioned, she jumped and turned around to face the constable who was by now looking at her with the shrewdness of a wolf. He spoke before she could.

“You’re involved in this?”

“I… No, I wa-” she froze when the glare of her father met her. Through the dishevelled hair - it was as if he doubled his age in the past few hours - the bleak blue stared through her, black pupils dominating his once charismatic eyes. “I,” she gave in. “I asked him…”

“Asked him what?” Blunt resentment spoke.

The girl stayed quiet, her heartbeat turning faster and body shivering in fear. Too late, too late, her mind repeated, but, after regaining some composure, she tried to escape the inevitable.

“N, nothi-”

“Tell me!” Viktor slammed down his hand onto the table with such force it seemed that it would break. Anger, absurdity, and desperation escaped him in a bellow that travelled down the aged halls. A voice that none of his servants would recognize.

A moment later, he took a deep breath and slouched down on the chair, feeling sudden exhaustion take over. Its loud creak broke the silence in the room as if telling that there was nothing else to be said.

Nevertheless, the girl shut her mouth completely. She felt that this was not fair, that they can’t judge her for what had happened. Partly it was her childish mind speaking, but the other side of her wanted to escape the consequences, and perhaps was still unable to comprehend what grave fate had befallen her family.

“I see,” Viktor sighed, seeing that this was going nowhere. “Julius.”

“Yes, my Liege?” The constable executed a skilful bow.

“Bring him.”

“Bring… who, my Liege?”

“My son. Bring him.”

These words shocked Julius. Did his master lose his mind? Or did he refuse to face reality?

“But, my Liege, the Coun-”

The Duke slammed the table once again, but this time no anger was shown on his face, only calmness.

“Do I must repeat myself again?”

“N, no, my Liege.”

“Then get going.”

“Yes, my Liege,” he bowed again and hurried out the door.

As he was out, no one dared to speak, though Magus was tempted to. He wasn’t sure what exactly was going on right now, but it seems the problem was completely lifted off his shoulders. Now he was in a room without the most dangerous extra. This chance he didn’t take though. It was too risky to bet everything on a few moments. Even with Iphis, he couldn’t deal with the aftermath in time.

After a long time, during which Viktor didn’t look at anything in particular - it was almost as if he was staring into empty space - Julius came back carrying a black box with a white frill. The undead sensed the man’s eyes wander towards it immediately and for that split second lose their furious gleam, but as soon as it was placed in front of him, his eyes clouded again.

“Open it,” he ordered, passing a letter opener.

This time Julius didn’t ask questions and did as he was told. He cut the frill and opened the lid. Just as Magus had figured, it was inside.

“Since you seem to still not understand,” Viktor stood up and reached inside the box. “Let me show you what you’ve done.”

When the Duke pulled out his son’s head, the room froze. The solidness of Viktor and his determination. The embarrassment or hesitance, Magus couldn’t tell, of Julius. Everything, even dust feared to move before that pale face.

Magus on the other hand, fully immersed himself in the moment and tried to wrap his non-existent brain around the meaning of this. He stared at Lucy as if hoping to see something special, but her face did not move – only her eyes turned hollow. The young mind struggled to grasp the meaning of everything before her.

“Will you speak or continue to be a brat?”

“I…” She struggled to breathe but didn’t cry. “Th, the g, guide called it… Sommet, I… think…”

“Julius,” he gently lowed the head in. “Round up the men, I want the woods searched. Put every beast you find to the sword, make them suffer. And recover my son… my son’s body.”

“I will, my Lord!” He rushed out.

“Everyone leave. Though, you,” he pointed at Magus. Viktor’s fingers turned white as they gripped the weapon by his side. “Just know that we’re not done yet. You’ll pay for shaming me dearly.”

“If you say so,” Magus noted in its mind of Viktor’s façade. As Iphis turned to leave together with Lucy, he stepped closer to the Duke. “But I have a question still.”

“What?” He scowled as if about to pull the blade out.

“I’m sure you’ve realized, but what about th-”

“Why should it matter to you, mage?”

“No problem there, I presume?”

“If it wasn’t for…” He glanced at Iphis leaving. “…get out or I’ll change my mind. Do enjoy your last moments while you have them.”

***

As the door slammed shut behind Magus, he wondered if the steps he took were correct. The plan within his mind crumbled like a house of cards and everything was left to chance. Now the unknown awaited and it was worrying, though it was closer to his mind going round in circles unable to find an answer than genuine worry a mortal would feel.

He turned to go down the wooden stairs and saw Iphis watching him from below. Her eyes glowed like a cat’s as the fire lighting the darkness reflected from them. She was with the child, Lucy.

“Wh-” it paused.

Should it speak like a servant again? Did it matter at this point? Maybe that was one of the wrong steps that he took and instead him claiming consanguinity would’ve been better?

“My sister,” Iphis played the role and indicated with her brows for him to do the same. “Wishes to speak with you.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Magus walked down the stairs, bowed slightly, and looked deep into the girl’s face.

“Yes, Lady Lucy?”

She took a long pause before speaking. Magus didn’t mind.

“My… my brother. What were. . . his last moments…?”

Her voice trembled and the young face clouded in grief. The undead watched her cramped cheeks, nose, and forehead as if there he could find an answer as to why she refused to cry and, perhaps, why he failed. Maybe it was a matter of pride or showing strength, but he felt that it was something else, something his undead mind could not understand.

“He got hit in the head and lost consciousness, then he died,” he said cordially, or as cordial an undead’s voice could sound. “You could say it was a peaceful death as he likely was unable to feel pain in that state.”

“That’s… good,” she sniffled. “That he didn’t suffer…”

He couldn’t tell if she reacted to his tone at all.

“If that is all, I’d like to ask you something as well.”

“Is it about our… deal?”

It was surprising she caught onto it.

“Yes.”

“I’ll try to help as much as I can, she’s my last sibling after all. . .”

“Indeed, she is.”

Her eyes slightly widened at the remark. Magus placed his hands behind his back and straightened up.

“I…”

“Hm?”

“…can’t believe he died. I didn’t really… He wasn’t a good brother, but, but still... It’s… It’s almost as if I killed him.”

“I see. Then, perhaps you did. Is it that bad?”

Her young face adjusted slightly at his words, going from sadness to utter confusion. This change also didn’t make sense to him.

“I believe, no, I am sure it is not a bad thing.”

“How can y-”

“Think like this? It might sound wrong, but – if you indeed believe what you said to be true – wouldn’t that be for the best?”

“How…?”

“I apologise; it seems I’m not clear enough. You’re stuck on the idea that you killed your brother. That is incorrect.”

“Do you… really believe that?”

“Indeed,” he nodded contently. It was surprising how long it took for her to understand something so simple. “For the fact is that it isn’t one, but nineteen that have perished.”