Chapter 23

The Silent Storm

"I've seen the downtrodden begging toward the Light and seen the Light reject them. From it I had learned, we are only as good as our most unfortunate are."

Mind of the Heretic, Vol. V

It was a piercing scream that awoke the slumbering city rather than the hanging sun; it bellowed and echoed out amongst the streets of the lower ridge, snapping the glued eyes open, stretching the nerves taut. From the silence of the night, the day of chatter and hubbub emerged, with hundreds trailing around a small butchery, one that nearly nobody knew even existed just a night prior, gathering in circles and squares and lines, pointing fingers and exhaling in horror.

It didn’t take long for the guards to be alarmed to the situation, and it took even less for the entire city to turn their eyes toward the distance, the information having reached them.

Lyvel S’otirn was having a peaceful night’s sleep when the doors to his chambers in the barracks were slammed open, startling him awake. One of his immediate subordinates was seemingly breathing fire, sweat dripping furiously from his enclosed face, breathing ragged and quick as he stormed into the Lyvel’s room. The latter nearly reached for the sword perched against the night desk, but having quickly recognized the 'intruder' recovered and fell into confusion.

“C-c-captain!! A-are you awake?!” the young lad stuttered in-between the panting, perching himself against the bed’s frame.

“I am, I am. What the hell happened?” Lyvel quickly got off the bed and over to the lad, helping the latter take off the helmet. A youthful face emerged, marred with a long-winding scar across the forehead, though otherwise rather handsome – Ilon Vernum was one of the few of the noble children who took the duties as a guard seriously, which was why Lyvel considered him one of his right-hand men. “Breathe lad, breathe. Tell me, what’s wrong? Are we getting invaded?”

“N-no… no…” Ilon uttered. “There… hah,hah, there was… there was a murder…”

“… what?” Lyvel frowned, the blood in his veins freezing. Within the ranks of the city guards, there was one very specific distinction – saying ‘there was a death’ and ‘there was a murder’ carried immensely different implications, so much so that ‘there was a murder’ hasn’t been uttered in nearly a decade now. “Where?”

“Lower ridge,” Ilon replied, recovering somewhat. “This morning…”

“Take me there!”

“Y-yes, Captain!”

Lyvel quickly fitted on his silver-cast gear and strapped the shortsword to his waist, following the just-recovered lad out of the barracks and out into the city streets. The same streets that just yesterday appeared erroneously peaceful were now all but, with lines formed left and right, full of concerned and troubled faces. Even without his direct orders, the guards that were on night duty, just before the shift’s change, had already started maintaining the peace, ordering the people to specific places. They’re well trained, he mused inwardly as he made his way down, six more guards joining him on the way.

The small entourage reached the place within half an hour's walk; it was already gated off by nearly ten city guards who were maintaining order, all sighing in relief when they saw their Captain appear, walking over and greeting him.

“Show me the body.” He said before asking any questions. One of the guards nodded and led him into a small, downtrodden butchery to the left. A pervasive stench immediately assailed Lyvel’s senses, though he merely frowned, enduring it.

To the right side was a still-hanging line of skinned pork and beef, gated by a wooden counter that ran into a shape of letter ‘L’ flipped upside down. To the left was a small, resting area, where a singular chair stood perched against the wall, currently a host to a bloodied mess.

Lyvel approached with a faint sense of apprehension; a large amount of blood had pooled beneath the chair, with a rather fat man sitting above, head pulled back, eyes wide open, staring into the ceiling with fright. There was a massive gash running across the man's neck, wholly encased in dried blood that ran down the chest and the sides, folding over the man's body. Across the chest, however, was where Lyvel saw the most disturbing sight in his twenty-year-long career as a guard – there were two letters, hand-carved it seemed, standing there, 'AB'.

The letters themselves were clearly cleaned up to be visible, enriching the disturbing scene further. Beyond the body, there was nothing else – at least at the first glance – that was touched or taken.

“… who was the first of you to get here?” he asked the small entourage behind him consisting of six guards.

“It was me, Captain!” Lyvel frowned further as a young woman stepped out of ranks, taking off her helmet. Long, brown hair spilled out like water from underneath, cascading down the shimmering armor, a pair of gem-like red eyes emotionlessly meeting Lyvel’s. Asandra – that was her name, as far as he knew. She was inducted directly by the Commander himself and was a thorn in Lyvel’s eyes as he had no means of controlling her.

“When?” he asked, taking a deep breath.

“Shortly before the sunrise,” she replied emotionlessly. “I was patrolling the southern walls and spotted groups of people moving toward here. After making sense of the situation, I tried instating order, though only managed to do so when the guards from patrols began returning from the night shift, passing me, with their help.”

“… what do we know?” he asked.

“The man’s name is Ricarrd Towlsoth,” Asandra said. “He was found by his wife, Syana, like this. He was the owner of the butchery and failed to return home last night. However, according to his wife, it was not too strange as he did it on occasion, usually either spending the night in brothels or falling asleep here."

“…” the silence fell over the small group as Lyvel turned to deep thought. He already knew this was well above his paygrade, as he was merely a glorified soldier who got to his position almost entirely due to connections, but he at least had to put on a pretense of trying to solve it before relegating it to those above him.

“If I may, Captain.” Asandra broke his false silence, prompting him to frown and glare at her, though invoking no reaction back.

“Speak. What is it?” he said curtly.

"I believe we should defer this to the Commander," she said. "Rather than murder, this seems more like assassination." This bitch, Lyvel thought hatefully, though managed to maintain his expression.

“Are you saying we are incapable of solving this, soldier?” he asked, prompting a few grunts of disapproval from her peers.

“Yes,” she replied emptily. “Take notice of the wound,” she pointed at the gash across the neck. “It was a single, clean slice. Nobody heard anything, nobody saw anything, and there is nothing left on the scene besides ‘AB’. It is clear this was planned; it is beyond the description of a ‘guard’ to handle this.”

“…” Lyvel’s insides continued to churn as he fought with himself to not lash out onto her. Of course, he knew very well that what she said was true – but now he wouldn’t be able to get anything out of it. She had most-likely just caused him quite a few Crowns in the long run. “If you think so, go ahead, soldier,” he said, turning around. “Defer to the Commander yourself. And have him yell at you for not maintaining the safety of the city.” Tsk, I need to take care of her soon, he thought as he left the building. She’s too much of a liability…

Asandra glanced emptily at the fading back of her Capitan as well as all the other guards who glared at her for a moment before leaving as well. She didn’t respond to them, quickly shifting her focus back onto the body once they left. A strange gleam flashed through her eyes as she approached, crouching down, staring intensely at the corpse, staying so for nearly half an hour, lost in thought.

**

Myrell and Sash felt cold as they boarded a small carriage; the two were dressed in a rather fashionable garb, and looked better than ever before in their lives – yet felt just as bad. They've heard the chatter, the rumors, the talk of the city – the murder in the lower ridge, a butcher, 'AB' carved on his chest. Right opposite of them, inside the carriage, sat the instigator of it, wearing heavy makeup as to appear almost fifteen years younger, dressed in a crimson-gold gown, a look of indifference in his eyes, seemingly ready to fall asleep as soon as the wagon departs.

“… do you think I went too far?” he asked, breaking the heavy silence and startling the two.

“N-no, o-of course not—”

“I have,” Myrell’s awkward attempts at reigning in a potentially bad outcome were interrupted swiftly by him as he smiled. “Of course I went too far,” he added with a bitter chuckle, sighing. “I murdered a man in cold blood and then desecrated his corpse.”

“…” Sash and Myrell remained silent, the former even nodding faintly against his will.

“… it’s not an excuse, but I do have my own rationalization of it,” he said. “I could have merely wounded him, or just poisoned him. I would have given the warning just the same, but… it wouldn’t have mattered. Human nature is such that we ignore the subtle plight of decadence. If we hear of a man who fell asleep and never woke up, we don’t think much of it. On the other hand, if we hear of a man who had his throat slashed and his corpse desecrated, it stays with us. Back… home, a lot of things that ended terribly or never amounted to anything, did so because those in charge weren’t cruel enough. When we were cruel, it usually meant a swift end to the suffering.”

“…”

“As I said, it’s no excuse,” he added, chuckling faintly. “But, if you’re planning on sticking by my side, I suggest you get accustomed to it. Both of you have already realized that I’m a cruel man, even before today. However might the saintly judge me, it is that cruelty that ensured I still live. Undoubtedly, it will mark my end one day too, but the trade-off is well worth it. Now, I won't have to kill anyone else to slowly influence them. To remind them they can't steal from us. Luckily for us," he continued as the carriage slowly began moving, and as he closed his eyes. "Desperation is far more powerful of emotion than fear or terror are. Go to sleep now; the journey will be long and boring. Might as well make it to the other side fully rested."