Fire
So much fire… and blood.
Crossbows had been aimed at them, and when Fayette had acted, she had acted in that instant of stunned confusion. That instant had ended, and the men had reacted. Fayette stared at the crossbow bolt lodged into her thigh.
It hurt.
She had been hit by more, but the [Maid Armour] had made the impacts glancing, and they had ricocheted away. She was still knocked down on to the floor.
Fayette pried herself off the floor, staggered to her feet, and felt a brief relief that her leg worked. Can’t remove the bolt—that’s bad. But I can fight with it. I can—
And then she felt the blistering heat searing against her face, and Mireille pushed her forward. The room—what was…?
A hole. There was a hole in the wall, where [Lord] Marcel had been and now the full moon shone from outside, light filtering through all the smoke. And fire was flying. Fayette ducked a fireball, but it still hit the wall behind her spreading.
A figure so bright she couldn’t look at it was slowly manifesting, like an ocean pouring in through the smallest possible hole. An ocean of pure heat and fire. But it was being… held back?
The fireballs stopped.
With a brief glance, Fayette counted the enemies. She remembered the room. In the middle wall was the hole—nobody alive there. No [Lord] or [Mages]. By the door was the second [Lord]—he felt high level. He had other fighters with him—[Knights] and a [Mage] of his own.
The other side of the room only had three men. And she was in the middle, her party was around her. An easy decision. Fayette spun to the less manned side and ran forward roaring.
A crossbow holding [Knight] tried to aim at her, but was blinded by the smoke in the room. Fayette prowled in like a wounded cat, laying low. She whipped her broom about like a tail, swishing a path through the smoke for her party.
A broom on the verge of shattering.
Then she jumped the man. No fancy technique—just fingers in the eyes, a kick off-balance, then a stomp to the head. She got her broom up as the Sword-wielding [Knight] turned on her, and used [Sweep Dust], sending smoke at his eyes. He didn’t flinch, protected by some skill, and the sword fell down. Fayette blocked with the metal end of her broom, and a crack spread over it.
Then her party arrived. A surgical knife on an unguarded back, and needles through a helmet’s eye guard. The man fell. The third man was downed with a syringe, down before he knew what happened. Fayette stepped back, letting Olivia and Mireille finish them off, and she took out a knife, turning. Her mind was moving fast, trying to find a path. The [Mage]—he’s doing something to the elemental—have to—
A gentle hand blocked her. “I can’t seal it, Fayette, we have to let him.”
The [Maid] blinked, calming down, breathing finally. She coughed and felt a jolt of pain in her leg. Breathing smoke is bad... need to—[Sweep Dust].
Her vision cleared, and she saw the other side of the room. The [Mage] by the door was holding up a clear gem at the elemental, which was now dwindling in size, sucked inside the gem. Three [Knights] in gleaming armor shielded him, two felt lower level and one high, and the [Lord] stood behind them all, eyes locked onto her. Fayette looked at the crossbow bolt in her leg. Shit, this hurts.
She let out her breath. “We have to let him have the elemental?” She turned to Marie. “Are you sure you can’t—”
The [Lady] shook her head. She whispered, speaking only to her. “I’m a [Lady], not a [Mage], so I don’t have their full capabilities. If we don’t let him bind it, it will be let loose, and do [Saints] know what… I can’t—”
This town was her town, these were her people, Fayette remembered. And now the [Lady] was attached to their mess. A pang in her heart. She hadn’t wanted this.
“Sorry,” she whispered, finally looking Marie in the eyes. “Should have told you—or something. Your family—”
“They can wait,” Marie said, holding up a hand. She pointed. The [Lord]. “Right now, we need to get out of this alive.”
Fayette sighed, and closed her eyes, focusing. Even with them closed, she could still make out the glow of the elemental—lessening. How long did she have? She had made this mess—she would fix it. She would make up for this.
The situation was bad. Their side of the room was on fire, and she could feel the heat of the fire gradually advancing, like creeping fingers grasping at her back. The [Lord] had the door. Smoke was gathering—she could sweep it away. There was a hole in the wall but jumping felt… risky. Would Marie make it? Could the [Lord] hit them in the back then?
She opened her eyes and stepped forward, finally meeting the [Lord’s] eyes. Negotiate. Maybe that would work?
“[Lord]!” she shouted, voice clear and curt—business mode. “I don’t know you or why you are here. Do we have to fight? Those other two are gone,” she finished, pointing at the hole. And the body with the crushed head.
The [Lord] did not move from behind his men, but he did speak. A calm voice she did not know, full of authority and experience. Not his first tense negotiation. “[Maid], I will admit, this was not what I expected to find. Someone meddled in my plot against [Lord] Castellani, so I had to see things through. That is all.”
Fayette frowned. A strange answer. She pointed at herself. “You were plotting against him? I was the one who killed him. Did I not do you a service? Let us go,” she held up a knife and shifted her gaze left. “I won’t interfere with your [Mage] if you agree.”
The [Mage] was sweating, gathering more and more energy into the gem he held. But his face spoke not of despair, but of rapture. A smile almost eerie, and so hungry. Fayette shivered and saw the [Lord] was nodding.
“It is true,” he said. “That man was my enemy. One could say you did a service to me by killing him.”
Then he stopped nodding and stared out, speaking coldly. “But I do not say that. It was not your place to interfere—There are sacred rules that are to be protected.” He raised up his sword and pointed it at her. “And servants who rise against their masters will be put down. That is a [Lord’s] duty.”
And then the [Mage] finished binding the elemental.
It was like a great bonfire being snuffed out in an instant, and the [Mage] shrieked in joy, holding up the gem, a roaring inferno trapped in a prism. The [Lord] nodded, then took a step forward, going to touch him at the back.
But the man flinched back from him and hissed, then threw a bolt of fire at the [lord].
“No! Don’t touch me! This is mine!” he shouted, eyes darting back and forth. The [Mage] backed up to the side from his allies, cradling the gem against his chest. He was shaking, overflowing with power, and the tattoos on his skin were flashing in a rush of color. “I have this now—you don’t matter. None of you do anymore.”
The [Lord’s] face was frozen, but he was gripping his sword tight. He tried to speak, but then the [Mage] threw an arm out, and bright symbols of white flashed, vanishing off his forearm.
Then the man leaped backward and flew out of the hole.
And Fayette started choking.
Not the smoke—suddenly there was no air to breathe. The [Lord] was shouting and gesturing, and Olivia and Mireille were gasping for breath too. What? There was nothing here—nothing to hit, Fayette threw a wild fan of forks into the room, but they hit nothing.
Marie was also flailing and chocking—no, wait, Fayette paused. The [Lady] was waving at her, indicating smoke and her eyes. Ah.
Fayette activated [Dustsense] and saw the emptiness.
There were two of them, two gaps in the smoke and roiling ash, zones of calm amidst the storm, right in the middle of the room. Her mundane eyes saw nothing special there—except a subtle current?
She mentally cursed. Air elementals? What the hell?
Fayette pointed out their location, stomping in anger, but Marie just nodded calmly. Then the [Lady] kneeled and started drawing on the floor. With magic.
A simple line of something brown in the ground, with sharp, defined angles and thick lines, crisscrossing in a complex pattern. She drew a last finishing touch on the line, and then Fayette could breathe again.
Everyone was coughing, finally getting a breath in, and Fayette swept the approaching smoke back—it was getting too close. The fire was right at their backs, and the [Lord]—
He wasn’t choking. The man was still just staring at them, iron face calm. Seeing their recovery, he nodded once, then spoke fast. “I [Exert My Authority] on you, minor monsters. You were bound by my subject, so be banished.”
And the spots of emptiness vanished. Just like that. And the [Lord]—pointed a sword at Fayette. He stood in front of the door with his men like a barricade of iron and steel. And spoke.
“[You will Have to Go Through me].”
A flash of blue energy expanded from the tip of his sword, rapidly extending behind Fayette, outside of the room. She turned her head and saw it was outside too, beyond the hole in the manor. A glowing barrier with no holes, which enveloped the whole manor, with the [Lord] at its center.
And then it began shrinking.
Curses, I don’t like the look of this. A defense-class, forcing a fight. Fayette felt the flames at her back, tickling, sparks hitting her uniform. No more time for standoffs. She looked at her party, who shared grim nods with her, then felt something wet on her nape, and a boon appeared. She looked to the other side, and Marie nodded too.
Nothing more to it—if he wants a fight... She threw a fork at the [Lord] and charged, and her party followed.
The [Lord] blocked the fork with his sword, then nodded, satisfied at the charge. Then he started activating skills.
“[No Quarter Given], [Bounded Champion], [While I stand]—” and then he pointed at his knight who spoke a skill of his own, sending a rumble through the men.
“[Hold the Line].”
And then Fayette felt fury. She remembered that skill. That damned skill. One meant for soldiers, not servants, and seeing [Knights] finally using it properly…
Unfair.
Still, she ran forward, sweeping smoke in a wide arc while running right at the [Bounded Champion] who shone with red. The crossbow bolt in her leg burned, but her steps did not falter, and a broom swung at the man.
He just let it swing, not moving to block one bit. Useless, the broom clanged against his armor, he moved forward his own sword, and swung.
Fayette almost lost her hand.
Right at the last minute, she felt a step of Waltz in her feet, and bent backward, hearing Marie scream behind her. The sword flashed right by her front and Fayette fell back.
Her allies were not close combat fighters, really. Even Olivia—the [Doctor] fought best striking at the back. And this was an impenetrable line.
Fayette was facing it alone. A crossbow bolt in her leg.
Oh, her allies were throwing projectiles, needles, strings, and such, keeping most of the men occupied, but the damn line held. Nothing with so little momentum would do a thing.
So Fayette tried to fight forward with despair, fire literally at her back, throwing spice into eyes, jabbing with her broom, kicking, anything. She dodged back and forth, managing just because the men did not step to chase her and because a [Waltz] held her right foot up. And just for an instant, she managed it.
Against the big [Knight], who stood like an impenetrable wall, she threw a flask under him at the same time she battered the shield, and the giant of a man slipped. Fayette thrust her broom at his neck.
And the [Lord] spoke again.
“[I fight with their Strength]”, he rumbled, and stepped forward, just as strong as the [Champion Knight] himself. A surprise sword swept at her, and Fayette’s broom was cut in half, then her boon flashed, blocking a fatal strike. She looked at the sword inches from her face and saw cut-off strands of hair float down.
Fayette jumped back, only a [Waltz] still holding up her leg. She retreated back to the further wall and collapsed on the other side of the room, her party around her, all panting as exhausted as she. The air was running low. The Fire was so close. And the wall from the skill—
She looked and saw it starting to enclose the building, like a cocoon. A minute more, and it would be at her back.
And seeing their retreat, the [Lord] just nodded, as if checking something off a list. Now he stood among his men, no leader from the back. He did not advance; he was a holder of things. No retreat, keep the door. He would win with time. Fayette saw the coldness in his eyes.
Those eyes… they held not the contest of true battle or the rage of vengeance. It was something she knew too well—pest removal.
And she felt her rage cool, going cold as it once had. She stood back, panting, and her eyes no longer held hate. So that’s what this is. We’re on that level for him. So…
Why should she not do the same? She had been thinking too much like a [Combat Maid]. But it was a [Maid] who removed infestations. Getting drawn into talks, listening to their prattling on about ideology, condemning them… It didn’t matter.
She looked at them like she once looked at kobolds and [Thugs], not as humans—just something to be removed. Then things would be fixed. And she instantly felt herself calm, as if a missing piece was slotting into place.
And her class itched.
Damned [Lords]. No—not [Lords], not [Knigths], just—enemies. How do I remove them?
Fighting was a mistake, he was a [Lord] of battlefields. But he was staying in place, like a hive of bugs burrowed into the rot of this building. Fayette could almost imagine him standing like that, holding some key hill on a vital battle. How do you remove infestations? What do I have in this room?
She spoke as her eyes darted around, searching for anything she could use. “Anyone have any ideas? Now would be a good time.”
“I can maybe try to make more fire?” Olivia said, uncertain.
Marie shook her head. “Risky. But that man—he’s staking a lot on holding position. Skills like that can have backlash, like your capstone and mine. If you can get him to retreat one step, there will be serious backlash, and then—”
“We go for the kill,” Fayette finished. She stared at the [Lord], who was looking back calmly. A man who had built a strategy of impenetrable defense. His men surely were hand-selected for this, the optimal skills for holding out on all front.
But his [Mage] was gone. The key piece, missing. What did that mean? What part of his defense was gone with him? The [Mage’s] elementals were—Fayette gasped, breathing in some of the smog.
The air!
“Mireille, I need you to try and sneak some thread by,” she spoke, voice eerily calm, and the others shivered. “I need you to block off the door behind them. They want to stay? Fine—they can.”
“If they see it—” The [Seamstress] began, but Fayette pulled out her spare broom—no metal end.
“They won’t.”
Then she started using [Sweep Dust] and sent all the smoke in the room at the turtled in [Knights]. And there was a lot.
But it was just smoke. It roiled around the men for a moment, they coughed and Mireille snuck something through, but they were led by a [Lord]. And the [Lord] cut through the smoke with his sword, speaking. “I [Exert My Authority], this fire belongs to my man’s elemental, so let it not pester me so.”
And it did not. The smoke faded away to the corners and floor, staying out of their faces. That damned calm on the man…
But Fayette was already moving, thinking of a new plan. The barrier was closing in, but she had seen something earlier. There were bodies in the room—[Mages] by the hole, so she walked to the side and dug around, feeling that calm gaze of a [Lord] on her.
So sure. You’ll see.
The [Maid] dug around, found a [Mage’s] collected treasures in a pouch and recognized a stone. She had had only one, picked off from a drunken [Mage] at a party, but she remembered its effects well. She stepped back, hiding it in her hand, then met the [Lord’s] eyes. He still seemed confident, counting down the minutes to his win.
He’s not moving in to attack. He looks calm, but he has to be nervous. Only defence skills—what a fool. You don’t give a [Maid] preparation time.
The fire and smoke was thick, there was barely any more time to act, and Fayette had a tool. A tool for extermination. Killing, not fighting. She had never used it on humans—but did that really matter? Kobolds, spiders, any who stood in her way—they were all just enemies.
Battle and extermination, what did it matter? The opportunity was there, and the time had come.
Fayette turned around, took out her last bottle of [All Purpose Cleaner], dropped a fork inside, then the stone, then corked it. The liquid started bubbling and frothing, and pressure started to build. She kept up her spin, met the [Lord’s] eyes, then threw. [Cutlery Control] guided the bottle, and it smashed against a shield.
And then gas started spreading.
She saw panicked reactions from the enemies, a few skills, but Fayette ran forward to fan it in with her broom, and she saw that Mireille had managed to spread thread over the door behind. The yellow gas rose and went past the shields and swords. A turtle with one weakness.
It reached the men. They flinched back from it, but held in place by skills disavowing retreat…
The screams started.
The first two men in front. Gas started peeling off skin from flesh and going into lungs. They tried to retreat back, but couldn’t move their legs one bit. The gas spread, hitting the senior [Knight], who flinched back instantly.
And he broke the skill. Like a pile of cards, the base was ripped off, and the other skills collapsed too. Suddenly, the men were all rushing back, away from the advancing tide of gas, and they could not open the door.
Two seconds.
The [Lord] tried to say something, overwhelmed by how fast everything had failed, but the gas was by his mouth already. His skin was curling, scalding and he vomited blood. His capstone broke too, and he stumbled back against the wall.
The group was covered wholesale, and the screams were dimmed by gurgles of blood. Using this on the kobolds had been brutal, but humans—
They didn’t really sound that different. Fayette did not quiver, she felt nothing at it, just kept fanning the gas forward more. Desperate men bashed the door, and finally got it open, but the gas followed them out, and they collapsed soon. One man stepped towards her out of the gas cloud, clutching at his helmet, and the [Maid] pushed a knife through the eyehole.
Marie was frozen in horror, and even Mireille was green in the face, but Olivia did not shake. The [Doctor] just threw knives into the cloud, face grim.
And then the [Lord] ran out, face scarred and burned. Fayette moved to bash him, but he suddenly skipped to the side and jumped through the hole in the wall and fell two stories, clutching his head. Fayette saw him land outside and get up. He was forcing something into his mouth.
A potion?
A quick glance—Fayette saw her party was fine. The [Knights] were all crumpled on the floor, so she swept the gas around her, toward the flames, where it all burned out in one last flash. Fayette nodded at her party.
Then she jumped outside. Escape…
It could not be allowed.
How is the bastard this fast?
The [Lord] was running like the devil itself was at his heels, but it was only an injured [Maid]. Small consolation.
He was running through the town, screaming as his potion slowly healed his lungs, and the [Maid] was chasing. She had a crossbow bolt in her thigh, but she was still faster, Fayette was gradually catching up.
The market ahead, just need to keep up a bit, and then—
And then a leg shot in from behind a building to trip up the [Lord], and he fell down, skidding onto his face. Fayette slowed down, staggering to a stop. She was… at the town’s central square? There were people.
The [Lord]-tripping foot went back a step, then with a hop, Marat the [Journalist] stepped on top of the [Lord’s] back and turned to face the confused [Maid]. He was smiling, wearing a dark navy-blue cloak and a black top hat. He tipped his hat, smiling as carefree as he had before, back down in the mine's mess hall. But now the same expression looked vicious.
“Greetings, miss. I was hoping you would arrive soon. Pierre does not like to wait,” The curly-haired man said, grinning, and he jumped off the sprawled [Lord], towards Fayette.
A tall and thick-set figure stepped out of the shadows, cloak billowing ominously. Fayette felt her [Dangersense] tingle as the figure stepped closer, but it stopped at the [Lord], crouched down, and started hauling him away, dragging him in line with the others.
Others. Fayette’s eyes widened as she looked beyond the pair, to the centre of the square. Lined up next to a central block of wood, three figures were shackled down. First, the [Mage] who had bound the elemental, on his knees before the block of wood. First in line.
Behind him stood [Lord] Marcel—somehow still alive—but burned almost unrecognizable. A third, shorter hooded figure was bound behind him. They seemed to be in a daze, barely conscious of what was happening around them.
The tall figure threw the new [Lord] forward, and with a cry of pain, he joined the others as last in the line. Shackles were snapped on his hands, and then the hulking man stepped away, fading back to the shadows.
“You—what is this?” Fayette asked. She had just been fighting for her life… and suddenly all these men were in chains and waiting for… what exactly? Her eyes went to the first figure. “I thought that [Mage] flew away. How do you have him?”
Marat’s eyes flashed red as he opened up his right hand, revealing a gleaming red gemstone within. “He was quite easy to find, carrying something like this around.” He nodded at the tall figure who loomed over the line of prisoners. “And my friend is a bit of a specialist in arranging captures.”
“Is that what this is?” Fayette asked, eyes drawn to the gem. “A trial, or something of the sort?”
The [Journalist] gestured Fayette forward, towards a group of observers standing on the side. “Indeed, the opportunity came, so we decided to pass judgment.” The [Maid] narrowed her eyes, recognizing some of the observers. They all looked afraid and confused. Are those… villagers? Testimonies? And that’s…
The bespectacled [Secretary] was there too, staring silently at her shackled [Lord], not moving an inch. Fayette shuddered, feeling an oppressive aura approach, and turned to the center. A figure in tattered robes marched to the wooden block.
Pierre. His shaggy robes and wild beard now seemed sharp under the moonlight, and he held a huge blade with both hands, more butcher knife than sword. Fayette finally recognized that this was no mere trial—the haunting town square was hosting something darker.
“An execution,” she said, eyes now focused on the ragged figure.
Marat gestured her forwards. “Come, you shall hear a [Judge] speak. We have you to thank for today’s offerings, I believe.”
Fayette hesitantly walked forward. These men, what is their game? But she had to see this through. Even if she did feel a bit annoyed… “I read your book. I guess this is the sort of thing you do, then?” She asked, peering doubtfully at the [Journalist]. “Not the most pleasant of hobbies.”
“Ah, but as you read the book, you should know this is no hobby, but a duty,” Marat said, smoothing his mustache.He walked to the execution like a [Socialite] approaching a gala.
“A duty you seem very late in performing,” Fayette said, voice cold. “We could have used help a lot earlier.”
“Ah, for that you have my apologies, miss,” Marat said, tipping his hat for a second time. “I’m afraid we are a careful group in our operations, and that can run close to cowardice. We only acted after we saw an opportunity.”
Fayette grimaced and shook her head. If felt like they were trampling on her victory somehow, but did that matter in the end? She suspected the results would be the same. Pierre was stretching, rolling his shoulders side to side, then finally nodded at the tall cloaked figure.
The giant picked the [Mage] up, then pushed his head to the wood block, keeping him there with a foot to the back. Fayette noticed that the [Mage] seemed to have some sort of darts stuck in his face, and she squinted, trying to see better. Magic disruption of some sort?
And then the [Judge] spoke. The words carried no hesitation, and though Pierre’s voice was hoarse from disuse, it rumbled.
“[You are Accused], [Elementalist] Eblé of crimes against the people. You have stolen rightfully earned money, and unleashed dangerous experiments on the unaware. I repeat, [You are Accused].”
Fayette was impressed and raised her eyebrows. They actually know who he is, and what he’s done? She turned to Marat. “Is this like, a real trial after all? Witnesses and evidence and such?”
Marat chuckled darkly, and the shadow from his hat hid his eyes. “In a way, yes. But Pierre…” he turned to look forward, to the [Judge] who was raising his voice. “—has only ever given one type of judgment.”
The [Mage] was struggling and shouting, head flopping like a fish on dry land. “I—what—let me free!” He cried out, wiggling under the firm grip. “Pitiful mock trial! I have done nothing wrong!”
Then Pierre finished raising his blade, and like the snapping of a bowstring, threw it up into the air. Where it just… hung. Waiting. Above the suddenly terrified [Mage]. Pierre looked coldly at the man and spoke his verdict.
“You lie. [Judgement: Death].”
And the blade fell. Fayette did not wince or look away, she stood steady as a neck was cut through in one slash, soft as a floating leaf. A head rolled onto the town square. Eyes forever locked in horror.
“You see—” Marat said, glancing to Fayette from the scene, “My friend is a [Judge], but an odd sort. He only ever accuses those he knows will be judged his way.”
The [Maid] nodded, keeping her eyes on the scene. So, they were this type of group. Is this how they will change things for the better? Felt pretty different in the writing. “Your book was hard to understand. Learn better words or something.”
The [Journalist] made a mock gasp of outrage, then laughed. “Hah! True—true. It is one of my older works. Was more for the academic types back then, I like to think I’ve gotten better.”
Pierre had stepped back, and the giant was leading the next person to the chopping block now. The [Mage’s] body had been tipped to the side, and Pierre had reclaimed the blade, now sharpening it with a stone.
[Lord] Marcel was led to the stand.
His face had little of anything human left on it. A charred skull, with one dull eye still moving about—but not one bit of hair left anywhere. Even Fayette winced a bit at the sight—better if he had just let himself be incinerated. Was this justice then?
“Is this what you do? Your group—whatever you are. Kill [Lords] and such?” Fayette asked, finally turning from the scene. Marat just seemed so calm. Not on edge one bit, as if the executions, not really trials—Fayette wasn’t a fool—were just normal things.
He shook his head. “Our group… we are a club of sorts. Friends of Jacob, who leads us. But this… this is not the aim—but a tool. For change, you understand? Things are rotten, they need to change. Don’t you agree? You did fine work yourself.”
Did she agree? Maybe I once did… Fayette turned back to the wooden block, and the [Lord] was struggling now. He had seen his [Secretary] in the crowd, but the foot at his back held him firm.
“Isabella, Isabella! Come, speak for me! Go get help!”
The [Secretary] walked over and nobody stopped her. Pierre just watched the bespectacled woman approach the burnt man. The woman bent down, holding her glasses against her nose. “My [Lord], what should I say to them?”
Marcel licked his lips, “Say—”
That was enough for Pierre. This time there was no accusation even, only the [Judgement: Death]. He again threw his sword into the air, and Marcel’s scream of terror cracked through the town square when it fell.
And another head rolled. The [Secretary] froze in place, staring. She started shaking. Fayette felt uneasy. Why is nobody seeing this? That was loud, but nobody is opening the windows to look. The crimson-tinted moon at her back started to feel more ominous.
The crowd of onlookers were muttering, but there were only a dozen-or-so of them. Many more villagers should have awoken to the noise. The night air—it felt oddly stifling, like the smog of Palogne. A skill?
But still, Fayette did not regret watching this. Seeing the shaking [Secretary], she knew there was a story there too. Justice had been done. Right? But the book had been very firm about how change had to be large-scale. Larger than this.
“Are you just going to kill all [Lords]?” Fayette asked, once more turning to the [Journalist]. The book had kind of stopped midway. “What happens then? Somebody has to lead, right? Your group?”
“We can talk on this more,” Marat said, stroking his chin. “But ultimately, it comes to classes. Yes, somebody must lead, but the classes must change. No more [Lords], you see. Are you interested? We could use someone of your talents.”
Ah, so this is a recruitment pitch then, is it? Fayette narrowed her eyes, preparing a response.
And then the next man was led to the block and the hood was pulled off his head. Fayette flinched back to look at him, eyes wide. Henri, the short man who had led them to the mines, the one who had betrayed them.
The senior [Miner] awoke from his daze, eyes sharpening, then started struggling against the grip that held him, but the huge man as implacable as a mountain. “No—no, I have done nothing! What is this? Why?”
He looked like he had been pulled straight from bed, and his eyes were wild with fear. And… confusion. Fayette brushed Marat off and stepped closer. She had to know.
The [Maid] marched to the block and stared at the panicked [Miner]. “Hey, Henri, don’t you remember me?” she asked, looking him in the eye.
And the man froze. “You—didn’t you die? When the mine collapsed?” A tear left his eye, and a held breath left him. He gave a short nod, as good as he was able to when laid on the block. “Thank goodness—the boy, did he make it?”
Fayette’s heart trembled. He doesn’t remember a thing. “The kid, he’s dead—you killed him. You collapsed the mine,” Fayette said, watching his eyes. But there was recognition at all, just confusion.
The [Miner] was staring at her, wide-eyed. And then he really started panicking and trying to pry himself free. “Wha—this has to be a mistake! Some terrible mistake, the lad… I would never—”
Then he was pushed down to the block, and Pierre spoke. Fayette shivered, backing away. No—if Pierre speaks, but he did it—is this right?
“[You are Accused], [Miner] Henri.”
Pierre’s voice rumbled out, as he steadily kept sharpening his blade. His eyes were like death, nothing human shone through them. The ragged figure stood up, and held his blade up, moonlight glinting off the razor.
“But you do not know your crimes.”
Henri looked up desperately, seeking mercy, an explanation. “How can I not know? I have done nothing wrong!”
Pierre’s voice was a glacier.
“You lie. You made a deal once, knowing something may be asked of you one day. Even something like this. You accepted, though you do not remember.”
The [Miner] started struggling. “No! No—I wouldn’t have! I—”
“[Judgement: Death].”
Fayette turned away, she couldn’t watch this one. Marat was still smiling, more vicious now. “Deals without the consequence of guilt—a foul thing. He knew what he accepted. The judgment is right.”
Judgment? What was hers? Did that man deserve to die? Fayette felt her unease growing, like icy fingers grasping at her ribs, as she thought about it, replaying that rolling head. Not like the others, a faceless grey mob, she remembered the expression on this one.
How would I judge this? Judge… No… I don’t—I just…
Her class itched.
Need to leave. Fayette began to walk past Marat, away from all this and back to her friends, and then she heard laughter. The last [Lord], the one she had chased here. “See, little [Maid]! See how the rabble acts once grown, let loose! Senseless anger! Madness!”
The [Maid] felt her unease calm, replaced by fury, and whipped around, meeting a mocking gaze. The [Lord of the Field] was now lying on the block, skin peeling from burns, but his eyes still burned with fierce strength, and his gaze did not waver.
“You would do the same to us!” Fayette shouted, stepping towards him, panting. “You have no right to speak!”
The [Lord] just smiled, seeing her anger. “My actions are those of Justice, of law. Your madness is personal, ceaseless.” Then he sneered, spitting down on the ground. “I will laugh when your [Lady] friend shares this same block. Will you be the one to judge her? She has benefited from many of her family’s sins you know.”
Fayette stared at him, stunned, and then was shaken awake by a rumbling voice.
“[Maid], you are holding a blade. Do you wish to judge? You have more right than I.”
She looked up and saw that Pierre was staring at her. And she felt at her right hand. There was a knife there, waiting. When did I take this out? She took it in front and saw it was just a plain butterknife. But… there was something familiar about it.
“Choose. Do you wish to judge?”
Fayette looked forward, meeting the [Lord’s] eyes. They were staring at her, laughing. As if he knew something. She wanted to kill him, yes, just stick a knife in a fight, exterminate. But to judge… That word…
It was not something [Maids] did.
A shiver went along her spine, far worse than the previous itches at her class, and the [Lord’s] aura felt stifling. Fayette turned away, panting, and marched away, not looking back once more. It doesn’t matter. The [Lord] was doing something. He’ll die anyway. No reason for me to do it. More important things to do.
She heard a blade thud against wood but barely took note of it. It was done, not by her, but it didn’t really matter. She didn’t even hear the system message dinging out, noting her experience gains. Her eyes were on the rising smoke, and the manor she saw outlined among the fire. Marie.
“Wait just a minute, miss!” Marat shouted, jogging to catch up with her. “Are you refusing our offer?”
She slowed just a bit, remembering. Oh, right. Him. “Sorry mister, but… I don’t know you really. I’m not sure I like you,” Fayette responded, not looking back. I have my friends. And Marie’s…
“There’s no need to hurry the decision! Just wait one second, let me give you something!” The [Journalist] shouted, and Fayette hesitated.
She stopped, turned to the side and stared at what the man was offering her. “Another book?”
“A bit better than the last, I hope. I’ve improved.” The man said, smiling. This book had a blue cover too but looked fresher than the previous one. Then he took a card out of his breast pocket and slipped it behind the last page. “And an invitation. No need to hurry—search for your answer.” His teeth flashed under the crimson moon. “I think you’ll arrive at the same destination as us.”
Fayette hesitated for a moment, then nodded once, and took the book. No harm in it. The last one had set her thinking, and the man was smart… She slipped it into her pouch and then turned forward, walking back, dreading what was ahead. The enemies were dead. In a sense, they had succeeded. But the damage…
Mireille and Olivia caught up to her midway but did not say anything when they saw the [Maid’s] face. Fayette gave them a quick nod, winced when she remembered the pain in her leg, and kept walking forward.
She could not feel victory when she saw the [Lady] in the dark, lit by the burning building she was watching, like a ghost of fire. Fayette took a deep breath, then walked closer.
Marie. Just how bad have I messed things up for you?
zechamp BY THE LAWD ITS ROBES PIERRE WITH A STEEL CHAIR!
Anyways, next chapter out on Thursday, as always. See ya
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Fire
So much fire… and blood.
Crossbows had been aimed at them, and when Fayette had acted, she had acted in that instant of stunned confusion. That instant had ended, and the men had reacted. Fayette stared at the crossbow bolt lodged into her thigh.
It hurt.
She had been hit by more, but the [Maid Armour] had made the impacts glancing, and they had ricocheted away. She was still knocked down on to the floor.
Fayette pried herself off the floor, staggered to her feet, and felt a brief relief that her leg worked. Can’t remove the bolt—that’s bad. But I can fight with it. I can—
And then she felt the blistering heat searing against her face, and Mireille pushed her forward. The room—what was…?
A hole. There was a hole in the wall, where [Lord] Marcel had been and now the full moon shone from outside, light filtering through all the smoke. And fire was flying. Fayette ducked a fireball, but it still hit the wall behind her spreading.
A figure so bright she couldn’t look at it was slowly manifesting, like an ocean pouring in through the smallest possible hole. An ocean of pure heat and fire. But it was being… held back?
The fireballs stopped.
With a brief glance, Fayette counted the enemies. She remembered the room. In the middle wall was the hole—nobody alive there. No [Lord] or [Mages]. By the door was the second [Lord]—he felt high level. He had other fighters with him—[Knights] and a [Mage] of his own.
The other side of the room only had three men. And she was in the middle, her party was around her. An easy decision. Fayette spun to the less manned side and ran forward roaring.
A crossbow holding [Knight] tried to aim at her, but was blinded by the smoke in the room. Fayette prowled in like a wounded cat, laying low. She whipped her broom about like a tail, swishing a path through the smoke for her party.
A broom on the verge of shattering.
Then she jumped the man. No fancy technique—just fingers in the eyes, a kick off-balance, then a stomp to the head. She got her broom up as the Sword-wielding [Knight] turned on her, and used [Sweep Dust], sending smoke at his eyes. He didn’t flinch, protected by some skill, and the sword fell down. Fayette blocked with the metal end of her broom, and a crack spread over it.
Then her party arrived. A surgical knife on an unguarded back, and needles through a helmet’s eye guard. The man fell. The third man was downed with a syringe, down before he knew what happened. Fayette stepped back, letting Olivia and Mireille finish them off, and she took out a knife, turning. Her mind was moving fast, trying to find a path. The [Mage]—he’s doing something to the elemental—have to—
A gentle hand blocked her. “I can’t seal it, Fayette, we have to let him.”
The [Maid] blinked, calming down, breathing finally. She coughed and felt a jolt of pain in her leg. Breathing smoke is bad... need to—[Sweep Dust].
Her vision cleared, and she saw the other side of the room. The [Mage] by the door was holding up a clear gem at the elemental, which was now dwindling in size, sucked inside the gem. Three [Knights] in gleaming armor shielded him, two felt lower level and one high, and the [Lord] stood behind them all, eyes locked onto her. Fayette looked at the crossbow bolt in her leg. Shit, this hurts.
She let out her breath. “We have to let him have the elemental?” She turned to Marie. “Are you sure you can’t—”
The [Lady] shook her head. She whispered, speaking only to her. “I’m a [Lady], not a [Mage], so I don’t have their full capabilities. If we don’t let him bind it, it will be let loose, and do [Saints] know what… I can’t—”
This town was her town, these were her people, Fayette remembered. And now the [Lady] was attached to their mess. A pang in her heart. She hadn’t wanted this.
“Sorry,” she whispered, finally looking Marie in the eyes. “Should have told you—or something. Your family—”
“They can wait,” Marie said, holding up a hand. She pointed. The [Lord]. “Right now, we need to get out of this alive.”
Fayette sighed, and closed her eyes, focusing. Even with them closed, she could still make out the glow of the elemental—lessening. How long did she have? She had made this mess—she would fix it. She would make up for this.
The situation was bad. Their side of the room was on fire, and she could feel the heat of the fire gradually advancing, like creeping fingers grasping at her back. The [Lord] had the door. Smoke was gathering—she could sweep it away. There was a hole in the wall but jumping felt… risky. Would Marie make it? Could the [Lord] hit them in the back then?
She opened her eyes and stepped forward, finally meeting the [Lord’s] eyes. Negotiate. Maybe that would work?
“[Lord]!” she shouted, voice clear and curt—business mode. “I don’t know you or why you are here. Do we have to fight? Those other two are gone,” she finished, pointing at the hole. And the body with the crushed head.
The [Lord] did not move from behind his men, but he did speak. A calm voice she did not know, full of authority and experience. Not his first tense negotiation. “[Maid], I will admit, this was not what I expected to find. Someone meddled in my plot against [Lord] Castellani, so I had to see things through. That is all.”
Fayette frowned. A strange answer. She pointed at herself. “You were plotting against him? I was the one who killed him. Did I not do you a service? Let us go,” she held up a knife and shifted her gaze left. “I won’t interfere with your [Mage] if you agree.”
The [Mage] was sweating, gathering more and more energy into the gem he held. But his face spoke not of despair, but of rapture. A smile almost eerie, and so hungry. Fayette shivered and saw the [Lord] was nodding.
“It is true,” he said. “That man was my enemy. One could say you did a service to me by killing him.”
Then he stopped nodding and stared out, speaking coldly. “But I do not say that. It was not your place to interfere—There are sacred rules that are to be protected.” He raised up his sword and pointed it at her. “And servants who rise against their masters will be put down. That is a [Lord’s] duty.”
And then the [Mage] finished binding the elemental.
It was like a great bonfire being snuffed out in an instant, and the [Mage] shrieked in joy, holding up the gem, a roaring inferno trapped in a prism. The [Lord] nodded, then took a step forward, going to touch him at the back.
But the man flinched back from him and hissed, then threw a bolt of fire at the [lord].
“No! Don’t touch me! This is mine!” he shouted, eyes darting back and forth. The [Mage] backed up to the side from his allies, cradling the gem against his chest. He was shaking, overflowing with power, and the tattoos on his skin were flashing in a rush of color. “I have this now—you don’t matter. None of you do anymore.”
The [Lord’s] face was frozen, but he was gripping his sword tight. He tried to speak, but then the [Mage] threw an arm out, and bright symbols of white flashed, vanishing off his forearm.
Then the man leaped backward and flew out of the hole.
And Fayette started choking.
Not the smoke—suddenly there was no air to breathe. The [Lord] was shouting and gesturing, and Olivia and Mireille were gasping for breath too. What? There was nothing here—nothing to hit, Fayette threw a wild fan of forks into the room, but they hit nothing.
Marie was also flailing and chocking—no, wait, Fayette paused. The [Lady] was waving at her, indicating smoke and her eyes. Ah.
Fayette activated [Dustsense] and saw the emptiness.
There were two of them, two gaps in the smoke and roiling ash, zones of calm amidst the storm, right in the middle of the room. Her mundane eyes saw nothing special there—except a subtle current?
She mentally cursed. Air elementals? What the hell?
Fayette pointed out their location, stomping in anger, but Marie just nodded calmly. Then the [Lady] kneeled and started drawing on the floor. With magic.
A simple line of something brown in the ground, with sharp, defined angles and thick lines, crisscrossing in a complex pattern. She drew a last finishing touch on the line, and then Fayette could breathe again.
Everyone was coughing, finally getting a breath in, and Fayette swept the approaching smoke back—it was getting too close. The fire was right at their backs, and the [Lord]—
He wasn’t choking. The man was still just staring at them, iron face calm. Seeing their recovery, he nodded once, then spoke fast. “I [Exert My Authority] on you, minor monsters. You were bound by my subject, so be banished.”
And the spots of emptiness vanished. Just like that. And the [Lord]—pointed a sword at Fayette. He stood in front of the door with his men like a barricade of iron and steel. And spoke.
“[You will Have to Go Through me].”
A flash of blue energy expanded from the tip of his sword, rapidly extending behind Fayette, outside of the room. She turned her head and saw it was outside too, beyond the hole in the manor. A glowing barrier with no holes, which enveloped the whole manor, with the [Lord] at its center.
And then it began shrinking.
Curses, I don’t like the look of this. A defense-class, forcing a fight. Fayette felt the flames at her back, tickling, sparks hitting her uniform. No more time for standoffs. She looked at her party, who shared grim nods with her, then felt something wet on her nape, and a boon appeared. She looked to the other side, and Marie nodded too.
Nothing more to it—if he wants a fight... She threw a fork at the [Lord] and charged, and her party followed.
The [Lord] blocked the fork with his sword, then nodded, satisfied at the charge. Then he started activating skills.
“[No Quarter Given], [Bounded Champion], [While I stand]—” and then he pointed at his knight who spoke a skill of his own, sending a rumble through the men.
“[Hold the Line].”
And then Fayette felt fury. She remembered that skill. That damned skill. One meant for soldiers, not servants, and seeing [Knights] finally using it properly…
Unfair.
Still, she ran forward, sweeping smoke in a wide arc while running right at the [Bounded Champion] who shone with red. The crossbow bolt in her leg burned, but her steps did not falter, and a broom swung at the man.
He just let it swing, not moving to block one bit. Useless, the broom clanged against his armor, he moved forward his own sword, and swung.
Fayette almost lost her hand.
Right at the last minute, she felt a step of Waltz in her feet, and bent backward, hearing Marie scream behind her. The sword flashed right by her front and Fayette fell back.
Her allies were not close combat fighters, really. Even Olivia—the [Doctor] fought best striking at the back. And this was an impenetrable line.
Fayette was facing it alone. A crossbow bolt in her leg.
Oh, her allies were throwing projectiles, needles, strings, and such, keeping most of the men occupied, but the damn line held. Nothing with so little momentum would do a thing.
So Fayette tried to fight forward with despair, fire literally at her back, throwing spice into eyes, jabbing with her broom, kicking, anything. She dodged back and forth, managing just because the men did not step to chase her and because a [Waltz] held her right foot up. And just for an instant, she managed it.
Against the big [Knight], who stood like an impenetrable wall, she threw a flask under him at the same time she battered the shield, and the giant of a man slipped. Fayette thrust her broom at his neck.
And the [Lord] spoke again.
“[I fight with their Strength]”, he rumbled, and stepped forward, just as strong as the [Champion Knight] himself. A surprise sword swept at her, and Fayette’s broom was cut in half, then her boon flashed, blocking a fatal strike. She looked at the sword inches from her face and saw cut-off strands of hair float down.
Fayette jumped back, only a [Waltz] still holding up her leg. She retreated back to the further wall and collapsed on the other side of the room, her party around her, all panting as exhausted as she. The air was running low. The Fire was so close. And the wall from the skill—
She looked and saw it starting to enclose the building, like a cocoon. A minute more, and it would be at her back.
And seeing their retreat, the [Lord] just nodded, as if checking something off a list. Now he stood among his men, no leader from the back. He did not advance; he was a holder of things. No retreat, keep the door. He would win with time. Fayette saw the coldness in his eyes.
Those eyes… they held not the contest of true battle or the rage of vengeance. It was something she knew too well—pest removal.
And she felt her rage cool, going cold as it once had. She stood back, panting, and her eyes no longer held hate. So that’s what this is. We’re on that level for him. So…
Why should she not do the same? She had been thinking too much like a [Combat Maid]. But it was a [Maid] who removed infestations. Getting drawn into talks, listening to their prattling on about ideology, condemning them… It didn’t matter.
She looked at them like she once looked at kobolds and [Thugs], not as humans—just something to be removed. Then things would be fixed. And she instantly felt herself calm, as if a missing piece was slotting into place.
And her class itched.
Damned [Lords]. No—not [Lords], not [Knigths], just—enemies. How do I remove them?
Fighting was a mistake, he was a [Lord] of battlefields. But he was staying in place, like a hive of bugs burrowed into the rot of this building. Fayette could almost imagine him standing like that, holding some key hill on a vital battle. How do you remove infestations? What do I have in this room?
She spoke as her eyes darted around, searching for anything she could use. “Anyone have any ideas? Now would be a good time.”
“I can maybe try to make more fire?” Olivia said, uncertain.
Marie shook her head. “Risky. But that man—he’s staking a lot on holding position. Skills like that can have backlash, like your capstone and mine. If you can get him to retreat one step, there will be serious backlash, and then—”
“We go for the kill,” Fayette finished. She stared at the [Lord], who was looking back calmly. A man who had built a strategy of impenetrable defense. His men surely were hand-selected for this, the optimal skills for holding out on all front.
But his [Mage] was gone. The key piece, missing. What did that mean? What part of his defense was gone with him? The [Mage’s] elementals were—Fayette gasped, breathing in some of the smog.
The air!
“Mireille, I need you to try and sneak some thread by,” she spoke, voice eerily calm, and the others shivered. “I need you to block off the door behind them. They want to stay? Fine—they can.”
“If they see it—” The [Seamstress] began, but Fayette pulled out her spare broom—no metal end.
“They won’t.”
Then she started using [Sweep Dust] and sent all the smoke in the room at the turtled in [Knights]. And there was a lot.
But it was just smoke. It roiled around the men for a moment, they coughed and Mireille snuck something through, but they were led by a [Lord]. And the [Lord] cut through the smoke with his sword, speaking. “I [Exert My Authority], this fire belongs to my man’s elemental, so let it not pester me so.”
And it did not. The smoke faded away to the corners and floor, staying out of their faces. That damned calm on the man…
But Fayette was already moving, thinking of a new plan. The barrier was closing in, but she had seen something earlier. There were bodies in the room—[Mages] by the hole, so she walked to the side and dug around, feeling that calm gaze of a [Lord] on her.
So sure. You’ll see.
The [Maid] dug around, found a [Mage’s] collected treasures in a pouch and recognized a stone. She had had only one, picked off from a drunken [Mage] at a party, but she remembered its effects well. She stepped back, hiding it in her hand, then met the [Lord’s] eyes. He still seemed confident, counting down the minutes to his win.
He’s not moving in to attack. He looks calm, but he has to be nervous. Only defence skills—what a fool. You don’t give a [Maid] preparation time.
The fire and smoke was thick, there was barely any more time to act, and Fayette had a tool. A tool for extermination. Killing, not fighting. She had never used it on humans—but did that really matter? Kobolds, spiders, any who stood in her way—they were all just enemies.
Battle and extermination, what did it matter? The opportunity was there, and the time had come.
Fayette turned around, took out her last bottle of [All Purpose Cleaner], dropped a fork inside, then the stone, then corked it. The liquid started bubbling and frothing, and pressure started to build. She kept up her spin, met the [Lord’s] eyes, then threw. [Cutlery Control] guided the bottle, and it smashed against a shield.
And then gas started spreading.
She saw panicked reactions from the enemies, a few skills, but Fayette ran forward to fan it in with her broom, and she saw that Mireille had managed to spread thread over the door behind. The yellow gas rose and went past the shields and swords. A turtle with one weakness.
It reached the men. They flinched back from it, but held in place by skills disavowing retreat…
The screams started.
The first two men in front. Gas started peeling off skin from flesh and going into lungs. They tried to retreat back, but couldn’t move their legs one bit. The gas spread, hitting the senior [Knight], who flinched back instantly.
And he broke the skill. Like a pile of cards, the base was ripped off, and the other skills collapsed too. Suddenly, the men were all rushing back, away from the advancing tide of gas, and they could not open the door.
Two seconds.
The [Lord] tried to say something, overwhelmed by how fast everything had failed, but the gas was by his mouth already. His skin was curling, scalding and he vomited blood. His capstone broke too, and he stumbled back against the wall.
The group was covered wholesale, and the screams were dimmed by gurgles of blood. Using this on the kobolds had been brutal, but humans—
They didn’t really sound that different. Fayette did not quiver, she felt nothing at it, just kept fanning the gas forward more. Desperate men bashed the door, and finally got it open, but the gas followed them out, and they collapsed soon. One man stepped towards her out of the gas cloud, clutching at his helmet, and the [Maid] pushed a knife through the eyehole.
Marie was frozen in horror, and even Mireille was green in the face, but Olivia did not shake. The [Doctor] just threw knives into the cloud, face grim.
And then the [Lord] ran out, face scarred and burned. Fayette moved to bash him, but he suddenly skipped to the side and jumped through the hole in the wall and fell two stories, clutching his head. Fayette saw him land outside and get up. He was forcing something into his mouth.
A potion?
A quick glance—Fayette saw her party was fine. The [Knights] were all crumpled on the floor, so she swept the gas around her, toward the flames, where it all burned out in one last flash. Fayette nodded at her party.
Then she jumped outside. Escape…
It could not be allowed.
How is the bastard this fast?
The [Lord] was running like the devil itself was at his heels, but it was only an injured [Maid]. Small consolation.
He was running through the town, screaming as his potion slowly healed his lungs, and the [Maid] was chasing. She had a crossbow bolt in her thigh, but she was still faster, Fayette was gradually catching up.
The market ahead, just need to keep up a bit, and then—
And then a leg shot in from behind a building to trip up the [Lord], and he fell down, skidding onto his face. Fayette slowed down, staggering to a stop. She was… at the town’s central square? There were people.
The [Lord]-tripping foot went back a step, then with a hop, Marat the [Journalist] stepped on top of the [Lord’s] back and turned to face the confused [Maid]. He was smiling, wearing a dark navy-blue cloak and a black top hat. He tipped his hat, smiling as carefree as he had before, back down in the mine's mess hall. But now the same expression looked vicious.
“Greetings, miss. I was hoping you would arrive soon. Pierre does not like to wait,” The curly-haired man said, grinning, and he jumped off the sprawled [Lord], towards Fayette.
A tall and thick-set figure stepped out of the shadows, cloak billowing ominously. Fayette felt her [Dangersense] tingle as the figure stepped closer, but it stopped at the [Lord], crouched down, and started hauling him away, dragging him in line with the others.
Others. Fayette’s eyes widened as she looked beyond the pair, to the centre of the square. Lined up next to a central block of wood, three figures were shackled down. First, the [Mage] who had bound the elemental, on his knees before the block of wood. First in line.
Behind him stood [Lord] Marcel—somehow still alive—but burned almost unrecognizable. A third, shorter hooded figure was bound behind him. They seemed to be in a daze, barely conscious of what was happening around them.
The tall figure threw the new [Lord] forward, and with a cry of pain, he joined the others as last in the line. Shackles were snapped on his hands, and then the hulking man stepped away, fading back to the shadows.
“You—what is this?” Fayette asked. She had just been fighting for her life… and suddenly all these men were in chains and waiting for… what exactly? Her eyes went to the first figure. “I thought that [Mage] flew away. How do you have him?”
Marat’s eyes flashed red as he opened up his right hand, revealing a gleaming red gemstone within. “He was quite easy to find, carrying something like this around.” He nodded at the tall figure who loomed over the line of prisoners. “And my friend is a bit of a specialist in arranging captures.”
“Is that what this is?” Fayette asked, eyes drawn to the gem. “A trial, or something of the sort?”
The [Journalist] gestured Fayette forward, towards a group of observers standing on the side. “Indeed, the opportunity came, so we decided to pass judgment.” The [Maid] narrowed her eyes, recognizing some of the observers. They all looked afraid and confused. Are those… villagers? Testimonies? And that’s…
The bespectacled [Secretary] was there too, staring silently at her shackled [Lord], not moving an inch. Fayette shuddered, feeling an oppressive aura approach, and turned to the center. A figure in tattered robes marched to the wooden block.
Pierre. His shaggy robes and wild beard now seemed sharp under the moonlight, and he held a huge blade with both hands, more butcher knife than sword. Fayette finally recognized that this was no mere trial—the haunting town square was hosting something darker.
“An execution,” she said, eyes now focused on the ragged figure.
Marat gestured her forwards. “Come, you shall hear a [Judge] speak. We have you to thank for today’s offerings, I believe.”
Fayette hesitantly walked forward. These men, what is their game? But she had to see this through. Even if she did feel a bit annoyed… “I read your book. I guess this is the sort of thing you do, then?” She asked, peering doubtfully at the [Journalist]. “Not the most pleasant of hobbies.”
“Ah, but as you read the book, you should know this is no hobby, but a duty,” Marat said, smoothing his mustache.He walked to the execution like a [Socialite] approaching a gala.
“A duty you seem very late in performing,” Fayette said, voice cold. “We could have used help a lot earlier.”
“Ah, for that you have my apologies, miss,” Marat said, tipping his hat for a second time. “I’m afraid we are a careful group in our operations, and that can run close to cowardice. We only acted after we saw an opportunity.”
Fayette grimaced and shook her head. If felt like they were trampling on her victory somehow, but did that matter in the end? She suspected the results would be the same. Pierre was stretching, rolling his shoulders side to side, then finally nodded at the tall cloaked figure.
The giant picked the [Mage] up, then pushed his head to the wood block, keeping him there with a foot to the back. Fayette noticed that the [Mage] seemed to have some sort of darts stuck in his face, and she squinted, trying to see better. Magic disruption of some sort?
And then the [Judge] spoke. The words carried no hesitation, and though Pierre’s voice was hoarse from disuse, it rumbled.
“[You are Accused], [Elementalist] Eblé of crimes against the people. You have stolen rightfully earned money, and unleashed dangerous experiments on the unaware. I repeat, [You are Accused].”
Fayette was impressed and raised her eyebrows. They actually know who he is, and what he’s done? She turned to Marat. “Is this like, a real trial after all? Witnesses and evidence and such?”
Marat chuckled darkly, and the shadow from his hat hid his eyes. “In a way, yes. But Pierre…” he turned to look forward, to the [Judge] who was raising his voice. “—has only ever given one type of judgment.”
The [Mage] was struggling and shouting, head flopping like a fish on dry land. “I—what—let me free!” He cried out, wiggling under the firm grip. “Pitiful mock trial! I have done nothing wrong!”
Then Pierre finished raising his blade, and like the snapping of a bowstring, threw it up into the air. Where it just… hung. Waiting. Above the suddenly terrified [Mage]. Pierre looked coldly at the man and spoke his verdict.
“You lie. [Judgement: Death].”
And the blade fell. Fayette did not wince or look away, she stood steady as a neck was cut through in one slash, soft as a floating leaf. A head rolled onto the town square. Eyes forever locked in horror.
“You see—” Marat said, glancing to Fayette from the scene, “My friend is a [Judge], but an odd sort. He only ever accuses those he knows will be judged his way.”
The [Maid] nodded, keeping her eyes on the scene. So, they were this type of group. Is this how they will change things for the better? Felt pretty different in the writing. “Your book was hard to understand. Learn better words or something.”
The [Journalist] made a mock gasp of outrage, then laughed. “Hah! True—true. It is one of my older works. Was more for the academic types back then, I like to think I’ve gotten better.”
Pierre had stepped back, and the giant was leading the next person to the chopping block now. The [Mage’s] body had been tipped to the side, and Pierre had reclaimed the blade, now sharpening it with a stone.
[Lord] Marcel was led to the stand.
His face had little of anything human left on it. A charred skull, with one dull eye still moving about—but not one bit of hair left anywhere. Even Fayette winced a bit at the sight—better if he had just let himself be incinerated. Was this justice then?
“Is this what you do? Your group—whatever you are. Kill [Lords] and such?” Fayette asked, finally turning from the scene. Marat just seemed so calm. Not on edge one bit, as if the executions, not really trials—Fayette wasn’t a fool—were just normal things.
He shook his head. “Our group… we are a club of sorts. Friends of Jacob, who leads us. But this… this is not the aim—but a tool. For change, you understand? Things are rotten, they need to change. Don’t you agree? You did fine work yourself.”
Did she agree? Maybe I once did… Fayette turned back to the wooden block, and the [Lord] was struggling now. He had seen his [Secretary] in the crowd, but the foot at his back held him firm.
“Isabella, Isabella! Come, speak for me! Go get help!”
The [Secretary] walked over and nobody stopped her. Pierre just watched the bespectacled woman approach the burnt man. The woman bent down, holding her glasses against her nose. “My [Lord], what should I say to them?”
Marcel licked his lips, “Say—”
That was enough for Pierre. This time there was no accusation even, only the [Judgement: Death]. He again threw his sword into the air, and Marcel’s scream of terror cracked through the town square when it fell.
And another head rolled. The [Secretary] froze in place, staring. She started shaking. Fayette felt uneasy. Why is nobody seeing this? That was loud, but nobody is opening the windows to look. The crimson-tinted moon at her back started to feel more ominous.
The crowd of onlookers were muttering, but there were only a dozen-or-so of them. Many more villagers should have awoken to the noise. The night air—it felt oddly stifling, like the smog of Palogne. A skill?
But still, Fayette did not regret watching this. Seeing the shaking [Secretary], she knew there was a story there too. Justice had been done. Right? But the book had been very firm about how change had to be large-scale. Larger than this.
“Are you just going to kill all [Lords]?” Fayette asked, once more turning to the [Journalist]. The book had kind of stopped midway. “What happens then? Somebody has to lead, right? Your group?”
“We can talk on this more,” Marat said, stroking his chin. “But ultimately, it comes to classes. Yes, somebody must lead, but the classes must change. No more [Lords], you see. Are you interested? We could use someone of your talents.”
Ah, so this is a recruitment pitch then, is it? Fayette narrowed her eyes, preparing a response.
And then the next man was led to the block and the hood was pulled off his head. Fayette flinched back to look at him, eyes wide. Henri, the short man who had led them to the mines, the one who had betrayed them.
The senior [Miner] awoke from his daze, eyes sharpening, then started struggling against the grip that held him, but the huge man as implacable as a mountain. “No—no, I have done nothing! What is this? Why?”
He looked like he had been pulled straight from bed, and his eyes were wild with fear. And… confusion. Fayette brushed Marat off and stepped closer. She had to know.
The [Maid] marched to the block and stared at the panicked [Miner]. “Hey, Henri, don’t you remember me?” she asked, looking him in the eye.
And the man froze. “You—didn’t you die? When the mine collapsed?” A tear left his eye, and a held breath left him. He gave a short nod, as good as he was able to when laid on the block. “Thank goodness—the boy, did he make it?”
Fayette’s heart trembled. He doesn’t remember a thing. “The kid, he’s dead—you killed him. You collapsed the mine,” Fayette said, watching his eyes. But there was recognition at all, just confusion.
The [Miner] was staring at her, wide-eyed. And then he really started panicking and trying to pry himself free. “Wha—this has to be a mistake! Some terrible mistake, the lad… I would never—”
Then he was pushed down to the block, and Pierre spoke. Fayette shivered, backing away. No—if Pierre speaks, but he did it—is this right?
“[You are Accused], [Miner] Henri.”
Pierre’s voice rumbled out, as he steadily kept sharpening his blade. His eyes were like death, nothing human shone through them. The ragged figure stood up, and held his blade up, moonlight glinting off the razor.
“But you do not know your crimes.”
Henri looked up desperately, seeking mercy, an explanation. “How can I not know? I have done nothing wrong!”
Pierre’s voice was a glacier.
“You lie. You made a deal once, knowing something may be asked of you one day. Even something like this. You accepted, though you do not remember.”
The [Miner] started struggling. “No! No—I wouldn’t have! I—”
“[Judgement: Death].”
Fayette turned away, she couldn’t watch this one. Marat was still smiling, more vicious now. “Deals without the consequence of guilt—a foul thing. He knew what he accepted. The judgment is right.”
Judgment? What was hers? Did that man deserve to die? Fayette felt her unease growing, like icy fingers grasping at her ribs, as she thought about it, replaying that rolling head. Not like the others, a faceless grey mob, she remembered the expression on this one.
How would I judge this? Judge… No… I don’t—I just…
Her class itched.
Need to leave. Fayette began to walk past Marat, away from all this and back to her friends, and then she heard laughter. The last [Lord], the one she had chased here. “See, little [Maid]! See how the rabble acts once grown, let loose! Senseless anger! Madness!”
The [Maid] felt her unease calm, replaced by fury, and whipped around, meeting a mocking gaze. The [Lord of the Field] was now lying on the block, skin peeling from burns, but his eyes still burned with fierce strength, and his gaze did not waver.
“You would do the same to us!” Fayette shouted, stepping towards him, panting. “You have no right to speak!”
The [Lord] just smiled, seeing her anger. “My actions are those of Justice, of law. Your madness is personal, ceaseless.” Then he sneered, spitting down on the ground. “I will laugh when your [Lady] friend shares this same block. Will you be the one to judge her? She has benefited from many of her family’s sins you know.”
Fayette stared at him, stunned, and then was shaken awake by a rumbling voice.
“[Maid], you are holding a blade. Do you wish to judge? You have more right than I.”
She looked up and saw that Pierre was staring at her. And she felt at her right hand. There was a knife there, waiting. When did I take this out? She took it in front and saw it was just a plain butterknife. But… there was something familiar about it.
“Choose. Do you wish to judge?”
Fayette looked forward, meeting the [Lord’s] eyes. They were staring at her, laughing. As if he knew something. She wanted to kill him, yes, just stick a knife in a fight, exterminate. But to judge… That word…
It was not something [Maids] did.
A shiver went along her spine, far worse than the previous itches at her class, and the [Lord’s] aura felt stifling. Fayette turned away, panting, and marched away, not looking back once more. It doesn’t matter. The [Lord] was doing something. He’ll die anyway. No reason for me to do it. More important things to do.
She heard a blade thud against wood but barely took note of it. It was done, not by her, but it didn’t really matter. She didn’t even hear the system message dinging out, noting her experience gains. Her eyes were on the rising smoke, and the manor she saw outlined among the fire. Marie.
“Wait just a minute, miss!” Marat shouted, jogging to catch up with her. “Are you refusing our offer?”
She slowed just a bit, remembering. Oh, right. Him. “Sorry mister, but… I don’t know you really. I’m not sure I like you,” Fayette responded, not looking back. I have my friends. And Marie’s…
“There’s no need to hurry the decision! Just wait one second, let me give you something!” The [Journalist] shouted, and Fayette hesitated.
She stopped, turned to the side and stared at what the man was offering her. “Another book?”
“A bit better than the last, I hope. I’ve improved.” The man said, smiling. This book had a blue cover too but looked fresher than the previous one. Then he took a card out of his breast pocket and slipped it behind the last page. “And an invitation. No need to hurry—search for your answer.” His teeth flashed under the crimson moon. “I think you’ll arrive at the same destination as us.”
Fayette hesitated for a moment, then nodded once, and took the book. No harm in it. The last one had set her thinking, and the man was smart… She slipped it into her pouch and then turned forward, walking back, dreading what was ahead. The enemies were dead. In a sense, they had succeeded. But the damage…
Mireille and Olivia caught up to her midway but did not say anything when they saw the [Maid’s] face. Fayette gave them a quick nod, winced when she remembered the pain in her leg, and kept walking forward.
She could not feel victory when she saw the [Lady] in the dark, lit by the burning building she was watching, like a ghost of fire. Fayette took a deep breath, then walked closer.
Marie. Just how bad have I messed things up for you?
zechamp BY THE LAWD ITS ROBES PIERRE WITH A STEEL CHAIR!
Anyways, next chapter out on Thursday, as always. See ya
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