[Book 1] Conspiracy

"If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared." — Niccolo Machiavelli

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This night—a moonless, starless night with heavy clouds that served as harbinger of heavy rain—was Immanuel Maier's chance at a promotion in the Varelith military.

Promoted to sergeant when he married Leanne Blackwood, Immanuel believed that the pay raise to match his promotion to Lieutenant should be enough for them to conceive and raise a child. This was his first chance at advancement in the year and a half he had been a sergeant, and he accepted this mission despite the lurking dangers and uncertainties.

Immanuel tread lightly along a path carved into the depths of the mountain, the uneven ground beneath him mirroring the uncertainty of his mission being a success. A flickering torch on hand cast playful shadows on the rocks, and the only sound piercing the overwhelming silence was his deep, measured breaths. With every step he took, the burden of his order from none other than the Grand Baron—the king's most trusted man to keep all the other barons in line—tightened his chest, and each phase of the mission echoed ominously as he jogged them in his mind.

Check for traps. Avoid a fight if you can, but be always ready to defend yourselves. Find Baron Nigel Ironhelm inside the bunker, and kill him on sight.

Five years have passed since Baron Nigel Ironhelm declared the secession of Ironthorne—his barony—from the kingdom of Varelith and crowned himself its first king. This bold move stemmed from his grievance against the king—three years prior, the king raised taxes on incomes on all successful exports "to an unreasonable amount, intending to fill the royal family's coffers even further while continuing to deprive society of the services it deserves."

True to its name, Ironthorne, the rogue barony, is the kingdom's top exporter of metal and metal products, including swords and construction materials. Thus, at the beginning of the Civil War, Ironthorne was a formidable enemy. The rogue barony had not only a massive supply of raw materials for use in crafting most weapons, they also had in their ranks three rogue Parish Deans who, alongside a number of their fellow priests who serve them, supplied supportive and offensive spell scrolls and spellbooks, not to mention that they were spellcasters themselves.

Over the course of the Civil War, the Kingdom sought to seize the barony's iron mines and smithies whose production levels had been boosted to be able to produce numerous weapons and other essential war supplies in a single day. At the same time, the Kingdom's forces launched campaigns against the rogue Parish Deans and the clerics who serve them, the strongest rogue military units, and the strongest leaders and fighters of the secessionist barony.

Five years have passed since Ironthorne declared itself a kingdom, and on this night, its territory was down to this bunker that Immanuel and another soldier, a sergeant named Isaiah Maddox, were trying to make sense of.

If we come across each other inside this bunker, let us proceed together and kill Baron Ironhelm together. That was the last that Immanuel heard from Sergeant Isaiah Maddox before he left the former alone to enter the bunker through the first entrance they both found that night.

Without a map of the bunker to guide him, Immanuel approached a fork in the path with doubt gnawing at him. Both paths before him looked identical from far away, and one could easily get stuck in indecision, giving enough time for the occupants to capture or kill the invader.

Immanuel looked around. The stains of mud and blood on the walls, ceiling, and floor brought him to the conclusion that this bunker had been around probably from before the Civil War even started. He prepared himself even for the likelihood of defeat.

Next, Immanuel studied the tiled floors of each of the paths before him. Stretching his arm to increase the reach of the light of the torch each time he did so, he saw that, just a few footsteps away from his position, the path to his right bore a number of indentations shaped like footsteps. And, judging from the tiny cracks near each indentation, he determined that these were likely the footsteps of men in multiple layers of magical armor. He then looked up and, seeing the high vertical clearance, Immanuel nodded, acknowledging such a possibility.

As for the path to his left, three faint straight lines were etched upon the floor. These lines looked like indentations a three-wheeled cart might have made on the path after having passed it a number of times. However, these lines originated—or perhaps abruptly ended—exactly where that path began. Immanuel also saw traces of dried blood on the ceiling, walls, and floor of that walkway, bringing him to the conclusion that stepping foot on the left walkway led to a three-bladed trap, and perhaps similar other traps up ahead if he survived that first one.

"Taking right," he whispered to himself as he pressed forward.

The path brought him to a left turn, which was a corridor surrounded left and right by open chambers. A peek inside each revealed these open chambers to be sleeping quarters for the occupants.

There's nobody in all of them. But these sleeping quarters looked to have been abandoned in a rush to address whatever danger it was that they faced, likely one that they never survived. Immanuel was tempted to loot the rooms, but, with his waist lined with weapons and supplies, he sought a landmark instead, intending to get back to the area once he was done with his mission. But, finding none that he could see from far away, he decided to move on.

Next, he came across a massive circular stone chamber with multiple walkways that branched from it. In the middle of the chamber was a statue of a cloaked being. It seemed to point to something ahead of it—a wall between two identical walkways.

Triggered with curiosity, Immanuel approached the statue to study it. He started at the base, feeling and eyeing the roughened stone, moving his free hand and gaze upwards and even climbing it until he could find something out of the ordinary.

But the light of his torch and the touch of his free hand revealed nothing unusual with the statue, and for a moment, he looked down at the base in search of anything that set the statue apart from the rest of the floor and made it turn around, like other statues he had seen in the past. But nothing hinted that the base of the statue could turn around, so he studied its upper half once again, starting with the—

One of the statue's hands not only had a finger extended outward, it also had the rest of the fingers shaped in such a way that Immanuel could not help but think that the statue was meant to be holding something.

Placing the torch on the statue's hand confirmed his suspicions. Torches in the room and on the many walkways that branched out of the chamber lit up by themselves one at a time, illuminating the entire space.

"What an interesting way to light up such a large space," said a voice Immanuel recognized to be that of his fellow assassin, Sergeant Isaiah Maddox.

Startled, Immanuel turned to where he thought the voice had come from. Maddox was leaning at the entrance of one of the walkways that led out of the gigantic circular chamber, stroking his unkempt moustache that ran from above his upper lip down to his chin. Beside him was a wolf. A creature of magical origins, summoned using a spell, judging from the faint purple glow of its outline and eyes. More glowing eyes of varying colors watched from behind the two.

"Since when did you get here, Maddox?" Immanuel asked with widened eyes.

"Been here a while, to be honest with you," he responded with just a hint of a smile on his face, as though not wanting Immanuel to suspect anything was off about him.

"Why didn't you say anything, then?" Immanuel leapt back down to the floor.

"I waited for the lights to burn and illuminate the room, Maier," he said as he looked around.

"There's no one around here who could have helped you with that." Immanuel placed a hand on the grip of his dagger, which was hanging at his lower back. "Except for me. How long were you willing to wait?"

Maddox grinned as he and the wolf next to him took steps forward. "For you, Maier? I have all night."

With bared jaws, the wolves charged towards Immanuel, each one leaving streaks of colored light as it moved.

Immanuel, wanting Maddox to lose his mental control over the summoned wolves, drew not only his dagger, but also a smaller throwing knife—one he tossed Maddox's way. But it seemed to Immanuel that the attack was expected as Maddox drew his dagger and parried the projectile without even flinching.

Immanuel tossed another throwing knife, which Maddox sidestepped.

If I'm going down, I'm going down fighting! Then he rushed towards the other sergeant, shifting the grip of his dagger to get him ready to—

The wolves had closed in, chomping down massive chunks of Immanuel's flesh from every direction at once. With every single wolf tearing him apart, they could not bring his body down, and Immanuel found himself an inch away from death while still on his feet. His blood pooled around him soon enough, and the summoned magical creatures could have reduced him to his bones and kept him upright had Maddox not whistled for them to come back to him.

The creatures perked their ears hearing Maddox's whistle and rushed back to him. With nothing propping Immanuel's body upright, he fell on his back with a loud thud and crunch.

With the wolves seated near their summoner, Maddox eyed Immanuel from the distance, giving his erstwhile ally one last look.

"That was fast," Maddox remarked.

"You…" Immanuel mouthed a hiss, one borne from rage overpowering mind-searing pain at last. "Why?"

The wolves puffed out of existence, leaving behind traces of colored lights. "To be honest, this order to get you killed did not make sense to me at first." Maddox made his way towards Immanuel. "But then, I realized, there is good reason to kill you, and that's not the massive reward that awaits me on top of the total reward for killing Baron Ironhelm."

Maddox crouched next to the mangled body of Immanuel Maier. Then he cradled his chin, forcing him to look right into his eyes. "You ought to know that you're not the only one with big dreams and aspirations among the footmen and the sergeants. But with the way you've been showing off to the officers, completing missions without the use of even a single spell scroll? You'd put us on the unemployment list, Maier."

Maddox groaned as he began pulling Immanuel's cloak to take it off of him. "Without a showoff such as yourself, we could demand more from the higher ranks.

More gear. More weapons. More magic items. Spell scrolls. Sigils of power to turn those of us gifted with mana into living spell scrolls. You name it, we deserve more of it!"

With a bit more effort, Maddox had finally removed the cloak from under Immanuel's body. Then he undid the knots by Immanuel's right shoulder. "I need evidence," Maddox said. He then folded the cloak when he had fully removed it. "And with your fresh blood on it, I am guaranteed a handsome reward."

As Maddox turned and started to walk away, Immanuel reached out and grasped the other man's heel. Astonished, Maddox looked back with a raised eyebrow. "Don't want to be left alone, do we? Well, don't you worry. Any moment now, the Underworld will take you, and you will never be alone, ever again." He then kicked Immanuel's hand away.

Maddox had just moved into one of the walkways connecting the circular chamber elsewhere when Immanuel heard rapid flapping of bird wings echoing throughout the chamber. A black bird revealed itself above him, then began flying in a circle above him. How did that bird get in here?

For a while, the bird did nothing but fly in a circle over Immanuel, but when the crow descended next to him, he recognized it to be one not of this world. My time has come, has it not?

Immanuel reached out to the crow, whose shining silver eyes seemed to be studying the depths of his soul. It hopped in reaction to his hand.

I tried.

Tell Leanne, if you can, that I tried my best to give us a good life.

Once again, the crow hopped. It seemed to have acknowledged Immanuel's thoughts.

Oh, one more, may I?

Please tell her…

I love her and… I'll be missing her.

This time, however, the crow just stared straight into Immanuel's eyes for a moment, then flew back up. Once it had flown near the ceiling of the chamber, it circled over his mangled body once again.

It was as if the crow was lulling him to sleep as his life was fading away.