Chapter 75

Behind the Curtains (I)

“In the dim darkness… in the hazy shadows… in the Mist… come… come and find me…”

Fragments

Lymena waved her left arm rigidly, feeling the dull ache echoing from her armpit, stretching into her head. It’s been a few days since her clash with the mysterious man, but the pain hardly eased, even with the applications of numerous numbing herbs. Nonetheless, though painful, it was a worthwhile lesson. She had confidence in herself, as one ought to do, but it did her no good if she overestimated her abilities.

What mattered the most at the moment was that she jotted down the man’s fighting style and what caught her unaware. From her analysis, recalling the fight, he didn’t move spectacularly quickly, contrary to her initial reaction; rather, he simply didn’t have any excessive movements. Everything he did had a precise reason and, unlike her and many, if not most others she knew, he barely moved his body, mostly only using his limbs.

In addition, his strikes were precise and to the point. She suspected that, if he were quicker, or at least if he chose to be quicker, she would have been unable to evade any of his attacks, even while enriching her muscles with Light. The last attack, however, was the crucible – no matter how hard she thought on it… she didn't even begin to fathom just how exactly did he sneak the dagger past her senses and stuck it into her armpit. The overt movement was an obvious distraction, she knew that even at the time as he didn't seem the type to simply try the same moves over and over again, but she didn't know what it was a distraction for – and most certainly didn't consider it that big of a distraction as to erase the dagger entirely from her vision.

The reason she got so good at fighting, despite being so young, was that she studied every single battle she’d ever been a part of – in excruciating detail at that. She incorporated the movements of others that she liked, slowly shaving away at her own excess, polishing and molding her fighting style to what she considered, until just a few days ago, its utmost limit. The downsides were simply up to her physicality and Light, and not the style itself. She was wrong, however, as she’d learned.

She could still shave off extra movement; in the end, there was little need for the excess strain on the muscles in vain attempts to distract if anything can be countered within lithe and sublime means. He was certainly agile, but she wagered that he wasn't at her level – after all, past only the movements themselves, she'd also chiseled her body in such a way as to be as flexible as possible. He, on the other hand, appeared bulkier, namely in how impossibly hard she felt leaving his grip was and the fact that he barely moved from the spot the entire fight until the last strike.

Sighing, she ground several red leaves and rolled them into white cloth, reapplying her dressing over the wound. She was still a few days out from returning to Elucido, though she’d already sent the word ahead to her Father. What was left now, was the wait. The wait until the news from the frontline came… that her brother had heroically passed away, defending his Kingdom.

Though she had no love for Ludwig, as his excessive arrogance, slime behavior and lack of subtleness had always rubbed her the wrong way, it still felt off… knowingly sending her own blood to die. Because he would die – that much was certain. Even if he had the Light, he had never practiced it, relying entirely on his status and titles as the shield from the backlash against his actions. And that man… he clearly didn’t care for either of those. She’d understood that, a long while ago, by the words of her own Father, that there are some people in the world that don’t care for blood or for names or the shiny, elongated rows of titles and blessings. Bloodsworn were among them, yet, her instinct told her that the man was, in some ways, even worse than them.

Though the 'Reapers' as a lot of the mainlanders called them cared little for the personal status of a person, they did show deference to truly opulent figures – the King, the Lightbringer, the Royalty in general, and even some of the more powerful Dukes. However ruthless, they still knew that they wouldn’t survive the full brunt of the Lumina’s forces should they take their gambling too far.

She was curious as to the man's identity, but knew it was pointless to deliberate; the men and women like him, who chose to live as a symbol, a mask, didn't have an identity, to begin with. They were ghosts, illusions, the sweet whispers with no name, no birthplace or birthright, no land, and no family. That was precisely the reason why they could disregard everyone and everything, as they had nothing to lose.

For that reason, she suspected that the relationship between Skyler, Noah, and even the Princess herself was simply a business transaction of sorts. They offered him something, and he was temporarily keeping an eye out on them, just in case. Men like him were both most hated and loved by the Nobles – loved, for the coin can buy them, and hated because the coin can also tempt them away. Never loyal, never willing to sacrifice everything… just temporary mercenaries for hire.

**

Unmir stared lazily at his unexpected visitor, a figure whose face would have shaken the majority of the Kingdom had it been seen – Sigmund O'vorell, the Second Prince himself. Unmir, however, hardly felt the sensation of awe and honor over being visited, and mostly dreaded that the task he was about to be assigned would be tiring. It wasn't the first time Sigmund came to him and tasked him with something and, if he continued to bend his knee to the Prince, it most certainly wouldn't be the last.

Unmir's lazy look was hidden beneath the strands of his long, dark hair, his black eyes blinking frequently, appearing more alive than on most other days. Sigmund, on the other hand, had a contemptuous look, as though he found it beneath himself to be here, in the rather stifling chambers of a small Vice Captain, asking for a favor. His blue eyes scrutinized the stone-cast floor full of cracks and dust, before finally landing on Unmir who looked as though he'd just woken up from his sleep.

“… you won’t even greet your Prince?” Sigmund said, frowning.

“Hello there, my Prince.” Unmir raised his hand lazily and said with a yawn as though he was greeting a commonman rather than a Prince.

“… as insufferable as ever, I see,” Sigmund scoffed; if there were anyone else he could go to, he would have. Unfortunately, as far as he knew, most others were bought out by one of his siblings, leaving him with limited options. “Didn’t you get my summons?”

“I did.”

“So why didn’t you come to visit me?”

“I forgot the way to the Palace…”

“… your excuses are growing lazier and lazier,” Sigmund said, his frown deepening. “How long until you even stop bothering?”

“A few months, I imagine.”

“You are not untouchable, Unmir.”

“Never claimed I am.”

“Your behavior certainly doesn’t reflect that.”

“My behavior, dear Prince, is perhaps the most consistent thing in your life,” Unmir said. “I thought you were looking forward to me, among the other inconsistencies you face.”

“… I need you to look into Aevoy.” Sigmund said, growing tired of the Vice Captain’s antics.

“… who’s that?” Unmir asked.

“A little-know Internalizer,” Sigmund replied. “He keeps a low profile and usually never takes any payment for help, doing so at his personal discretion.”

“You want me to track down an Internalizer?” Unmir’s voice finally experienced a tonal change as he raised in surprise, even his eyes peering past the bangs in shock. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me, dear Prince, but even if I were ten times the man I am, I’d still be a thousand evolutions short of even daring to do that.”

“He’s different from others,” Sigmund said.

“So you say.”

“He is,” Sigmund reiterated. “As I said, he doesn’t even wear his insignia, nor does he announce his arrival. Usually, he is simply roaming the Kingdom, and pops up infrequently whenever there are curious cases.”

“… you could at least afford me the decency of saying why,” Unmir said. “Seeing as I’ll be risking far more than just my life.”

“… that… I can’t do,” Sigmund said, shaking his head. “It has to do with the War.”

“Oh, by all means, if it has to do with the War…”

“I’ll pay you handsomely.”

“Do I seem the type to need wealth, dear Prince?”

“Name your price, then.”

“…” Unmir looked into those blue eyes and saw the desperation. For whatever reason, the Prince really did need to get in contact with the queer Internalizer. Though Unmir could venture a few guesses, he didn’t want to exert too much of his strength on thinking, so he threw out the most ludicrous demand just to get the Prince off his head. “Illuminate me.”

“…” Sigmund frowned, entering deep thought. “Can’t you just do it yourself? Through the tournament?”

“… ah, yeah, the tournament where behemoths towering eight heads over me will appear. Ah, you are asking me to defeat them? Certainly, certainly, dear Prince. I most certainly can do that.”

“Tools and weapons aren’t forbidden…”

“Their skin is tougher than the steel itself,” Unmir said. “If you can provide me with weapons that can do that, hey, I’m all ears.”

"…" Sigmund fell into silence once again, resting his chin against his hand, thinking. Illuminating someone… especially a commonman by birth… will cost him. Dearly. However, if he could get in contact with Aevoy… those costs would be a drop in the ocean. Worth every bit. "F-fine… but I can only afford two rotations now. You'll have to wait until next year for the extra two. Is that fine?"

“…” Fuck! Just how desperate are you?! Unmir tried his hardest to hide the shock behind a placid face. He never, not in a million years, expected the Prince to agree. Each of the Royal Siblings only gets thirty-three rotations of the Wheel, and treat them as their lifeline. Most Royal Children even die having not used all of their rotations, yet Sigmund gave up four. Four. That would be enough for him to produce a personal guard for either himself or someone else… for life. “Fine,” there were no more corners to hide in; even if he didn't have many aspirations in life, becoming Illuminated would open virtually every door he'd ever need. It was too tempting of a trade not to accept, and even if he would be risking his life, trying to track down an Internalizer… four rotations were well worth the trouble.