Frostnova stepped out of the landship as the inspectors left them behind, following Fredrich as he traced a winding path through the docks.
"The smugglers paid the inspectors off." Andrey sighed. "Bribery, right under the nose of the government. Nothing's changed in this country. Perhaps things have even gotten worse."
"We're here to find your body, not save Leithanien." Frostnova reminded him.
"Yes, I know. And this place isn't my business anymore. I just feel… compelled to help, somehow." Andrey said. "Probably my memories speaking."
"Mhm." Frostnova ducked under a hanging pipe to enter a narrow alley, the group walking single-file between two crumbling brick walls. "We're going to the slums."
"Yeah. The buildings have been getting progressively worse as we keep going."
Frostnova nodded. Eventually, they found themselves in front of a cluster of abandoned shacks, and Fredrich ushered them in. He gestured to the buildings around them, and spoke:
"The buildings in this region aren't visited by the police. You'll be safe here. I'll go and find the cell with Frostnova; going as such a large group will only draw attention."
Petrova nodded, turning to relay Fredrich's instructions to the Yetis. After a few moments, Ben and Anne followed along, sitting down against a wall.
Only Levina remained standing, and she turned to Fredrich. "I'd like to follow, if possible."
Fredrich nodded and left the shack, taking a sharp turn and breaking into a slow jog; leaving Frostnova and Levina to catch up.
Andrey chuckled. "Well, he certainly seems excited."
Petrova sat down on the ground, taking a whetstone out of his pack and setting down a few spare knives beside it. They were chipped at places – the result of constant use, both in and out of combat. It'd been a while since he had sharpened them, and what better time than now?
Sitting down, he began slowly working on the edge of one of the knives – a short combat knife looted from a military supply shipment. The original black paint on the paint had long since been worn away to reveal the glinting steel beneath – which had subsequently been dulled by use.
Eventually, he was finished, and moved to grab the next knife; only for his hand to touch thin air. Confused, he turned to look – finding them, indeed, gone.
Raising his head, he saw a dark-haired young girl standing by a window – his knives in hand. She gave him a smirk when he saw her and ran.
"Oh, come on." Petrova sighed, sprinting after the girl as she broke into a run. She couldn't have been older than twelve yet was surprisingly fast – sliding under a wooden pole to enter a narrow side alley as Petrova gave chase. Somebody hadn't been doing their job properly, letting her in. Slums would always have some of the less savory elements of society; they should've expected that. No matter how harmless the girl looked.
Well, that could come later. For now, he wanted his knives back. The girl ducked into an open door, slamming it shut behind her. The lock turned with a click.
Without missing a beat, Petrova let out a shout and smashed through – continuing his chase. The girl had run further into the building, Petrova barely spotting her foot as she rushed up a rickety staircase.
He chased after her as she ducked into a side room, finally cornering her beside an open window – the glass having long since been shattered, leaving the window open.
"You're cornered." He flatly said. "Knives back, please."
"Nope!" The girl backflipped out the window, of all things, landing gently on the ground below.
"Really?" Petrova grumbled, jumping out the window after her – the glass giving him a scratch on the leg as he went past. He slammed into the ground, the girl letting out a cry of shock – before taking another turn into a side alley.
She hadn't been expecting him to copy her move, most likely. Nonetheless, her reactions were quite fast, and she turned to run once more. However, in her haste, she had forgotten something – the alley she had ran into was a dead end.
She turned from the brick wall to face Petrova, smirk shifting to a snarl as she realized she was cornered. Unsheathing two of the knives she had stolen and dropping the rest, she gripped them tightly in either hand in what might've passed for a reverse grip, pointing one towards Petrova.
"Leave, and you won't get hurt." She said, in what was probably supposed to be an intimidating voice. Her shaking hands gave her away, however.
Petrova laughed. "Do you even know how to use those?"
"Y-yes." Her eyes glowed, her stance shifting.
Petrova took a careful step back, smile fading.
Arts?
He had plenty of experience disarming belligerent, armed preteens – even if he was unarmed – but Arts changed things. His sword came out of its sheathe, and Petrova took a proper combat stance – one leg shifted slightly forward, sword pointed at the girl.
"Yargh!" The girl charged, leaving red trails behind her as she moved with undoubtedly Arts-enhanced speed.
It would've been more efficient if she hadn't yelled before she charged, Petrova idly noted. His sword came up to smash aside the dagger coming towards his face, before he gracefully sidestepped the follow-up blade towards his stomach.
Expected behavior. She was aggressive and desperate, but untrained.
Petrova rushed forward, aiming to knock her out with the pommel of his sword – only for the girl to activate her Arts again and leap out of the way.
Petrova took another step forward, noting how she was getting closer to the wall – running out of space. The girl made another probing thrust which was quickly deflected, taking another step back.
She took another step back, when a stab was deflected with nothing more than a grunt.
A final step put her back against the wall, her eyes growing wide.
Apparently not fancying her chances against an obviously skilled opponent, she made a break for it.
Petrova extended a foot, and she tripped, hitting the ground face first with a cry of pain.
Stepping on her back, Petrova pressed down upon her hands, sighing when she refused to let go of the knives.
"Let me go!" She cried out. "Or else I'll tell the Claws!"
Petrova wasn't sure whether that was supposed to mean anything. "Eh, I can deal with them."
Stamping a foot down on her arm, he forced her to let go of one knife – repeating the process with the other arm. Taking the corresponding sheathes off her too, he sighed, turning to leave.
"You're just going to leave?" The girl asked, slowly getting up. "You're not going to beat me up?"
"I just want my knives back." Petrova sighed. "Plus, you look plenty beaten up already. Just leave my guys alone after this."
He was right. The girl was breathing heavily, her nose broken and bleeding, her hair and face covered in a gratuitous layer of dust. Petrova was somewhat dusty too, but nowhere near her; a few quick pats got rid of the worst of it.
Turning away, Petrova rounded a corner and left. The girl simply stood there – perhaps saddened by the loss of her stolen goods, or perhaps just tired.
Petrova didn't care. He had some knives to get back to sharpening, and some Yetis to reprimand.
"What a first day…" He thought to himself, returning the knives to his belt.
After what felt like an entire day of ducking through questionable alleys and pathways, they finally found themselves in front of a nondescript door – reinforced, by the looks of it, though otherwise unremarkable. A sign above the door read "Fifth Avenue Estate Management," though that was obviously a lie.
The five armed mercenaries Andrey sensed hidden around the entrance made light of that fact.
Fredrich gave the door a knock, and a muffled voice came from behind it. "Fredrich? Why are you back?"
Fredrich sighed, pulling out an emblem and waving it in front of the eyehole. "Good to see you, Vik. I'm here on important business… for the cell as a whole."
"I take it those two girls are involved?" The man asked.
Fredrich nodded, and they were ushered in.
As Fredrich walked past, the man whispered – perhaps too loudly – into Fredrich's ear. "Hey, the Cautus is pretty hot. You think –"
Fredrich sighed. "No."
Frostnova's icy glare at this "Vik" made him shiver – though perhaps that was more because of the Arts gradually coalescing around him. Carefully, he stepped away.
"Well, that's not a particularly good first impression." Andrey quipped.
"Yes." Frostnova sighed, reining in her Arts with effort and continuing to follow Fredrich.
"Well, you are quite literally the antithesis of 'hot.' Though you're beautiful nonetheless."
Frostnova giggled. "Mm."
Their conversation soon stopped as Fredrich finally stopped in front of an ornately decorated office door – talking to the guards for a while before being let in.
"Fredrich, hm? Can't say I expected to see you." The armored man behind the desk said, turning to face them. "What happened to the research team thing? And isn't that one of your team members?"
Fredrich nodded, bowing his head. "Yes, sir. But I found something far more important. Spymaster?"
"Yes?" Andrey asked, slipping back into the role of the spymaster.
The man visibly recoiled in shock, before quickly regaining his composure. "Mind Arts. Ours, at that. Not from you, nor these two here."
He gestured to them, before narrowing his eyes. "So, who is it?"
"You would do well to give your Spymaster some respect." Andrey said.
"Spymaster? How?"
Andrey didn't reply, instead entering the man's mind – which was, unsurprisingly, yet another generic-looking home. How boring.
Without further ado, he smashed through the door, and activated his Arts.
Returning to Frostnova, he smiled in satisfaction as the man slumped back into his seat from the memories running through them. They were further abridged compared to the ones Fredrich had received; but a good day's worth of memories still took some time to digest.
Once it was done, the man hastily stood up, legs still wobbling as he kneeled to the ground. "Spymaster. You have returned, sir?"
"I desire my body back. Find whoever passes for a leader here and summon them to me." The man hesitated for a moment, and Andrey wondered if he was laying it on too thick.
Then he stood up and snapped into a salute, before rushing out the room. Right. None of them had actually met the real Spymaster, having been born in an entirely different era.
"That was easy." Frostnova said.
"The Spymaster is supposed to be the supreme leader of the Spy Corps, in life and in death. These spies have likely been trained to worship me, just as the rest of the Witch King's forces still worship the Witch King."
"That's…" Frostnova trailed off.
"Horrible? I should know; my past self ordered it." Andrey sighed. "Though I'd never do it again, it is convenient now."
Frostnova nodded, unwilling to pursue this topic any further. Soon the sound of rapid footsteps came from the hallway, and a fat man burst through the door – kneeling down as he gasped for air.
Frostnova took a step back, nose curling in disgust. He wore fine silk clothing, but those did nothing to disguise the body of someone who hadn't worked a day in his life.
"Spymaster?" He asked. "I am the manager of this humble cell, Gabriel. I was informed that you are… without a corporeal form?"
"Yes." Andrey said. "And you WILL help me recover mine."
"Sir, it's being held in the Witch King's Mausoleum! To recover it would involve breaking through countless layers of defenses, not to mention some of their best soldiers! It… I'm sorry, but it might be impossible." Gabriel sweated.
"Are you suggesting that MY spies cannot defeat the troops guarding a funeral casket?" Andrey roared. "I was not aware of such weakness. Very well, then. Call upon the other cells. Perhaps they will be more competent."
Activating his Arts, Andrey sent a burst of pain straight to the man's brain, and he recoiled back, letting out a cry of fear. "U-understood, sir! I will get to it immediately."
"He's a coward." Frostnova grumbled.
"Yep." Andrey sighed. "The influence of the Spymaster can only go so far, I suppose. Ah well. We'll just have to find some other cell more willing to help."
"Will there be any?" Frostnova asked.
"There should be. Though it'll take a while."
"We have time."
"I apologize, Spymaster. Our leader is… cowardly at times. Perhaps he needs to be replaced." Fredrich said.
"I will consider it." Then, returning to Frostnova, Andrey laughed. "Did Fredrich just try to make a power play?"
"I'm not familiar with politics; don't ask me. The strong lead in the tundra." Frostnova replied.
"Ah well. It certainly looks like he did. Anyway, looking forward to experiencing a high-class dinner?"
"You–" Frostnova had to restrain the instinctive desire to scream. That wouldn't do, not with Fredrich around. "I despise anything to do with nobility."
"Thought so."
Stood in a corner of the office, Levina watched everything happen impassively. She probably wasn't needed here, so it was best not to interfere.
Just what was Andrey saying to Frostnova, though, to make the frigid girl's expression change so drastically?
AN: Much update, many wow. Well, this was certainly quick. Having a plan is nice. Not much to say here, Andrey essentially uses the influence of the Spymaster to bullshit his way through everything.
RN: Revision complete.