Chapter 190: Burning Within

Chapter 190: Burning Within

Burning Within

Lord Jorge

Flanked by his Black Knights, the Lord of Three Hills, clad in a striking black and silver-trimmed brigandine, arrived at the ambush site a mere hour after it was secured. He passed this place almost every day on his way to supervise the construction of his new house. "To think something so sinister could happen in such a serene place," he muttered.

Jorge dismounted and approached the gathered men-at-arms. The air was heavy with grief. Tears streaked even the toughest men's faces and no one spoke above a whisper. He raised a finger to his lips, signaling his knights for silence, forgoing the need for a herald to announce his arrival.

As they approached, the Korelian guardsmen noticed and quietly stepped aside, creating a clear path for them. The men's expressions were painted with sorrow but also profound respect.

There, Jorge encountered an unexpectedly poignant sight: a guard clung to a woman in a dark-colored brigandine. Both had departed from this world. The woman's empty gaze was fixed on the fading sky. Their bodies bore the brutal marks of combat—sword cuts, lacerations, and stab wounds, all highlighted by dark blood stains. Their fingers and nails were caked with soil, and grass was strewn around them, indicating a fierce struggle.

But those details were not what held everyone's attention. What drew the whispers of everyone, even Jorge's Black Knights was the deceased guard's face. It had turned deep blue—the sign of a potent poison—but an unmistakable, peaceful smile lingered on his lips. The guardsman knew he had performed his duty well. Even in death, he held the assailant tightly in his final embrace.

"A beautiful death," Jorge praised solemnly, moved by the loyalty and duty displayed.

"Aye, my Lord," the senior guardsman replied. "He was one of our instructors and one of the Arvenians who followed Lord Lansius from Midlandia. He will surely be missed."

The somber mood was only interrupted when Sir Omin returned to the site. "Please step back, my Lord," he advised. "The woman had traces of poison on her; it’s best if we wait until someone with medical or alchemical expertise can determine if it’s safe to move them."

Jorge nodded and asked, "Did you capture anyone alive?"

"We captured two. Both are critically wounded; one probably won't make it, but who knows," Sir Omin sighed. "We're dealing with mages here."

"Multiple mages..." Jorge muttered, feeling the weight of the words on his lips before turning to his former enabler. "This is beyond any Lowlandian lord's ability. Unless someone’s suggesting that the Royal Assassins are selling their services cheaply due to the Imperium's demise, I think there's only one name."

"I'm sure Lord Lansius will know," Sir Omin replied.

"And the Shogunate will back him," Jorge gave his assurance.

With those words hanging in the air, the two men left the site to retrace the events.

“They must've struck one of the horses,” Sir Omin said, pointing to the drag mark in the grass. “The poor creature was dragged until the harness finally snapped.” Jorge nodded as they walked under heavy escort. Sir Omin continued, "With only one horse left, likely stressed, and the rough, uneven terrain, the carriage veered to the south."

Jorge observed, "From the tracks, it looks like the coachman tried to head east."

"Indeed. He must've been racing toward the Eastern Mansion for safety, but alas, he took two arrows. Thrown from the carriage, and without his guide, the horse likely panicked and the carriage crashed."

Jorge spotted the upturned carriage further down the path, now surrounded by dozens of armored men. He noticed Calub, the Tarracan-born alchemist, alongside Sir Michael and his cavalry.

"Have you seen Lord Robert?" Jorge asked as they continued their approach.

"He went straight to the Eastern Mansion," Sir Omin replied. "As for the Lord of Galdia, he remained at his inn. We've sent more men for protection."

Jorge exhaled deeply. "The Old Lion must be worried sick. He looked at Lord Lansius like the son he never had."

Sir Omin's gaze softened. "And what about you, my Lord?"

"Yes, the Lord of this city is dear to me. I've called him cousin on many occasions."

"Even his former enemies speak of him with such regard..."

Detecting a subtle shift in tone, Jorge glanced at him, "What do you mean by that?"

"Talents like him are rare—one in a hundred generations. And everyone sees the fruit of his works and generosity," Sir Omin replied. "So for someone to attempt an assassination..." He sighed briefly and muttered, "I pity the one who orchestrated it. They've just given the Lowlandians, for the first time, a common enemy."

"Do you think we can take them if Midlandia is behind this?" Jorge asked.

"United and enraged like this, we could raid to our heart’s content. Winning, however, won’t be easy." Sir Omin replied, but then his face broke into a faint smile. "But that's before we factor in Lord Lansius' abilities."

Jorge chuckled. "The might of the entire Shogunate under Lord Lansius. This will be phenomenal to see."

"Aye. We'll need more resources to build the Shogunate, and someone just volunteered themselves."

The former lord's remark made Jorge stifle his laugh. Soon, the gathering crowd began to notice their approach. From among them, Sir Michael and Calub offered their respects, "My Lord, Sir Omin."

"Measter Calub, Sir Michael," Jorge and Sir Omin greeted in return, and then Jorge added, "I apologize for being a nuisance. I merely wanted to see the scene with my own eyes."

"Understandable, my Lord," Sir Michael replied, gesturing for them to approach the wrecked carriage. Meanwhile, Calub and Sir Omin separated, heading toward a different area.

"How many perished?" Jorge asked, his tone heavy as they walked through the chilling remnants of the attack.

"One guard near the road with the woman, the coachman, one mounted guardsman, and another guard next to the carriage. We lost four and three barely clinging to life," the one-eyed knight reported.

Jorge inhaled sharply. "I'm glad Lord Lansius survived. They must've fought courageously," he remarked, trying to find a sliver of hope amid the tragedy.

"Indeed, but it wasn’t enough." Sir Michael’s tone darkened.

"Not enough?" Jorge raised an eyebrow.

"By the time the rescue party arrived, the lord was alone."

"Alone?" Jorge's eyes widened, struggling to grasp the implications. "Then?"

The knight gazed firmly and said, "Lord Lansius fought the assassin, likely a mage, mano a mano."

A mixture of disbelief and admiration swept over Jorge. "A truly terrifying situation, but also, what a feat of strength."

"I don’t know what gave him the strength—"

"We don’t need to know," Jorge interrupted. "The fact that he survived is proof enough."

The knight gave him a questioning gaze, prompting Jorge to explain. "Even I, an outsider, am aware that people cherish him. Not only the Korelians, but also the defeated people of White Lake, Korimor, South Hill, and even the Nicopolans adore him."

Sir Michael listened intently.

"Winning wars only makes one a warlord. But to be loved and respected by so many, even former enemies—that is a quality beyond mere nobles." Jorge paused to examine the scorched marks near the upturned carriage, a clear sign of unnatural power. "Allow me to indulge myself and think that I wasn't defeated by Bengrieve's henchman. Perhaps the Coalition, and even the Lion, were defeated by a higher power."

Sir Michael's lone eye darted, trying to grasp the implication of Jorge's words.

"I won't be the only one who thinks so. Soon, everyone will know that Lord Lansius survived a mage assassin's attack with nothing but his strength." The Lord of Three Hills turned to Sir Michael, his gaze proud, but with a hint of fear. "It will be seen as proof. The commoners will undoubtedly believe this is the work of the Ancients—a sign that the Lord of Korelia is destined for something far greater, perhaps even beyond the confines of the Steppes."

Sir Michael, perturbed, whispered, "My Lord, you can't possibly suggest—"

Jorge patted the knight's arm. "I fear this is just the beginning."

***

Ingrid

The educator was still on leave due to the accident with the magical earring when a carriage, accompanied by a guard and a maid, arrived at her doorstep. Horrified by the news, Ingrid quickly packed her bag and left for the Eastern Mansion. In great haste, the horse-drawn carriage spirited her to the mansion, now filled with armed men, patrols, and checkpoints.

Ingrid waited for a while until Sir Harold arrived and personally led her to the makeshift hospice in the mansion’s west wing. There, she found two guardsmen and Carla, all unconscious and being treated by the physician and his assistants.

Ingrid was momentarily stumped. "Pardon my words, but I just treated Carla and the guards—"

"How is she?" the Lord interrupted, his spirits lifting. "When Francisca carried her out, she looked like she was just asleep."

"She has awakened and is now resting in her chamber."

The Lord heaved a big sigh of relief. "And the guards, are they recovering?"

"They are, My Lord. The physician and I are doing our best to treat them," she replied without hesitation.

The Lord nodded, and the Lady seemed pleased.

Ingrid continued checking the lord's fingers but found no burn marks, letting out a sigh of relief. That didn’t go unnoticed.

"What's the matter?" the Lady asked.

"Well, as I mentioned, I just treated Carla and the guards. It appears they were likely affected by a mage's technique called Static Charge, or Static Shock. However, it seems the Lord was fortunate enough to avoid it."

"I was hit by it too," the Lord refuted. "All of a sudden, a flash enveloped us, and I was paralyzed, dropping like a lifeless log. The crossbow I was holding even hit me on the chin," he added, gently touching his chin and wincing at the sting.

Hearing this, Ingrid was puzzled. "My Lord, if you were hit, how were you able to move? Carla believes she had it easier than the other guards because she was inside the carriage and likely more protected by it."

"Static charge, huh?" The Lord mulled over the term. "It felt like being struck by lightning."

"It does. One of my mentors could perform it, and we always heard a thunderclap," Ingrid confirmed, still puzzled about how the Lord hadn’t fainted on the spot. Not even the gemstone of strength could have healed him that quickly.

"Indeed," the Lady murmured as if recalling the event.

"Oh yes, you must have seen it. What did it look like from afar?" the Lord asked.

The question made Ingrid raise an eyebrow. Noticing her expression, the Lady explained, "When I saw the signal smoke, I climbed the tower." She casually pointed toward the wooden tower outside the window. "From there, I could see the ambush and the fighting."

The Lord’s face showed both concern and admiration. Ingrid wanted to ask more, but the Lady continued, "All I saw were small, faint flashes. Nothing like a thunderstorm." Her voice grew somber. "Then I saw you and the guards fall. I thought you were dead." Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

"Now, now, let’s not revisit that moment," the Lord consoled her, taking her hand gently. "I’m fine. I’m strong, and I have this magical gemstone to protect me."

"My Lord, may I?" Ingrid interrupted, afraid she might forget. "I need to maintain the gemstone again."

"Oh," he mumbled, then turned to his wife. "Audrey, help me with it."

"Right," the Lady helped to unlatch the necklace and handing it to Ingrid.

"I shall reward you and the Guild for this," the Lord promised. "It has saved me twice now."

"Gratitude for the kind words, My Lord," Ingrid replied, bowing her head.

"I hope we don’t need a third time," the Lady remarked. Then she turned to Ingrid, "So, this Static Charge—can you perform it?"

"It’s quite complicated. It also drains a significant amount of magical energy. Even one use can tire the body, making it difficult to access the source again afterward."

"I see. Then the assassin must be skilled. I saw him use it at least twice," the Lady remarked.

"If you're interested, I could describe it more fully. It’s in some of the books I’ve studied," Ingrid offered.

Before they could continue, there was a knock at the door. "My Lord, My Lady, Captain Farkas is requesting an audience," Margo reported from outside.

"I asked for him, let him in," the Lady responded.

Farkas entered, clearly having been in a hurry. His clothes were dusty, and his face showed signs of exhaustion. "My Lord, My Lady, Maester, my apologies for interrupting, but we’ve managed to treat one of the assassins. He’s ready to speak and there’s reason to believe he might not survive the night."

"I’ll come," the Lady said firmly.

"It will be gruesome," Farkas warned.

"I expect no less," she replied coldly.

"Audrey," the Lord pleaded. "You have a baby in your womb. Let others handle this."

"No," she said, turning to him. "I need to see the person who tried to kill my husband and have a little chat."

Ingrid didn't want to intervene but felt the need to warn her. "My Lady, it’s dangerous. He might be the one who can use Static Charge."

"That’s why you’ll be coming with me," the Lady said, looking directly at Ingrid. "Don’t you want to uncover the mastermind behind this?"

"At your service, My Lady," Ingrid said, her voice steady with resolve.

***

Eastern Mansion, West Wing

The Lord and Lady resided in the East Wing, so they had repurposed a cellar in the opposite wing to serve as a temporary holding cell. Ingrid had reunited with Francisca, and the two walked ahead of Lady Audrey. Upon seeing the prisoner, Ingrid immediately confirmed he was indeed a mage.

Even Francisca seemed to sense it, her posture growing guarded. The prisoner had been stripped down to a simple tunic, with basic wound dressings to stop the bleeding from an arrow wound. An iron pillory clamped around his neck and hands, chained to the wooden beam above, forcing the prisoner into a kneeling position.

Farkas had informed them beforehand that the arrowhead was lodged inside the prisoner’s chest. From experience, they knew it would likely be fatal. An operation might save him, but it was just as likely to kill him outright, given how close it was to vital organs.

Sir Harold had decided that only this prisoner would be kept here. The other captives had been taken to the Great Keep under the supervision of Sir Michael and Sir Omin.

"Fascinating," the prisoner muttered weakly, struggling for breath. "To see two mages in this backwater city."

The jailers were quick to raise their rods, but Audrey was faster. "Hold," she ordered.

The jailers stopped and bowed their heads in acknowledgment. Wasting no time, Francisca quickly approached the prisoner with a terrifying grin. "So, we meet again. Shall I tear you apart, limb by limb?" She knelt and used only the tip of her finger to slowly trail along the man’s thigh, barely grazing his skin. Yet even that light touch drew blood.

The prisoner’s face betrayed his fear. Like many who had never faced a half-breed up close, he was overwhelmed by the sight of her claws and fangs—sharp, large, and capable of easily tearing apart limbs.

Behind them, Ingrid carefully scanned the area, ensuring there was no neutral ground, which would be necessary for any attempt at using Static Charge. The Lady, clad in a gambeson that also protected her belly, moved forward. Her movement made Farkas and Francisca grip the prisoner tightly, preventing him from attempting anything.

The prisoner looked at the lady, confusion spreading across his face.

"How does my arrow feel? Do you like it?" the Lady asked, prompting the prisoner to show a flicker of anger. But suddenly, his expression changed drastically—he began to shrivel and tremble.

Ingrid and everyone else saw it: The lady’s eyes darkened with a frightening intensity.

The prisoner trembled harder, but Farkas and Francisca held him tight.

"Tell me, who ordered you?" the Lady demanded.

Instead of answering, the prisoner trembled harder, his shouts turning into desperate wails. The Lady’s patience visibly snapped. Suddenly, something radiated through the air, so alarming that Ingrid involuntarily stepped back. Only then did she realize this was far more than just a Hunter's gaze.

A shudder ran through her as she sensed the prisoner's magic—his source and soul—burning from within. Even from a distance, she could feel his pain radiating like scorching heat. Yet Farkas remained oblivious, while Francisca seemed aware but unbothered. Ingrid’s hands, however, shook uncontrollably—she had just witnessed something far beyond anything her training had ever prepared her for.

***