Chapter 104: A New Set

"Who are you?" Is my immediate question. The both of them sit cross-legged in the snow, holding their thighs tightly as if anxious for something.

Given the scene of death behind me, I can give a solid guess as to what they're expecting. 

For their sakes I stuff my bloodied hands into my pocket and act as relaxed and incapable of harm as I can.

The one on the left, a burly man with a sword sheathed by his side, a warrior no doubt, if we get into a tussle, I shouldn't underestimate him, my last experience with a sword-wielder wasn't pretty. 

I'm not particularly ready to replicate that event as I stand now with less than a hundred MP left in me.

The warrior contrasts his partner; coupled with the plain white of the snow and the dull grey of the hair on his head, the deep auburn of his partners hair stands out like a sour thumb.

The sight of auburn hair brings back some memories and that's how I know for sure, this man, is the Mayor.

He's seated in the snow, strong study boots, several rings on his fingers all of them exuding a magical signature from them and has on a heavy dark coat on for the cold, one lined with the brown fur of an animal.

Soon I realize that within the time spent analysing them, they've yet to answer my question. I don't need an answer anymore but it's quite rude isn't it?

So, I take a single step forward. This proves to be an act of agitation because the warrior instantly springs forth and falls cleanly into a stance where his blade is ready to be unsheathed.

"Stop!" he screams, the desperation to live in his voice is immediately apparent. I wonder how much of the battle they saw to be this fearful of me.

But it'd be understandable even if they only saw a glimpse. Others quiver in fear and apprehension at the mention of a Necromancer despite me not doing any of my magic.

Even Leriva. I remember vaguely, when she challenged me in her office to show that I am truly a Mage worthy of fighting beside her. Back then I was weaker than possibly all Mages.

And yet, merely exuding my mana made her tremble, she didn't even ask for further proof or an act of magic or a display of my skills.

Yes, back then she'd already suspected me of being a Necromancer thanks to that blabbering Diviner at Ioina. I suppose my willingness to stand up to her bluff along with the fact that she already began suspecting me as a Necromancer doubled her over with fear.

But now, seeing these two trembles before me like so many others before, I can't help wondering…how atrocious were the actions of the last Necromancer?

What did she do to this continent to have everyone quake with fear at the mere mention of the Necrotic class even decades after her death and defeat?

I suppose I should ask Kaylin, or perhaps Lotar would be better since it undoubtably lived through the period of the previous Necromancer.

My conversation with Maylin about it sounded like the previous Necromancer was after something, something the world wouldn't let her have. Maylin called it greed but I think it's just the singular desire that drives a person forward.

You could call it greed sure but then why punish the pursuit of it? It's the same pursuit everyone goes through, every human is full of greed, what use is there separating what greed is bad and what greed is good when at the end of the day it's still all greed?

With a sigh I put the deep thoughts away and focus on the warrior standing before me on the verge of tears.

The Mayor is still seated though. I wonder why.

"Aren't you afraid of me?" I ask, pointing at the Mayor.

Shakily, he raises his head to meet my eyes and says, "No."

"Then…did you come out here to fight me? To chase me away? To defeat me for your Kingdom?"

With trembling lips and a balled-up fist tucked in the snow, he asks, "Do you need to be defeated?"

At this I'm surprised. II can't help raising a brow at his words. Is he trying to ask if I'm a villain? If I'm someone he should fear and distrust?

Well, I don't like to lie if I can help it, so I don't think myself as untrust worthy, but do I need to be defeated?

With my operations in Aste and the Elven North…well, the answer to this question may change in the future, for now…no.

"No, I don't think I do. Do you?"

His shoulders drop with relief and the warrior relaxes his stance, looking a bit confused.

"I don't think you should be defeated…at least, not after you've helped me defeat one of the Gamma's that surround my city."

I scoff, "Come to think of it, what's the Mayor of a city like this doing out in the snow? Don't you have anyone left to sacrifice to your enemies?"

Slowly, he rises up to his feet and surprisingly stands taller than I do. "They all left once it became apparent that the Synagogue has forsaken me and my House."

"House Carbina." I mutter.

He nods grimly, "Yes, you must know of us then, you must have passed through Carbina Village to get here…my sister was sent to rule there."

Sister? Yes. I suppose they do bear a resemblance. The red hair, curved chin and brown eyes…siblings.

"Your sister is dead." I pronounce, "I'm sorry."

A range of emotions wash over his face at these words, but in the end he simply nods.

"It looks like the Cultists are targeting your family…Mayor."

"Ah, call me Matthias please." He looks back at the walls of his city and sighs, "Unfortunately, that is the case. The Synagogue is metting out punishment for an insult given by my grandmother, the head of House Carbina. A lot of us will sooner die than bow down and ask for forgiveness."

I frown, "Is that not the case with you? Your sister is dead because of the Synagogue."

He looks at me with a shocked look on his face.

"What's that look for?" I groan.

"Ah…it's just, you're a lot more…normal than I though you would be. You even understand the concept of familial love." He mutters, his breath vapours from the cold.

"Why wouldn't I?"

He turns sheepish, as if embarrassed by the question, "The stories…you're a Necromage aren't you? It's said you don't feel remorse for the dead or the living and simply want for a world where all beings are eternally living under your service. You do not understand love, pity or fear because you are spawn and minion of the Evillest Daemons of Reais."

Wut?

"That's…interesting?" Is this what people think the moment they hear mention of the Necromancer? This is obviously propaganda. "I'm nothing like that. I'm human still, like you and everyone else."

He nods, "I thought so, or rather…I was hoping so. I can't yet differentiate between the truth and lies of the Synagogue so…"

"I understand, you have to be cautious."

I look behind him, to the Warrior who still stands dumbstruck listening to our conversation, "And you are?"

"Huh? Me?"

I raise an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes, uh, I'm Leon, Marshal to the Lord of Frozia." He recites.

Marshal huh.

"He's okay, just a bit shocked…really shocked." Matthias says.

I nod and look about, "I'll clear out the remaining Cultists later, for now, don't you think we should head into the city?"

"Ah, yes, of course." Matthias scrambles, "Though I should warn you, there's a Diviner waiting in there…that's if he hasn't run off already."

A Diviner…it's been sometime since I've laid eyes on such scumbags. Aste only had the Priests milling about openly, though, I'm sure a Diviner wouldn't be one to be seen walking about the streets.

As we trod our way to the city through the snow, I look to the nervous duo, they're a lot calmer than I expected given the terrible propaganda about me. My lips curve into a smile as I think of it.

Me, a minion of the evilest daemons. Ha. I've got to hear more of this, as well as the story behind the last Necromancer and if there were any other before her as well.

But for now, I'm just glad to be rid of that hunger. But now that I know the shortest duration before I go mad isn't worth shit…I can't let Lotar be. He's got to give me more time or find some sort of compromise else I won't be able to do the work I desperately need to do.

But prayer…I was hoping for something more on the lines of a magical crystal thingy that lets be talk to him but no, I've got to pray to a Wolf Deity.

…

By the way, where the hell is Anselm?