“Thanks for the advice,” Regis chuckled before stopping as a thought popped into his head. “Don’t you think it’s time to check up on Zola’s place? They’ve been awfully quiet recently.”

“Are you worried that something happened?”

“After that not-so-friendly visit from Lord Graham, I think it would be better to let them know what happened.”

“You might be right about that but please try to be careful! I know you enjoy wandering off alone, but these are dangerous times so it might be better to take someone along with you. Just in case.”

“Fine,” the dark elf sighed. “I’ll ask Quentin if he’s free.”

Saying that he had a back toward Landwaker Square while activating his far-caller.

“Quentin, do you have some time?”

“What do you need?” He heard the familiar voice through the arcane earpiece.

“I wanted to check up on Zola and her territory. Grego suggested I’d better start moving about with someone to watch my back.”

“He’s right about that you know. You always disappear without a warning and we only find out where you went from someone else.”

“I’ll meet you at the gateway.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” The paladin promised and not long after Regis arrived at the pavilion, so did his friend.

“Ready to go?” He asked while disabling the barrier.

“Let’s get going. I promised Val to have lunch together.”

“Then we better hurry.”

The two of them stepped inside the rune-carved circle that soon lit up in a flash of light which swallowed them up. A moment later they reappeared in Mistfield. The guards snapped into attention with weapons at the ready but once they realized who the arrivals were, they relaxed.

“Lord Regis,” one of them spoke up. “If you’re looking for her Ladyship, she’s at the manor.”

“Thanks.” The loremaster nodded as he and Quentin headed out.

As they got near toward their goal, the sight of multiple god troops patrolling caught their attention.

“Looks like things are just as tense as before.”

“Can’t say I blame them,” Regis agreed. “They did kill the head of a noble house after all. Even if Zola claims the new head of the house would be understanding and wouldn’t try to avenge his father, it could still be used by some former allies as an excuse to attack Mistfield.”

“I bloody hate politics and scheming.”

“It’s not that different from how it worked back home. Only the scale and the technology are different.”

“Thank the Seven for that. I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if these guys could get their hands on some kind of arcane nuke.”

“I don’t think that such a thing is feasible,” Regis mused. “Although I don’t have access to higher-tier magic or enchantments so I can’t say for certain that there aren’t such things in the world. Still, if nothing else, I could imagine the royals having a few war golems twice or trice the size of our own made out of the hardest stones possible or some high-quality metal.”

“If they had access to stuff like that, what would be the point of sending thousands of footmen into war instead of using those?”

“The same reason we sent soldiers into wars instead of throwing nukes at each other,” the loremaster shared his thoughts on the matter. “The same reason why tier three and above combat magic is only accepted in large-scale battles. They’re far too devastating to be used on a whim. Just think about the damage our two golems could do, even though they are only made of stone and they are not that tall either. Triple their size and you’d have something that even a tier-four spellcaster would find hard to crack.”

“Fair point.” Quentin let out a sigh as he shuddered at the thought of such arcane constructs wreaking havoc on the battlefield.

The guards at the entrance of the manor saluted before opening the door to let them through. A young servant girl noticed them from the other end of the corridor, giving them a nervous nod before turning around to knock on the door of Zola’s study.

“My Lady,” the servant spoke after knocking. “Lord Regis is here.”

“Please let him in.” Zola’s voice resounded as the two got closer to the door.

“She’s waiting for you, milord.” The young woman said with a tense voice as she bowed slightly.

“Thank you, miss!” The dark elf said with a reassuring smile before he and Quentin entered the study.

“Hey there, lad!” He heard Galen’s voice, the spell caster sitting on the nearby sofa with his wife.

“Lord Regis.” Magda nodded slightly, her polite manners a stark contrast to her husband’s crassness.

“I’m glad to see you two,” Zola said with a tired smile. “What brings you here?”

“I figured I’d drop by to see how you’re doing and I asked Quentin to come with me.”

“We are doing fine so far,” the young noblewoman remarked as she sipped some tea, Magda bringing a pair of cups for the guests. “I received a letter from Lord Arlo’s son a day after the battle. He reassured me that he had no intention of acting against us in retaliation for what happened. He did warn me though that others might use this as an excuse to encroach on my territory.”

“We also received news about the unfortunate demise of Lord Graham, “Magda said with a strange quirkiness in her tone. “You wouldn’t have happened to know anything about that, would you?”

“Depends on what you heard.” Regis said with a shrug.

“We had received a letter which informed us that Lord Graham made a move on your territory, but perished at the beginning of the battle.” Galen explained.

“It also mentioned that before his death, everyone could see proof of him being a demonic collaborator. It mentioned that some of his soldiers also turned out to be collaborators like him and were executed on the spot while the rest of them were allowed to return home with some extra provisions provided for the journey.”

“A mighty kind of gesture shown to one’s enemies.” Magda added.

“Apparently, every nearby fiefdom received a warning about the matter of the demonic collaborators hidden in our midst. Now people are turning to the church, asking them to question every peasant, servant or soldier to make sure that no spies are hiding among them.”

“I have to admit, it was quite a shock for us to learn about what happened,” Magda sighed. “Did anyone get hurt?”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

“Not from our side. We shot Lord Graham’s mage with a ballista that had an exploding crystal bolt loaded into it.”

“Oh.” The three of them said nearly the same time.

“As you can imagine, he didn’t make it. Graham got hurt, but he was still alive. I wanted to question him, but he pretty much self-destructed. His people lost the will to fight after that and we questioned them using Quentin’s ‘truth-seeker’ domain to make sure there were no more demonic collaborators among them.”

“There were.” The paladin said with a grim look on his face.

“After that, I told their leader to head back home and inform the next head of the house as well as the church about what happened there.”

“So that’s why they sent out that message to everyone,” Galen nodded as he looked at the paladin. “I know this is a bit unexpected, but could you question our people as well? The local priest specialises in healing so he lacks the ability to interrogate the locals.”

“I’ll help the best I can, but you’d have to organise it first.”

“Don’t worry,” Magda stood back up and turned toward the door. “I’ll handle it.”

Saying that she left the room with hurried steps. After she left, a long moment of silence filled the room before Galen broke it once more.

“So… what excuse did Lord Graham use to attack you? That is if he even bothered to give one.”

“He came to us with the excuse of searching for Cornelia Verhen.

“Cornelia,” the man hummed. “Why would he look for her in your territory?”

“Because she came to us along with a bunch of refugees led by Father Steon from Hunor’s church.”

“Oh,” the man stopped for a moment before his eyes snapped wide open. “And you let her stay? Are you mad?”

“I only wanted to let the refugees and the clerics stay, but it was put up for a vote and the townspeople decided to let her stay.”

“But you’re the lord of the territory,” Galen argued. “Your word should be the final one.”

“That might be true but I’m not a tyrant. I told them the danger her presence could pose, but they decided that the benefits were bigger than the dangers.”

“Please tell me at least you didn’t let Martin stay!” The man looked at him with a worried expression.

“Why?” Quentin asked back surprised by the mage’s reaction.

“That man is a menace. He hails from a family of stewards from the same city I hail from. He’s a schemer and a traitor. The man sold out the family he was supposed to serve in exchange for a place on one of the boats leaving Harmarond. That kind of snake can’t be trusted.”

“Well...” Regis sighed as he recalled the recent events, the mage quickly picking up on that.

“He already caused trouble, didn’t he?”

The dark elf proceeded to explain the situation to the guards, Galen slightly shaking his head at the end of the story.

“That’s what I’m talking about. If he already began to act that way then you can be certain that he is up to no good.”

“He can’t be working for the Argents or someone else though,” Quentin stated. “I questioned everyone before they entered Thorn Vale and no one fell through.”

“Just because he’s not licking someone else’s boots, that doesn’t mean he’s not planning to do something. Men like him are always looking for benefits. If he’s serving Cornelia now, then he’ll try to make the most of that. Just... watch yourself.”

“I already asked Tristan to have someone watch this Martin fellow. He won't get another chance if he’s trying something sketchy.”

“Good. At least...”

“I dealt with the gathering,” Magda appeared from the other side of the door. “Are you ready?”

“Sure,” Quentin nodded as he stood up and walked over to her. “The sooner we got this over the better.”

The two left the room and Zola took a deep breath before finally speaking up.

“Forgive me for not speaking up sooner,” she started as she pulled out a pair of scrolls from the pile on the desk. “It is not that I do not trust Sir Quentin, but this is something between you and me.”

With that, she held out the scrolls for him to take. Regis accepted the parchments and unfurled the first one.

To the wench of House Vidal.

From Prince Merron the first.

It has come to my attention that you have obstructed Lord Arlo Darkwood and his forces from liberating the town of Mistfield. I was also informed that you had the audacity to raise arms against and kill Lord Arlo along with his knight commander and his mage advisor. I hereby declare that this affront to the royal family will not go unpunished. After the day of my coronation, you shall be stripped of your titles and territories and will stand trial in the capital for your ill deeds. Until then you are forbidden from leaving Mistfield and are to comply with the soldiers delivering this letter.

“What the fuck?” Regis couldn’t help but curse as he read the letter. “Liberating Mistfield? From what?”

“I believe that’s his way of saying that we refused to hand over Mistfield to Lord Arlo after the prince promised it to him.”

“Son of a bitch. And what about the soldiers who delivered the letter?”

“Dead and buried,” Galen said with a stone-cold voice. “They only sent a dozen knights and a retainer who was supposed to become the temporary mayor of Mistfield for a short while.”

“How did you kill them?”

“Exploding arrows.”

“Why am I not surprised? I mean, I am surprised. Did that moron really think that you would cower in fear from a dozen knights and a retainer just because he sent a letter? Bloody idiot.” He let out a long and tired sigh as he looked back at Zola.

“So what now? The prince won’t just sit idly by after you openly defied him.”

“Read the other one.” The spellcaster prompted and Regis unfurled the second scroll.

To Lady Zola Verhen of House Vidal.

From Prince Mikkel the second.

It has come to my attention that you have successfully repelled Lord Arlo Darkwood and his forces from forcefully overtaking the town of Mistfield under my brother’s orders. I was told that the battle ended with Lord Arlo’s death along with his knight commander and mage advisor. Since their death occurred due to you rightfully defending your family’s territory, no repercussions will befall you. However, my brother will not take this lying down. He will likely send a punitive force along with a letter asking for your surrender. You are hereby allowed to resist and defend your territory. After my coronation, you will be rewarded for your valiant efforts in aiding me, even if unknowingly. Until then, I shall send a few skilled soldiers to aid in the defence of Mistfield.

Best of luck. Prince Mikkel.

“The hell? One prince wants to end you, the other to befriend you?”

“More like use us to be a thorn in Prince Merron’s side.” Zola corrected him.

“At least you’re clear about his intentions. So, how many soldiers did he send?”

“Twenty,” Galen stated. “Ten of them are second-tier warriors, the rest are ordinary soldiers.”

“Well, that’s a lot better than nothing. Just make sure that they’re really here to help instead of being a Trojan horse.” “Trojan horse?” Zola looked back at him puzzled.

“It’s an old tale about a war that happened in Greece back on Earth. Long story short, one side couldn’t break through the other’s defences, so they crafted a giant horse statue and retreated. The defenders thought that the statue was an offering or something so they towed it inside. Late night as they celebrated their successful defence, the belly of the statue opened and a group of soldiers got out of it. They silently killed the guards and opened the gates for the rest of the army. You can imagine what happened after that.”

“Quite clever,” Galen admitted. “And just as terrifying. Are you suggesting that these soldiers are here to do the same?”

“All I’m saying is that there is a possibility. We can always rule it out using Quentin’s ‘truth-seeker’ domain.”

“And if it is true?” Zola asked with a worried tone.

“Then you are truly unlucky.”