When monsters begin to talk, they become human again.
Back in Thornridge, Corvus followed the young boy, Felix, to where Captain Elric Ironbough waited for him along with the Squadron Leaders. Crossing the small stretch of the bailey, Corvus saw the ground strewn with hundreds of corpses. He spared a fleeting glance at the fallen before advancing.
A stench fouler than the usual odor of carnage assailed his senses, forcing him to halt. He pointed toward its source, somewhere within the barracks, and asked, "Felix, who took position there?"
Felix answered with some reluctance: "Sir Lucien and... Miss Soraya."
Corvus tilted his head: "Hmm... I'll be back shortly."
Leaving Felix behind, he strolled toward the barracks—the source of the foul reek. Their interior was drenched in scarlet. The faint remnants of the mist had taken a crimson hue as they mixed with the gore, making the blood seem alive.
The number of dead in the barracks was modest compared to the spectacle at the arena. Yet each deed here was more grotesque than the last; an eerie artistry was evident in each kill. It was as though the perpetrator's very intent had been to relish the sensation rather than the act itself. The handiwork of a demon, indeed.
That's our Soraya alright, Corvus thought.
Though he understood her urges, he could never relate to her. As he exited, he noticed another anomaly: the barracks had been cleaned out.
His eyes twitched.
Corvus joined Felix and moved ahead. Felix stopped beside a tent more fortified than others to shield against cold and rain. Its interior, adorned with luxuries, felt far too out of place.
Captain Elric slouched on an oversized sofa, though his big frame made it seem barely adequate for one. Accompanying him were six others; five Corvus recognised as the Squadron Leaders, but the last one sitting on the ground, was new to him.
Cedric's catch, he reckoned.
Three of the Squadron Leaders were sitting on chairs around Captain Elric. The other two were leaning against the wall.
As Corvus and Felix entered the tent, one of the standing leaders noticed them; she was a young woman with carmine hair and an athletic build. Felix cowered under her gaze, offering only a compliant gesture before stepping back. Meeting Corvus' eyes, she spoke in a neutral, respectful tone, "Good job out there, Vice-Cap Ashford."
"Likewise, Soraya," Corvus replied, letting his gaze linger for a few extra seconds before shifting away.
Other Squadron Leaders extended their greetings as well. They admired and respected Corvus, who despite his youth, had been promoted ahead of them purely on merit. Only Soraya Varn, the Fifth Squadron Leader, was younger than him.
Dragging a faldstool, Corvus placed it in front of Elric, with the unknown man in between. Settling on it with ease, Corvus addressed Elric, "You're not sitting on bodies this time. You sure, you're comfortable, geezer?"
"Not as comfortable, I must say. But I make do, you won't hear me complaining—unlike a certain Vice-Captain who was annoyed over some minor inconvenience."
Elric struck a nerve; Corvus grumbled, "Next time, you wait half a day buried in the soil—and I'll wrestle on the ground and gather the guards in one place."
"C'mon, boy, don't sell me short. It took a lot of effort to not kill them quickly. Besides you're not even a Mundukar yet, you can't handle that much alone yet. Not to mention, you lack muscles."
Corvus squinted: "What does that got to do with anything?"
Dodging the question, Elric started eating grapes placed on a stool along with other beverages.
Shaking off his exchange with the Captain, Corvus spoke in a nonchalant manner, "Zuberi, can you tell me how many times have I instructed everyone not to make unnecessary mess during critical missions?"
Two figures—Soraya and Lucien—grew stiff.
Zuberi, the Fourth Squadron Leader, had a sturdy frame and olive skin, he replied, "Innumerable times, Vice-Captain Corvus."
Corvus nodded a few times, and said pleasantly, "Yes, innumerable has the right ring to it. So, what sort of imbeciles would repeat the same mistake and jeopardize the whole mission. It's not for the want of punishment, is it?"
Zuberi and the other two Squadron Leaders on chair remained quiet, betraying slight hints of unease. Elric silently savoured the exchange, while sipping his sweet ale. Only Soraya and Lucien remained steady, as if unmoved, or perhaps petrified beyond recovery.
An ominous silence loomed inside the tent.
Soon broken by Lucien Valecrest, a man in his early thirties, and the Third Squadron Leader: "Apologies, good sir Corvus, I must say I'm utterly appalled by the actions of Soraya. You must be aware, how barbarous and belligerent this lad gets—"
His justification was cut-short by Corvus: "Upon closer inspection, I found something odd: none of the soldiers had anything of worth left on them, in fact the entire barrack had not a single thing of value left. Two possibilities come to mind, either they were destitute beyond measure, or somebody had ransacked them—mid-mission! Do you mind shedding some light on that, good sir Lucien?"
Scratching his head, Lucien remarked, "The fact that you're addressing me so courtly speaks volumes of your ire, Vice-Cap." He took a short pause to let the tension build.
While others raised eyebrows as they sought to cope with the absurdity of Lucien's remark.
Only Soraya's lips curled slightly upward, giving her deadpan face a smug look: Knew this one!
Lucien continued in a dramatic tone, "But... Let me reassure you, Vice-Captain. It was not I, but—" A soft yet firm hand pressed on Lucien's shoulder.
Glancing over he saw Soraya; her eyes oozed spite, yet she spoke evenly, "You weren't about to put the entire blame on me, right...Lucien."
Gulping down his imaginary fear in the face of a very real person, Lucien assuredly patted her shoulders: "Oh my dear Soraya, so quick to jump to conclusions."
And quicker still to violence, Lucien added in his mind.
"I was about to have you exonerated by serving as a first hand observer, but it saddens me to no end: how can you doubt a scrupulous person, your friend, like this? If it were Isolde, that pathological liar, everyone would've understood—but me!"
No one bought his ruse, but this did not deter Lucien from continuing further. Finding a chair at the back of the room, he sat down—head bowed, seemingly aggrieved.
Corvus opened his mouth to declare their punishment. Yet before he could, Elric put down his empty ale mug forcefully, producing a loud thud from the stool. Interjecting, he spoke casually, "Given our current circumstances, punishing either of these rascals would be too much of a hassle. So... I say, let's postpone it until we reach Shardmarch."
Glancing at Corvus, who looked less than content with the outcome, Elric continued in a spuriously stern voice, "I will personally see to their punishments, considering my life was on the line, when they decided to engage in their pastime activities. You good with this, Corvus?"
Corvus simply nodded.
Lucien commented, his words echoing from behind, "Cap, I've heard calm consequences are time-tested methods for enforcing long-term discipline, compared to brute punishments. The latter might, in fact, deteriorate one's behaviour beyond recovery, making them ever recalcitrant. You wouldn't want young Soraya to become a delinquent. Would you?"
"Pain is a stellar stimulant for all sorts of situations, perhaps that might suffice to make you more conscientious, right, good sir Lucien" Corvus stated apathetically, while steadily caressing his double-bladed glaive.
Lucien hurriedly added, "Now that I think about it, those may have been little more than rumors from an unreliable source. Let's stick to what our sagacious leaders know, right Soraya."
Soraya gave a death-inducing glance, forcing Lucien to take his seat obediently.
Finally, inspecting the unknown sixth person, Corvus noticed an unmistakably regal air about him. The man, aged well past his prime, was a map of creases and furrows. Forced onto the cold floor in disgrace, yet he radiated a quiet charisma. His coral-hued eyes, magnetic and unyielding, commanded attention.
Clad in nothing but white garments—snatched before he could properly dress—he seemed diminished, but his eyes seethed with untold malice. When it met Corvus, the young man instinctively recoiled.
Pointing at him, Corvus asked, "Who's this fellow, geezer?"
"This here was an esteemed guest of the fort's previous incumbents." Leaving the lavish seat, Elric crouched beside the man. Callously placing his broad palm on the man's head, Elric stroked his hair—disheveling him.
The man's eyes widened, clearly such an affront was an ignoble experience for him. Yet, the worst was yet to come. Elric intensified his strokes, wobbling the man's upper body, using his head as a handle. The man's veins throbbed, threatening to burst, and his eyes strained, becoming bloodshot red. But, despite his palpable outrage, the man made no sound, nor offered any resistance—gnawing his lips tightly, a few drops of blood trickled out.
Perhaps because he recognised the futility of protest, or out of some misplaced principle.
Elric, at last satiated, stopped harassing the man, and continued gleefully, "Now he's a potential friend of ours with whom we are entering into a barter of sorts."
Raising an eyebrow, Corvus inquired, "Special guest, really? Just how big of a catch is he? Don't tell me we are ransoming him; they're always more trouble than they're worth."
Casually swatting the man's head, Elric replied, "No, we aren't. Although, if we did ask for a ransom, then I'm sure the Velmoria Imperium would gladly hand over a few of their castles. But no, that's not the course we are taking. You see, boy, this here is a key figure in the Velmoria's imperial design—a strategist of sorts, a War Architect.This is an unprecedented gain for the Shardmarch Sovereignty, or, optimistically, collapse of the Velmoria Imperium altogether."
Corvus was momentarily taken aback by their astounding achievement.
A War Architect! One of the most prized assets the Velmoria Imperium possesses. Second only to the Oracles of Strategem, he must be intimate with a lot of critical intel, especially about their elites—Velmorian Axiarchs, Corvus mused.
Cedric, the First Squadron Leader, the one who apprehended the War Architect, questioned, "Captain Ironbough, if I may ask, what sort of barter are you referring to?"
Rising steadily, Elric Ironbough towered over the War Architect. He replied jovially, "A barter, you see lad, is between commodities of equal value, so..."
He glanced down at the War Architect, mirth no longer shimmered in Elric's eye, replaced by a sinister light as he continued, "So, we'd love to barter your life for something you'd deem to be of equal value. I mean, we wouldn't want to swindle you, sir."
The War Architect glared at him in disdain.
"What? You want to know how we found you?" Elric acted surprised. "Well, we're a raiding party of sorts sanctioned by the crown on one condition: we raid enemies only. And you, sir, just stumbled upon us."
Elric smiled and pulled the War Architect close. "Aren't we a match made in heaven."