Celle

“Back when I was a detective, I worked with the Imperial Guards—I wasn’t officially part of the guards, but they needed my services enough that they always hired me when they needed me to clean up after their mess, which was always.” I looked at the man called Reven carefully. “I don’t have [Investigation] on me, but this was something I had been suspecting for a while…chief, that is really you, isn’t it?”

“What of it?” Reven asked. “Does that change anything?”

“For one, it means I would like to formally complain about my termination.”

“You have filed a complaint already.”

“And your order to banish me from my homeland—most unkind severance package, sir. Most employers offer some gold, perhaps a few days of warning. I do not think your offer was nearly as kind.”

Reven tilted his head. “I did give you warning. I believe I said you would come to regret investigating the case any further.”

“But I haven’t come to regret anything,” I told him, raising an index finger as if having just made a huge discovery. “So you neglected to give me a warning of the actual consequences—that I would have to escape from the city.”

“Ah, well,” Reven replied, a sort of nonchalantness about him as he shrugged and smiled. “I hope you can forgive me for that—maybe I can interest you in a better warning now?”

“Try me.”

“Promise to not take the Harlock manor even should your team come victorious and I will refrain from killing you right now.”

“Ah, I see, that’s very direct.”

This explained the lack of guards around. I can see the chain of events that led up to this. At first, Reven was reasonably certain he was going to win—but as the match progressed, he made a call and decided to plan around a possible loss. With no witnesses but many injuries, he intended on murdering us and claiming self-defence. While he could try a less subtle approach, it would be hard for him to get Trial by Combat done with as many witnesses as he would normally have. Not to mention he has a lot of enemies…he has sided with Johan, but we know there is still an anti-Johan faction of some influence.

No, that was the wrong way to look at it.

I couldn’t know for sure that being with Johan wouldn’t protect him from the law.

Not until now.

If he went through the trouble of leaving no witnesses, it’s because he’s not confident he can get rid of all witnesses and be found innocent. This must mean that either Johan is not fully behind him or that Johan’s influence has limits. Which one, though? “What about a deal, chief?” I asked, almost as a joke. “You just join us and help us take down Johan and we won’t kill you.”

“Oh please, you couldn’t pay me enough to betray that man,” he replied, laughing.

[Investigation] is gone, but I still have other [Skills] to use.

[Empathy]

Reven: Amusement

Ah, now so the idea of betraying Johan amused him, did it? As if it was a joke. If he were afraid of Johan, his emotions would be different. This reaction fits the idea that being with Johan is incredibly beneficial to him. Meaning Reven had prepared this not because Johan wouldn’t help him, but because Johan likely couldn’t help him enough.

That was interesting.

If Johan was lacking in support among the higher nobles to that degree, what was his plan for keeping the entire Empire from rebelling once he won the Battle for the Crown? Something is not adding up…Johan must have a plan, surely.

This was important information, and I was glad to have found it out.

But there was something slightly more pressing at the moment.

“We need a Levelling Sphere,” I told him. Over my shoulder, I glanced behind me at Isabella, unconscious on Gilder’s arms. She won’t last long. “Now.”

“Very well—let us negotiate then, shall we?” Reven replied, clapping his hands together and smiling. Then, with a raised eyebrow and a smile that said he knew the ridiculousness that was going to leave his lips, he said, “One sphere in return for you resigning from the match.”

“That’s not happening.”

“Your friend might die, you know!” Reven cried out, as if scandalized. “How long do you think she has? Five? Ten minutes? You don’t have time to negotiate with me here—take the deal. Swear it upon an oath, I can get some witnesses—they are locked inside the castle right now, but they will be happy to come out when needed.”

I considered the situation. We need the manor in order to be able to harm Johan’s ability to seize the Empire, I told myself. This wasn’t the only reason, I knew. Deep inside, a part of me was almost willing to throw away Isabella’s life if it meant I could get one more shot at solving that mystery. At times, I had thought it was just something I wanted really badly—but the feeling was different.

When you want something and you end up not getting it, the feelings that come to mind are annoyance, anger, frustration—you really wish things were different, that you could have it. But this was different. When you need something this badly, not having it feels like someone is trying to take your last piece of bread when you have gone starving for months. Consequences stop mattering in your head. You know they are there, you know they are real, you know you should care. But somehow those worries seem distant—not having it seems worse than anything else that could happen. And you start to hate yourself for it, as you realize you care more about it than your friends. Your family. Even yourself. But even that self-loathing isn’t enough to keep you away from it.

I need to solve this mystery. Was it still because of my friends who died that night? Was it still because I wanted to prove myself right? Shit. I have to get it together.

“You’re right we can’t wait,” I barked out. “So let’s stop wasting time.”

I drew my smallsword and glared at him with my steel.

This is the only option.

“There are no witnesses, right?” I said slyly. “Good.”

“I figured it would come to that,” Reven said plainly.

At this moment I felt a desperate tug of my sleeves. “Celle—don’t do it,” Gilder muttered. “He—he’s too strong. We can’t do anything about him!”

“Let me negotiate with him!” Nevada exclaimed nervously. “I heard stories about how strong he is, we can’t—we can’t do it like this.”

“It doesn’t matter if we can or not,” I snapped back. “There is no other option. We need the crime scene to interrupt Johan and we need the sphere to save Isabella. He’s not going to give it to us, so we’re going to have to take it by force. There is no other answer.”

Reven laughed thunderously. Even before he drew his blade, his eyes had changed. No longer were they the eyes of an amused merchant. Now, they seemed like the eyes of a hunter—one who hunts for sport over subsistence. Then he drew his blade, and I wanted to take a step back.

[Reven the Bladestopper]

[Level]: 65

[Swordsmanship]: 12

[Sword]: 1433 (LEGENDARY SWORD — Crescent Isle)

[Duel Record]: 9 Wins, 0 Losses, 0 Draws

[HP]: 5349

[Skills]

[Restoration]: 3566

[Diplomacy]: 1783

[Poison]: 4012

[Blacksmith]: 4904

[Empathy]: 6241

[Investigation]: 892

[Stealth]: 1338

[Appraisal]: 17832

[Blessings]

Hidden Stats — Show them only at user’s discretion.

[Curses]

None

It was like standing before a burning building. More than a sense of immense danger, it felt foolish to even be standing near him. Like there was no good outcome.

The world’s richest man, I thought. And before I realized it, I had taken a step back. Even richer than the Emperor himself…

It had been a long standing rumor that due to the crown’s debts the royal family was, although richer than most, no longer the richest family in the Empire by a decent amount. I had no confirmation of such—until now.

Swordsmanship can never increase, no matter what you do. But every other stat can increase by 10% every time you level up. It’s just, it takes more and more spheres to level up, and they are absurdly expensive. Almost no one gets past level 20.

But he had. And my own Swordsmanship didn’t even reach the 100s!

“You want everything,” Reven said, smiling. “I respect that—so do I. But our desires aren’t compatible…and as such, I’m afraid this ends here.”

“For you,” I barked back. Still, I could not keep the fear out of my voice. Those stats…even Carr or Isabella would probably die against him. What do I do? Think. Time to plan. I need something…anything!

“You should surrender to me,” Reven said. “Come on now, you don’t really want to solve the murder that badly, do you?”

What the hell is this imbecile saying? Of fucking course I—

Suddenly his point appeared very logical. Why hadn’t I seen it before? Of course, fighting was a foolish decision! Reven was being incredibly kind and offering me the chance to surrender and keep my life. Why, how lucky had I been to have him as my chief earlier! To betray his trust like I did by insisting on reopening the case—I was the most foolish woman to ever live, really! Ah, how kind he was! “You’re right,” I said, smiling. “The case doesn’t really—“

“CELLE!” Gilder shouted as he stabbed me.

It wasn’t a deep wound—only a graze around the side of my arm. But it was enough for me to snap back to reality. Princess Nevada stood back, guarding Isabella who had been placed on the ground and rested against the guardrails on the bridge. We were on the bridge now, I realized, albeit only by a few steps. Gilder stood behind me, shaking. “His—his [Diplomacy] is absurd. He can convince you just about anything.” His face turned dark. “I…I have been victim of it many times. I didn’t realize it until I left the castle, but he—he can convince you of just about anything.”

“You wound me, Gilder,” Reven said mockingly. “Do you mean to imply you didn’t serve me out of free will?”

I’m sure there were times he didn’t need to use it on Gilder, I thought. Then, shaking my head once more to regain a measure of spatial awareness, I said, “Is there a weakness?”

“Pain,” Gilder said promptly. “If—if you feel pain you get brought back to normal. And he can’t use it on more than one person at once.”

So the trick is going to be to approach this as a team. “Gilder,” I said, through heavy breath, “stay behind me—if he gets me under Diplomacy, I need you to stab me to keep me awake, got it?”

“S—same to you,” he replied.

Gilder’s blade was pointing down, and his blades were shaking. He’s not ready to fight against his master…he’s going to be useless here. Nevada is a fragile princess. Isabella is nearly dead right now. Guess this is up to me. The thought didn’t inspire me much confidence. But no matter what, I had to—

“WHERE IS HE?” I shouted. SHIT. I LOST TRACK OF HIM FOR A SECOND—THIS IS A GODDAMN BRIDGE, HOW IS HE GONE?

“Gilder, my boy, I am truly glad to see you safe,” he said, behind me. I whirled around in shock, to find Gilder on his knees, shaking, while Reven gently caressed his hair with a paternal smile on his face. “Trust me, it was only because Johan assured me you would be safe that I relented in using you! Ah, but I would never do anything to harm, you, surely you know—”

He was using Diplomacy and I was too far away to stab him awake. “Gilder!” I shouted.

Gilder’s eyes went wide for a moment—then he swung his sword, a rapier, at empty air. Reven retreated—going past me to do so—with a seemingly concerned expression on his face. Then, it relaxed into a smile. “Ah…biting your own lip? Are you that scared of me, Gilder my boy?”

“Yes,” Gilder muttered. Blood was flowing down from his lips now; his mouth was half open; his eyes wide; his fear palpable. “But I…I know what to do with you. The moment I see you, I just—just have to make myself feel pain. Any way I can.”

It’s not easy to bite your lip that hard…even if you try to. How scared is he of him? It wasn’t hard to imagine the answer. I could imagine exactly how scared he was—how scared I would be if I had to see this man on a daily basis. Would I even be able to look him in the eye?

“I hope you would,” Reven said suddenly. “Most people do not look me in the eye, you know? They are afraid. Because they know that I know. With Investigation this high, I can do just about anything, you know? And since Johan stole yours, you can’t even try to defend it.”

SHIT! Switch to Visbonian. Eu não posso deixar esse maldito descobrir os nossos planos, preciso—(I can’t let this bastard find out about our plans, I have to—)

“Eu também sei falar Visbonian,” (I can also speak Visbonian) he said. “Don’t waste your time. Ah, but you already know, don’t you?”

He stepped forward. “Oh, you talked a big game about wanting to do the right thing—but that’s only because it’s the only way you can appease both your conscience and your obsession. You are sick and you know it. There’s no way you’re coming out of this alive.”

“That’s not—I am not—”

“I can see it in your mind. Are you aware of your own thoughts?” He took another step forward. “That horrible, sinking feeling you’re experiencing is the weight of hopelessness. The hands of time mercilessly move to the right, your throat closes up, and you’ve started to doubt your goals. A most horrible thought occurs to you: ‘He can’t be beaten.’ You are, of course, correct. You’ve been correct since you allowed the thought to enter your mind.”

Suddenly he was in front of me, holding my chin upwards and looking me in the eye. “I need not my skills to know you are afraid, Celle. You are afraid.”

I leaped back to get away from him. Immediately, I reached for my sword and squeezed it tightly with my free hand, hoping the cut would snap me awake. But the fear didn’t leave me. That wasn’t diplomacy, I realized. I…I am just afraid.

“God made me weak!” Reven spoke theatrically, opening his arms wide and projecting his voice. “But I made myself strong. Swordsmanship cannot be defeated by anything other than swordsmanship—foolish idea, that one. One popularized only by the poor bastards that never reached my level. Are you capable of basic arithmetic? I am level 65! Imagine how weak I was when I started!”

“And that’s what you do with your new place in life?” I managed to shout back. “You—you know how hard it was to survive when you were just a normal person with low stats, don’t you? Then why—why are you doing this?”

“Because I did survive!” Reven’s face tightened, and for the first time he appeared angry. “By myself, with no one’s help! Why should I help them? I’m proof that even in this system, you can become strong. You can climb up even higher than those born with divine levels of Swordsmanship! Why should I handicap myself for the sake of helping those too lazy to follow my path?”

“You think laziness is the only reason they don’t turn out like you?” I cried out incredulously. “You can’t possibly think that. By definition, there can only be so many people as successful as you! I’m sure you must have crossed paths with other merchants like you, right? People with low stats that crawled their way to the top. But then—”

“Then I crushed them beneath my heel,” Reven laughed. At my—I presume—most hateful expression, he raised an eyebrow and said, “You expect me to feel sorry for those who lack competence? No one is entitled to anything in this world. So long as you are competent enough, you can climb anywhere.”

“What the hell do you even want?” I shouted. “You’re already rich beyond imagination—what do you want more?”

Reven smiled. “I want my own country.”

Johan promised him his own country? Does that mean he plans on invading somewhere soon? Where—Inglaterra!

“Correct!” Reven said, smiling. “You’ve always been really clever. That’s why I liked working with you. Unfortunately, I really cannot allow you to leave with that information.”

I had to think of a plan—but how? He was reading all my thoughts at that very moment. We needed to escape—we needed to save Isabella. Shit. Shit. There’s so much we have to do and not enough time—! GODDAMN IT!

“You are wrong, Lord Reven,” said Nevada.

I hadn’t expected her to say anything.

I most definitely had not expected her to step forward.

Not with that regal expression, completely lacking in fear.

“I am wrong?” he repeated, laughing. “How so? Do you mean to imply, Your Highness, that I should help those who—”

“Absolutely, but that’s not the point I’m objecting to here. No, that would take a long debate. What I’m objecting to is a point I can verifiably prove wrong right now.”

“You have my attention, Your Highness.”

Have you ever worked out something in your head moments before it happens? Enough that though you aren’t consciously aware of it, you realize the implications of it and start to panic moments before? Nevada—are you?

“Have you ever tried holding your breath underwater, Lord Reven?”

Reven tilted his head to the side. “Of course I have.”

“It’s a most unpleasant feeling, isn’t it?” Nevada asked politely. “But it gets less and less uncomfortable the more you do it. Of course, it never becomes a pleasant feeling, but you get used to it. You cannot hold your breath forever, however—it goes beyond mere discomfort, you need air to breathe. The question I pose to you is—if you never died from it, if the discomfort never rose above half of your tolerance, how long could you hold your breath for? I put forth this position: that you could hold it for your whole life.”

Reven said nothing, and merely studied her carefully as she went on.

“This is a most peculiar feeling,” she said, smiling. “And only Lord Valle really understands what that feeling is like—it is most suffocating. Talking to him about it helped me a great deal.”

FUCK. HOW COME I DIDN’T REALIZE IT SOONER? SHE’S AN IMPERIAL PRINCESS!

“In this Empire, the crown isn’t hereditary—but neither is it forbidden for the child of the Emperor to retain the crown, should they prove themselves capable of it. Ah, but of course, this doesn’t mean that the nobility enjoys the idea of a family retaining power like that for two generations—so hidden daggers and foul-tasting cups are often employed. Do you catch my meaning?”

“Not quite, Your Highness,” Reven replied slowly. “Please, go on.”

“One of the reasons why the Swordsmanship system can be unfair is that Trials by Combat are rather common and the nobility is stronger than commoners—we are more likely to inherit stats from our parents than otherwise, after all. And you will remember, of course, that the Emperor is only crowned after winning the Battle for the Crown, a tournament which includes the World Champion, yes?”

“Are you implying—”

“I am his daughter,” Nevada said. “The Imperial Princess!”

[Nevada the Imperial Princess]

[Swordsmanship]: 238 → 1820

[Sword]: 120

“Allow me to demonstrate, Lord Reven, that not all the gold in the world can make a pitiful mutt compete against royal Swordsmanship.”