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Chapter Eleven: Horrors of the Past

Clair would've much preferred Lance's company, but the man was busy. Benga was due to be arriving today, and Clair was forbidden from leaving the castle, as if Edward thought she would try to run away from the kingdom. The only person she had for company was her new slave, Lyra. The girl had put on a bit of weight, and colour had returned to her cheeks. She still didn't see the need for the girl, but at least she had someone who could share the burden of married life.

"Where are you from?" Clair said. They were in her room awaiting the summons from the king. Rather than sit in silence, Clair decided she had to know something about the girl. After all, Lyra was now her personal maid. She needed someone who she felt familiar with in the Unovan castle.

"New Bark Town," Lyra replied softly, carefully combing Clair's hair.

"Never heard of that place before."

"It is a small town."

Clair rolled her eyes. "Obviously. I do know that bandits raided your home. That must have been exciting." Not that she had an interest in Lyra. It just helped to pass the time. "Nothing happens in this city. Not for me anyway." Even the commoners had a more exciting life. At least they had some freedom.

"Better it stays that way, my lady. Best you have peaceful nights." Lyra continued to comb her hair, her movements slow, carefully trying to avoid any knots.

The girl was clearly referring to nightmares. Another thing Clair didn't experience. What was there to be frightened of within the castle walls? "I want to live life to the fullest. To see the world. But I won't get chance. Even you, a slave, has seen more of the world than I have," she said, her tone laced with bitterness. "Now I am to be married off to a boring man."

"Marriage is a wonderful union."

Clair snorted. "What would you know? You are a slave, and you can't be married to another person. Not that anyone would want to marry you. You have nothing to offer to a man." Batting Lyra's arm aside, Clair climbed to her feet. "Why couldn't I marry Prince Steven instead, the prince from Hoenn? At least I've heard he is more exciting. Grandfather must want me to die of boredom." She made an exasperated sigh.

Lyra put the comb down and removed it of hair. "He does what he thinks is best for you."

"Not you too. Lance said the same thing. But of course, you could never understand. You're not a princess. People think my life is all about wealth and power, yet they don't understand my freedom is even less than a peasant. I'm a prisoner inside my own home." She sat down on the edge of the bed and drew in a deep breath. Once again, she raised her hands to the amulet around her neck, seeking its warmth. Oddly, her muscles relaxed. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, glancing down. She turned to face Lyra so the slave could see it better.

"Yes, it is."

Clair beamed her a smile. "I am the only woman who could afford such an item. One benefit of being a princess. It's supposed to have belonged to the priests who used these to ward off evil spirits. Silly beliefs of course. But there's something beautiful about something so old." She tucked it under the dress then stood up once more.

"I can think of no finer jewelry for you."

Clair nodded. "A treasure that matches my beauty. A rare thing."

"Tomorrow, I will have you visit the stables to clean them and tend to my mare's pen. The last servant boy made a mess of the job. As my personal maid, I expect you to handle your responsibilities with utmost care. The stable will be empty for cleaning. I will later have Ethan tell you how to clean a horse." She gave Lyra a dismissive wave. "You are dismissed. Leave me be. I will summon you if needed."

Lyra bowed. An odd gesture. Ladies did not bow. They curtsied. Clearly, such customs were not practiced in her town. That would need to change or risk having the slave make a fool of her. The girl left the room and once again Clair was on her own. Even Lyra had more freedom than her. A simple peasant girl.

What future awaited her?

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Morty could see the lower half of the mountain range looming in the distance, a thick blanket of cloud covering the peaks from his vision. The weather was fortunately quite cool thanks to a breeze from the south. A day had passed since they had departed for the sacred ruins, and their journey had taken them across an open field with a low number of trees in the area. In fact, he had only counted ten oak trees. A loud caw to his left made him look. A raven was sitting on a branch looking in his direction. There were no corpses in sight which meant this raven belonged to the cult. Naoko was in the area. Ravens were used as messengers.

"You're not much of a conversationalist, are you?" Morty said, glancing over his shoulder looking at Falkner behind him. The man hadn't spoken much since leaving the city. Morty assumed it was nerves. After all, he hadn't left the safety of the walls before. This was his first time venturing out into the wilderness.

"Do you always talk so much?" Falkner countered.

Morty chuckled. "Oh, come on Falkner. I thought we were getting along fine earlier, don't be like this now. Talk to me. How are we ever going to get along if we never communicate? Didn't we come to an understanding? You help me. I help you. You want to be acknowledged. I can get you there, but you have to communicate."

Silence. Then, "How many men have you killed in your line of work?"

Ah, that was more like it, he thought. "Quite a few actually. I'm a mercenary after all. Well, was. It's part of the job description. We get paid to kill people."

"And you don't have any regrets?"

Shaking his head, Morty answered, "No. It's all I've ever known."

"But how did you become a mercenary in the first place?"

He couldn't quite tell his partner that he had been born into a necromancer cult. "Well, I told you earlier that children in my village are raised to be soldiers. We're trained to be survivors and the best make it through the ranks. Those that don't make it just keep raising children hoping the next one will make it." Well. That was partially true. Some of them were killed and used as sacrifices instead. "I became a mercenary because that's what I was good at."

"I thought you were being prepared for the military."

Good point. He cleared his throat. "Not everyone becomes a soldier. Sometimes you need scouts. Sometimes you need the people who will be in the front line, and sometimes you need people who can make gold to fund the costs." Now that was a lie, but Falkner didn't need to know that. He just hoped he sounded somewhat believable. "You and I are both quite alike, you know," he started, giving Falkner an encouraging nod.

Raising an eyebrow, Falkner said, "How do you mean?"

"We're both soldiers in a war fighting towards a common goal. We both want to be acknowledged for our efforts and we both want peace." He wanted a promotion into the higher ranks, but Naoko seemed to think he hadn't proven himself enough yet. Deciding to change the topic, he said, "I am curious. Have you got a woman? I don't mean to pry, but I don't know if soldiers in Blackthorn are allowed that luxury."

"What?"

"I said have you got a wench at home?" he repeated.

Falkner shook his head again. "I don't, but some soldiers have families to feed. It's why they work this job – it's the best paying one, so you can see why the commoners keep trying to join the army."

Morty fell silent, then, "You live a very boring life," he concluded.

"Well, what about you?"

Morty shook his head. "I was a mercenary. We were always on the move so there was no time for settling down, but that didn't mean we couldn't take a girl to our bed roll at night. Which of course could cause a few problems if the girl fell pregnant. Our leader… isn't overly keen on outsiders. She sees them as an inferior species. You must be a member of our military to earn the right to reproduce. If you haven't… Well. You end up in the Pits."

Falkner lifted a questioning brow, "The Pits?"

Morty nodded then grinned. "Those who disobey an order are thrown into something called the Pits. It's not a dungeon as the name might suggest; rather, it's an underground maze of terrors." All constructed by dark magic. The priests of the old used to have something similar – the traitors and the weak would be locked into a tomb and left to die. But the Pits gave the victim a chance to emerge if they were able to survive the monstrosities. "I don't know anyone in my time that has gone through the experience; just the threat of the Pits existence ensures that we do our best to fulfil our duties, but surviving is possible. It's a way to repent for your sins."

Falkner screwed up his nose in disgust. "That sounds barbaric."

"The most interesting about the Pits experience is that you can never predict what's going to happen to you. Some are raped, others are dismembered... some are simply eaten alive on the spot," Morty continued, ignoring Falkner's comment. "Or that's what the stories say anyway."

"But won't you be thrown into the Pits if they find you here serving a new leader?" He then narrowed his eyes. "Or is that why you are here? You're just seeking refuge within our city walls for protection?

Falkner raised a good point. He was certainly perceptive. For a moment he thought Falkner was going to assume he was acting as an undercover spy. "You're right. I'm hiding. I want a new home. I'm done with that life of always being constantly on the move. I want to put my skills to good use elsewhere and that's why I am here." He hoped he sounded convincing enough.

"…Right."

Morty considered explaining his choices further but noticed there was a man on a horse in the near distance. He wasn't wearing the standard chainmail of the soldiers of Blackthorn, so he clearly wasn't one of their own. His armour seemed to be made of animal hide which was commonly used by bandits used in their clothing. "…I'd love to continue discussing the matter with you, but it seems like we have company."

Jerking his head to the right, Morty brought Falkner's attention to the man on the horse. There were two blades attached to his left thigh: a dagger and a long sword. Further evidence the man was a rogue mercenary. Why else would he travelling alone with some decent gear? But it wasn't the blades that caught his interest – it was the large brown sacks hanging on each of the camel's sides that interested him. If he was indeed a rogue mercenary, then he was probably carrying some coin.

Nudging Falkner gently in the ribs, Morty brought his attention to the horse and rider. "I hate to interrupt our deep and meaningful conversation, but it seems we have a reason to celebrate. That man over there is a bandit. He's carrying items. We could claim those items for ourselves… Could be coin. Could be something else. I say we take it. We could learn some information from him that could prove useful to our superiors."

Falkner pointed to the horse. "How do we get him off? He could trample us down."

That was a fair point, but fortunately the old man hadn't seen them yet. Morty planned to use that to his advantage. The man drew closer to their position. Upon closer inspection, Morty noticed the bandit was an elderly fellow. Even better. He was clearly looking for a place to settle down at and had come to see Blackthorn as the perfect place. That meant he had earned himself enough coin to purchase a home.

The rider cantered over and stopped a metre short. "Greetings, adventurer," Morty said.

"Greetings yourself," the man replied, his voice hoarse and tired. "How many days until Blackthorn?"

Morty turned to Falkner.

Falkner cleared his throat. "Another day. Just keep travelling in this direction and you'll reach the gates."

"What business have you there?" Morty said.

"I seek an audience with the king."

Again, Morty looked at Falkner.

Falkner looked back just as confused. He hadn't heard of anyone coming to Blackthorn aside from the Unovan royal prince and his guards. "I don't know if you've heard, but the king is quite busy. There's a royal wedding approaching."

Why would a mercenary seek an audience with the king of Blackthorn? He didn't look to be anyone of importance unless… He was planning on assassinating the king? Perhaps someone had hired him wealthy. Perhaps the bags were a gift for the king.

"What's in the bags?"

The man looked down then up again. "Treasure."

"We're patrolling soldiers so if you want to seek entrance... You'll have to tell us."

"These are for the king's eyes only. I am under strict orders."

Morty pulled out his blades. Falkner did the same. "I insist."

"Then I will refuse your request." His horse reared on its hind legs and the mercenary withdrew his blade, his other hand gripping the reins. He charged.

Morty evaded to the left as the horse charged past as Falkner leaped to the opposite side and toppled over onto the grass. The mercenary turned his horse around prepared to charge again. Morty positioned himself behind the horse, hoping the man would keep his attention focused on Falkner. He didn't mean to use the other man as bait, but if he hoped to use magic to control the battle, he had to make sure his companion didn't notice. The mercenary was preoccupied with Falkner. Good.

Falkner had climbed back to his feet and was swinging his sword trying to parry the blows of his opponent. The mercenary seemed to have forgotten about him. Even better.

With the mercenary's attention elsewhere, Morty brought the blade to his left wrist and made a small cut. Necromancy magic only worked if the user sacrificed their own blood. A necromancer would channel magic from their blood to enchant a weapon – every strike weakened the target, draining their life energy to heal the necromancer.

Blood seeped from the wound. Morty pressed his wrist against his sword in his right hand. He only needed one blade buffed. A faint black glow emanated from his weapon. With the weapon empowered, he surged forward and slashed the blade at the horse's hind legs. The empowered weapon sliced through the tough bone. The horse screamed – a bloodcurdling sound – then collapsed, blood spilling out onto the grass beneath it. His rider fell off, his sword clattering to the ground. He tried to crawl over to the weapon, but the fall from his horse had left him winded.

"Oh, you're not going anywhere," Morty said, walking over to the man's weapon. He placed his foot on the mercenary's arm applying as much pressure as he could, enjoying the satisfied pained grunt escaping the man's throat. "Pathetic really. I would've thought you'd be stronger than this, but you're nothing but an old man past his time trying desperately to relive those moments of glory of your youth."

Falkner looked on – clearly the man had never been in such a situation before. "…What do we do with him?"

The mercenary gasped. "…Who are you?"

"I used to be a mercenary like you but then I had a change of heart and now I serve the very king you are trying to harm." He pulled his foot off then cut off the bags from the man's fallen horse. He picked the first bag up and peered inside. As he had expected it was filled with gold coins. "You were trying to buy your way in and impress the king with gold, but he has no need for your riches." The horse whimpered again. Deciding to put the horse out of its misery, Morty walked over and plunged his blade through its neck. Its death came quick."

"…Edward Blackthorn needs to die."

"Who do you work for?"

"…A woman paid me."

"And what was her name?"

"…Zuki."

Zuki. He knew that name well enough. She was one of the five sisters selected by N. But why had she hired some brainless mercenary to assassinate the king? Naoko already had an idea to infiltrate the ranks. What sort of game was she playing at? Unless she didn't know about Naoko's plan? "I've never heard of that name before."

The man gave forced a smile. "She's one of them. A necromancer."

Falkner frowned. "That's a dead form of magic."

"He's full of lies," Morty said. "I think we've heard just enough from you." Before the man could speak another word, Morty plunged his blade into the man's chest. Blood covered his hands and his blade, the remainder spilling out onto the mercenary's own clothing. "He had nothing else to add. Necromancers. We all know that is a dead form of magic." Placing both blades on the grass, he placed his right hand on the man's stomach, dipping his fingers into the wound, as if treating the blood like water. He then pulled his hands back and placed a finger on the man's forehead.

"What are you doing?" Falkner said.

"It's a ritual we did back in my hometown to send off the dead into the next world," he answered, drawing a five-pointed star. Once he was done, he closed his eyes and muttered to himself. "We forgive them of their sins and wish them a peaceful passing." He then climbed to his feet and wiped his hands on his clothes.

Falkner looked on, unmoving, shocked. "I've never seen a send-off ritual like that one before."

"Different culture outside the big cities," Morty answered, bending over to pick one of the coin bags. He gestured to the other one. "You take that one. We've earned it. We just saved the king from an assassination attempt."

Falkner picked up the other bag and slung it over his shoulder. "We can't just leave the body here. Someone will find it."

He looked around for a place to hide the body. Fortunately, the ruins they were supposed to be investigating weren't too far off. The raven in the tree was enough to tell him they were close. "The ruins are close by. We'll take the body there and bury it in the ground." Protect the body from adventurers and hopeful looters. The mark on the body's forehead he had left behind would ensure the body would not become food for the wildlife. After all, the dead couldn't be resurrected if there was no body to awaken.

"Right. Just pick up the body."

Morty grinned and picked up the man from his arms whilst Falkner lifted the legs. "We're not too far off. I've been through this way before some time ago. Now come on. Let's move." Falkner didn't say another word.

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Clair wished Lance was present. But she didn't know where he was. She had been hoping he would be here to calm her nerves, but she couldn't find him. He wasn't with grandfather for the man was standing by her side. They were waiting at the southern entrance of the castle. It was a long straight path that bypassed the herb garden and was reserved for important people only. Her grandfather wanted the royal prince to see the beauty of their castle rather than travel through the crowded streets.

The day was simple. She would have to wait until her grandfather introduced her to Prince Benga and he would take her hand and escort her into his chariot. The prince would then ride the chariot around the perimeter of the castle following the path escorted by several of the best knights. This was supposed to allow them to have quality bonding time. Lance was supposed to be one of those knights.

There were eight knights ready to escort. Each knight wore a helm with a red feather which was said to represent the nobility and purity of a phoenix. The horses were white and like the knights they too wore armour and had a crest of red feathers around their necks. Clair was wearing the blue dress she had selected earlier much to her grandfather's satisfaction.

The skies were clear. It seemed even the gods wanted this day to be special. Clair wasn't a big believer in the gods – in fact, she never prayed before the altar nor took part in the offerings made by the temple workers – but she didn't deny their existence either. She just chose not to involve herself in the affairs of the religious devout followers. It wasn't as if the gods cared about her marriage to Prince Benga anyway so why should she care in return?

"Where is Lance?" Edward said, his voice low.

"I thought he would have been with you. It's probably nothing though. He's not needed anyway." Though it would have been nice to have his support.

If the man was bothered by Lance's absence, then he didn't show it. "Yes. You are right. The past few days have been eventful, and another day of a full moon approaches."

Clair wanted to say more but was interrupted by the sound of a horn blowing.

"Ah, they have arrived," Edward said, rolling his shoulders back.

The knights all faced one another their ceremonial lances held upright. Clair looked towards the direction of the horns. There was a single black chariot led by two brown work horses and flanked by four Unovan knights. The Prince was inside the carriage. Clair drew in a deep breath, her right-hand clutching at the amulet hidden under her dress. Today was the day she'd say goodbye to her freedom.

It seemed to take ages for the chariot to arrive, but it reached its destination parking directly before the line of Blackthorn knights. The chariot rider climbed off the chair and onto the ground and opened the door to the carriage. He held back the door and waited for Prince Benga to climb outside.

Clair looked ahead taking in the appearance of her future husband. He was a thin lean man with flaming orange hair and piercing blue eyes. Not her picture of an ideal man. Her thoughts shifted back to Gary Oak. At least he had a face worthy of a royal princess's hand in marriage.

Prince Benga wore the traditional clothing for a prince unlike her cousin who preferred to wear the robes of a knight. Benga wore an embellished cloak and tunic which carried gold lacework and rich embroidery made of real gold. His olive trousers were held in place by a golden waistband. The coat of arms of the Unovan royal family was stitched onto the back of his cloak. The Blackthorns had a dragon to represent them whilst the Unovans had a moth to represent on their coat of arms.

"Greetings, young prince," Edward said, walking towards the man. "Welcome to Blackthorn Castle. I trust your journey was an uneventful one?" He extended his hand.

Benga accepted the handshake. "Travel by land was uneventful, but the ship was certainly interesting. I've never seen so many sick men all at once before." His eyes moved to Clair then shifted back to Edward. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person, King Edward."

"And I to you."

Shifting his gaze back to Clair again, Benga said, "You look beautiful, my lady."

She forced a smile. "And you look handsome, my lord," she replied. He didn't really. The man was not attractive at all. He was too lean and his face too plain. It was hard to believe this man was even a prince. Weren't princes usually handsome? But she knew she had to pretend to be interested in the man. Despite not even wanting the marriage, she didn't want to disappoint her family by making a fool of herself. She had far too much pride. She held out her hand.

He walked over and brought his head to her head, planting a kiss against the skin. It was customary to be greeted by a prince in such a manner. "If I may, King Edward, I would like the princess to accompany me on a short ride around the perimeter."

Edward nodded. "Of course."

Benga turned to her again. "Please, I would like to invite you into my carriage," he said, extending his hands towards.

Clair didn't have a choice. She nodded. "Of course." She didn't look at her grandfather. Taking Benga's hand, she allowed him to guide her to the carriage. His butler climbed on the seat and grabbed the reigns of the horse whilst Benga helped her inside. The seats were soft and made of cow leather. "It certainly is a fine day for a ride," she said, peering out the open window, gazing up at the clear blue sky. The carriage started to move, and the knights took their positions. The prince's royal guards led the way whilst the knights of Blackthorn stayed at the back end.

"Indeed. The weather is vastly different from Unova. Our skies are mostly grey until the summer months arrive, and our days are much shorter." He looked at her face, his eyes dropping to her hand clutched around her amulet. "An important family heirloom?" he remarked.

"I bought it recently from a stall." She pulled the amulet out to show him. It wasn't as if she could hide it forever as her possessions would become his.

He brought his face close and studied the amulet. "Fascinating," he mused.

She tried to read his expression but couldn't quite make out what he was thinking. He didn't look disturbed nor confused, but curious. "The woman said it belonged to the old priests."

"I've seen such a symbol before," he remarked, drawing back.

"Do you know what it means? The lady said it was supposed to protect the priests from the spirits of the dead."

He nodded. "My grandfather has a word for it – blood magic. The priests of the ancient days used to sacrifice the living to protect themselves from the dead. No human rituals – just the sacrifice of animals. These animals were placed upon an altar and their hearts would be used for spells."

Clair screwed her face up in disgust. She knew the old priests were barbaric, but she hadn't given much thought in how they created their spells. "And they became the necromancers?"

"No, the necromancers came after Nathaniel and his companions arrived. They specialized magic based on skills. Some mages became adept at healing. Others had a talent for the elements. The last came from Unova. Blood magic is something that's practiced in my hometown. Not to raise the dead, but to heal. This man took it one step forward. He wanted to cheat death itself. We cast him out of the kingdom, and he fled here," Benga explained.

Clair looked at him with new interest. The man didn't seem like much, but it was obvious he was a well-educated man who had clearly spent a lot of time reading old texts. For once, the rumours and storied were right. "You've read a lot of books."

Benga gave a light-hearted chuckle. "My grandfather, King Alder, insists upon it. Wisdom is knowledge after all. You can't be a wise king if you do not know about the world you live in. That's what he always says. So, I read all I can especially about the origins of magic. History tends to repeat itself and I think it's important to know how to deal with magic in case we are faced with it again." He peered out the window briefly then turned back to her. "I was never much of a fighter to be honest. I prefer to fight using words."

"That is an odd thing to say."

"Not all men like to fight with swords. War is not a pretty sight to behold. You watch hundreds of good men die all for a conflict that could be resolved if the leaders had shared words, but instead of seeking to come to a resolution, kings prefer to declare war. But at what cost? Lives are lost. Gold is spent. The economy suffers. These are all the beginning steps of a civilization crumbling. But enough of this talk about war and the past. Let's look towards the future. A future in which wars will cease to exist."

She nodded. She didn't agree with his words – if men were able to think, conflict would always arise and not all arguments could be resolved in words. Only fools believed in world peace. She knew true peace could never be achieved and wars had to be fought. "That's definitely a new way to look at the world," she said. "A noble aspiration."

Placing a hand on her shoulder gently, he said, "Together, we will bring peace to our lands so our future children and generations beyond them can live without the threat of war. You will make a fine queen and our two kingdoms will set an example for others to follow." He removed his arm.

"Of course."

Clair wasn't sure how long she'd be able to retain her sanity. Yes, he was intelligent, and he had a unique perspective on the world, but his thinking was all wrong. Some people enjoyed war. Some people lived for the battle. He was a fool to think he could change human nature. She didn't speak again, preferring to look outside the window instead, watching the grassy hills pass by. Benga seemed to think she was reflecting on his words and didn't press further. One day Benga would see how wrong he was. War was inevitable.

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Morty and Falkner hadn't managed to cover a lot of ground when they were confronted by two hooded figures wearing black robes. Both were armed; two silver longswords were visible beneath their robes. Clearly, the two figures didn't plan on surprising their enemies with a sneak attack. "Would you look at this, Queen? Two helpless travellers lost in the plain. It looks like they're heading towards the ruins," the figure on the right spoke his voice deep and laced with malicious intent.

"What do you say we kill them right here and steal their swords?" the female replied. She removed her hood, allowing Morty to get a better look at her. Her skin was pale, almost as white as snow, a stark contrast to her dark hair and eyes. Her thin lips were as red as blood and were curled in a malevolent sneer. "They don't look like too much trouble, King."

King also removed his hood. If they were siblings, Morty couldn't tell. Unlike Queen, King was dark. His skin was a deep shade of brown, and his hair was light grey. Withdrawing his sword, he pointed the blade at Morty. "Surrender now and your death will be a quick on. What say you?"

Morty hardened his gaze. "Do you know who you are talking to?"

King threw back his head and laughed. "What is your name?"

"Morty," he said truthfully. Two assassins. Not bandits. A bandit wouldn't ask for their names.

"Then you're the one with a nice price on your head," the woman said.

Morty narrowed his eyes. As expected, a pair of assassins sent after him. Someone he knew. A traitor within the Brotherhood? "You've got the wrong person. I'm Morty, a soldier of Blackthorn."

"You fit the description given," the man said, locking his predatory eyes on the blades hanging at their sides. "Nice weapons."

Falkner glared. "We're soldiers of Blackthorn; I'm sure you've heard of their expertise in battle."

Queen arched her brows. "And we work for Janine."

Morty had heard the name before. Janine. A woman who ran the assassin's guild in Goldenrod City. She organized contract killings, but never had she gone after his people before. Who had betrayed the Order? And why? He wasn't friends with everyone in the Brotherhood, but never had he schemed against them.

Falkner withdrew his sword. "You have another chance to walk away."

"I don't think they're willing to listen," Morty replied, clenching his jaw, tightening his grip on his sword waiting for the right moment to strike.

King and Queen lunged together. Morty evaded the first blow, regained his footing then spat in King's face before shoving him away. Enraged, King lunged. Expecting this, Morty dodged and brought the flat side of his sword around and into the side of King's head.

"King!" Queen shouted.

King stumbled backwards, bringing his free hand to the bruise on his cheek. He glared at Morty then charged again. Morty parried the blow and held his ground against King's own blade, before kicking at his shin.

King yelled, jumped back and spat at the grass beneath his feet. "You may have some skill with a blade, but it's not enough to defeat me!"

In the corner of his eye, Morty spotted a woman in colourful red and green robes advancing towards them. Naoko These two bandit fools didn't even know. She was holding his left wrist out.

Although Morty couldn't see any blood falling from his distance, he knew the woman was using magic. Before the bandits could react, tendrils made of blood emerged from the ground, wrapping themselves around their legs, fastening their hold. A tendril burst through the man's chest. On the tip was the poor man's heart. His female companion tried to break free, but she too was brought to a quick end. The tendril moved up her body and wrapped around her neck, squeezing tight until she could no longer breathe. Once the life had faded from her eyes, the tendrils imploded, blood dying the grass red.

Falkner's eyes were wide. "….Blood magic. It does exist."

Morty pretended to look afraid too. He started backing away. "…We can't run from this."

Indeed, they could not. New tendrils created from the intestines of the fallen bandits slithered across the grass like serpents and wrapped themselves around their ankles, holding them in place. Falkner panicked and immediately started hacking away with his sword, but the steel did no harm. To make it look like he wasn't connected, Morty struggled to free himself as well. Falkner's sword was pulled away from the tendril and thrown to the side as if it weighed nothing.

Naoko sauntered forward both hands now raised. She balled both hands into fists. The effect was immediate. Tendrils made their way up their bodies and wrapped around their necks.

Morty gagged, pretending to choke, but the realty was there was no pressure applied. The same couldn't be said for Falkner. Naoko used enough magic to ensure the male was knocked unconscious from a lack of oxygen, but not enough to end his life. Once Falkner had fallen, the tendrils imploded again, blood splattering all over his body.

"…Was that really necessary?" Morty grumbled, looking down at himself. Completely covered in blood from head to toe.

Naoko nodded. "Those assassins could've killed you."

"You know I was never in any real danger."

The woman looked towards Falkner's unconscious form. "But he could've died. I saved your friend. And he doesn't know what you are… He'll remember me when he wakes up, but that's fine. Just as long as your cover remains a secret." Naoko walked over to the corpses and looked down. She placed a foot on the man's left ribcage then gave him a gentle push onto his stomach.

"…Yeah. He is a bit of a liability. I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"I was becoming impatient. What have you found out?"

Morty folded his arms across his chest. "Not much now. I've only been part of the service for a few days. There's a royal wedding happening today… Clair. She's marrying some Unovan prince called Benga. But this might interest you… I met a servant girl. Her name is Sabrina and she's an oracle. She's been seeing things… about us. About what we do and who we are. That should concern you."

"An oracle? Are you certain?"

Morty nodded. "I wouldn't be telling you right now if I didn't feel confident."

"That could pose a problem. You need to talk to her. Find out what she has seen and stop her. We can't afford to have our plans revealed too early nor we can afford to let our enemies known what we are planning. Have you any news of the relics yet?"

Morty shook his head. "No. I don't even know what they look like. You didn't exactly describe them in detail." Frowning, he added, "What's the hurry? You know these things can take time."

"N came to visit."

"Oh."

"These three relics each belonged to one of the high priests. Together, they can resurrect the dead. The phoenix is a god of rebirth and resurrection – with those relics, we can restore order to our people. Raise the fallen and wage war against those who would dare to threaten our existence. To purge these lands of their hatred."

Morty nodded. Their goal was simple – purge the land of the non-believers. "An army of the dead. That is how we intend to restore order? By bringing back the fallen?"

"We don't have the numbers to fight Blackthorn. But if we can raise the dead, we'll have all the soldiers we need and more." She placed both her hands on his shoulders. "Ho-Oh entrusted this task to you. I know you will not fail."

He sighed. "How soon do you need it?"

"I can wait another fortnight. We don't have enough sacrifices just yet, but when we do, I will send a raven towards Blackthorn City at dawn. But for now, just keep finding information. We need to know the weak points in the city and what their plans are."

That was going to be quite difficult as he assumed the king would probably have the battle plans kept within the castle and not in the barracks. How was he even going to find a way inside without getting caught? The guards were always watching. The only option he saw was trying to convince a slave to steal information but then most likely his identity would be revealed, and he'd be in trouble. The entire city would go into lockdown. "Right. Of course. It's all so simple. Hey. Has Zuki said anything to you? We ran into a bandit earlier and he said he'd been sent by Zuki."

Naoko's eyebrows arched up in surprise. "No, I haven't. We usually keep to ourselves and carry out our own business. What did this man want?"

"He wanted to enter Blackthorn City and assassinate the king. He was carrying bags of coin," he said, gesturing to the bag slung over his shoulder. "I guess he thought the king would be influenced by gold like many others are. But I stopped him."

Naoko nodded, satisfied. "Excellent."

"What are you going to do about Zuki? We can't afford to have her ruining what I'm doing here."

"I'll talk to my sister. She must be growing impatient as well to act like this."

Morty relaxed. One less problem to have to deal with. "What do you know of the ruins ahead? We were sent to investigate a matter there."

"The Ruins of Old Blackthorn? Well, there are bunch of corpses that we've left behind that lie in wait for their resurrection, but there is a shrine you might be interested in visiting. It was said a great treasure was buried there, but I have not seen it myself. You may have better luck uncovering the secrets if there are any to be found."

Lifting a brow, Morty said, "Now why would I want to do that?"

With a shrug of her shoulders, Naoko replied, "Gold. Perhaps there might be a powerful weapon that you can use to your advantage, or something that could help you find the relics. The ruins are just ahead. They're not very impressive to look at it – just a circle of stones actually – but it is a sacred place. As for me, I must return. These were assassin's intent on killing you. A traitor within our Brotherhood." Naoko said her farewells then turned her back and retreated towards the woods.

Morty sighed. Typical Naoko. How he wished he didn't have to answer to the commands of his superior. But there was nothing he could do about it. He didn't want to end up in the Pits and bring embarrassment to his people. Once Naoko was out of sight, he turned to Falkner. The boy would regain consciousness soon. He certainly wasn't going to carry him to the ruins.

Morty sat down next to the man. "You can't hear me, but I am sorry for what is it come in the future. You're not a bad person Falkner; but I have my orders just as you have yours. We're both soldiers in a war on different sides fighting for a common goal – absolute power. I just have to use you and your people to help bring mine closer to that goal."

He didn't say another word. Falkner showed no signs of awakening just yet. Morty lay down on the ground, placing his hands behind his head, as he stared up at the sky. Thick clouds billowed above him. Light drops of rain fell on his head. Nothing but a gentle passing shower for now, but a storm would later come.