Chapter 63: Pilfering Norsanti Weapon

Chapter 63: Pilfering Norsanti Weapon

"Excuse me," I interjected.

"Yes?"

"Forget it. Nice to meet you, Kuragin."

"The feeling is mutual, my lord."

"Boss, you've been employed."

"Well, yes. More like conscripted, really."

"You should instruct him to never use this power for ill intentions."

"I'll remember that."

It also dawned on me that it would now be trickier, being somewhat in his employ, to resist seeking the information he desired. Hopefully, I'd get lucky, and nobody would attempt to steal any of the weapons. Something told me that was wishful thinking.

Kuragin bid us both a courteous farewell and left.

I asked, "Drevolan, what are you keeping from me?"

"Many things."

"Specifically. I sense you're not just generally concerned about someone pilfering a random Norsanti weapon."

"Alright, alright," I interrupted. "Forget it."

I hadn't desired a technical explanation, I'd wanted her to assert, "It was essential to the entire campaign." I yearned to have played a more crucial part. We were just one unit on the board, no more significant than any other. Every piece yearns to be, if not a player, then at least the piece players are most concerned about.

The fact that I wasn't a player perturbed me. I guess I was merely a pawn, following orders from my Vorgan superiors, but at that point, I had been governing my own area for a short while and had grown accustomed to it. That was part of the issue: In the Vorgan hierarchy, I was, if not the top commander, at least a senior field officer. Here, I was... well, I was a number of things, but combined, they still seemed insignificant.

But how did we land ourselves in this mess? There weren't any grand principles at stake. One judges a war based on who is right as long as they're detached from the outcome. But if you're a participant, or if the result significantly impacts you, you must construct the moral justifications that put you in the rightit's common knowledge. Yet this war was so glaringly primal. Nobody could concoct a plausible faade to disguise it. It was a dispute over territory, power, expansion rights, stripped of any pretense.

Such pretenses can provide comfort when you're marching toward a line of dangerous, pointy objects.

Verill's demise triggered everything. Drevolan persuaded me to lay a trap to identify potential thieves of what I preferred to keep at bay. Thorne, my second-in-command in the organization, seemed concerned when I informed him about it, but I'm certain that even he, despite his superior understanding of Dragons, couldn't foresee the resulting turmoil.

"What if someone does snatch one, and you identify them," he said, "and it turns out to be an entity you'd rather not engage with?"

"That, indeed, is the crucial question. But the likelihood of a Vorgan being involved seems low."

"No, Viktor, it will be a Dragon. That's the issue."

Well, he was a Dragon; he should be aware. No, he wasn't a Dragon, he was a Vorgan, but he ought to be informed. He had once been a Dragon, which impliedwhat?

I observed Thorne. I knew him better than anyone I had ever truly known. We had collaborated as enforcers when I initially joined the Vorgan, and we had continued working together ever since. He was the only Imperion I didn't despise, maybe except Liora. Upon reflection, I didn't comprehend her, either.

Thorne was brave yet timid, benevolent yet brutal, laid-back yet committed, amiable yet absolutely ruthless; he also had the peculiar ability, or flaw, to blend so seamlessly into the background that one could look directly at him without noticing his presence.

I couldn't recall a single proposal of mine that he hadn't criticized, nor one that he hadn't fully supportedquite literally, in some instances.