Chapter 27: Illusions.

It was one of the cruelest nights to have graced the few blocks surrounding the butchery. However, like any other bloody event, this horrendous incident was meant to be forgotten in little to no time.

Caidie's gem-like eyes glistened with multiple emotions as she escorted the unconscious Aza'zel to his little courtyard in the abandoned section of the town.

The boy's body was rinsed in blood from head to toe, innumerable twisted wounds scarring his bedraggled figure. These wounds of flesh didn't seep out with blood but quite the opposite, they devoured it.

Caidie's hands, though clean and tidy, reeked of as much blood. It couldn't be helped, as she had to finish off whoever took notice of Aza'zel in the heart of the battle.

Although it was a bit of cheating, she didn't mind at all.

Light footfalls sounded in groups from behind, prompting the former princess to take her leave from the courtyard. Moments later, a group of stragglers rushed in, led by Frederick in his haste.

"Master!" Frederick shouted, "Master! Are you back yet?!"

Only Frederick had the expressed permission to intrude upon the small courtyard during times of urgency, following the old man's discretion of course.

While the rushed footfalls ground to a halt, a faint feeble pace kept on until the old man's figure finally entered the private space of Aza'zel.

"Thank goodness you're fine," Frederick sighed out the tension in his bones, slumping down to his weary knees on the ground while inching closer to the young man.

Many shallow yet not so serious wounds which were apparently undergoing a process of healing, torn clothes, and a raincoat in a much more pathetic of a state.

This was Frederick's first time laying eyes on the body of his young master beneath the layers of robes and raincoat. However, he quickly shouted for a few errand stragglers to fetch a coat from around the town.

The commotion tugged hard on Aza'zel who let out a staggering groan, an aftermath of perhaps a splitting headache or numbing pain in the body, and maybe both.

Frederick, who served attentively to the side, hurried to help Aza'zel sit up, only to astoundingly discover the excessive heat discharged from the latter's body.

Being the clever old man he was, Frederick didn't ask about it and instead, withdrew a piece of wet loaf from his sleeve and brought it to the young boy's mouth.

"Eat this, Master," said Frederick. "You need the energy and rest, as I've got wonderful news for you."

Aza'zel had yet to kick back into functional processing since losing his sanity last night. Thus, as memories reeled in and scenes flashed one after the next, his body slouched forth, nausea gripping at his stomach while he wretched to the side.

Frederick instinctively pulled the piece of loaf back when he noticed something was wrong. Then, he sighed in relief for the food was not wasted in vain.

He didn't shy away from the discomforting smell nor did he feel reviled. Instead, he brought the sleeves of his robes to scrub away at the young boy's face from the lips to the chin.

His movement of hand seemed exceptionally practiced as he tended to Aza'zel and said, "Easy there, Master… Take it easy, it was a rough night for all of us."

In little to no time, Aza'zel enjoyed a presentable state despite the contrasting silence. With half his face under the covers, it was unknown what thoughts ran through his mind.

"A lot of things happened last night, Master."

Frederick decided he might as well break the silence, since Aza'zel didn't speak nor did he take the initiative to mention food, hunger, or thirst.

Stragglers didn't dare get close to the open battlefield, but some of them on the streets happened to catch sight of Aza'zel heading in the direction of the war.

This was the main reason why Frederick was so anxious as he made a beeline back to the courtyard.

The old man said, "We didn't bring back anything from the night raid, but I made sure to get everyone's hands dirty. They all took part in the arson of multiple strongholds, and I've gathered evidence on each and every one of those with shifty attitudes."

Aza'zel sat there in silence, unknown whether he listened or not to the recounting of the old man.

Regardless, the old man continued by saying, "It was the Old 7th, Magnum Raksha, who occupied the butchery and the block of territory in the end… Old 3rd made some concessions, while the lady's camp was caught in internal strife… This might be good or bad, but the 12th Raksha seat is now occupied by Wendy Sunflower."

Aza'zel's hands twitched in response to the last sentence of the report, perceived as a sign of apprehension from Frederick.

"Don't worry about it, Master," said Frederick. "She needs a lot of time to consolidate her power, both above the surface and below, so she wouldn't have the time and resources to focus on our activities. It's such a surprise… That woman's opportunities seem omnipresent, if you ask me."

"I'm not worried at all," replied Aza'zel, his voice immature as ever with a touch of hoarse fatigue.

Frederick didn't worry about the weariness in the young boy's voice, he was satisfactorily exhilarated that the young boy's psyche didn't suffer much from such extensive exposure to unadulterated violence.

He spoke with a touch of heavy emotions, "I suggest we lay low for the following few weeks, possibly a few months even, Master. I don't know why, but with the increasing activities of the rodents, we wouldn't lack any rations until things simmer down in Raksha Town."

Aza'zel nodded his head, saying, "Find a group of youthful stragglers for me, preferably under the age of twenty… If you can, smuggle some children from the breeding farms as well."

Frederick hesitated. "That… We can't smuggle totemic warriors, though we can pick some children with fairly healthy physiques… It's just that, they would be females."

While male totemic warriors are groomed in the breeding farms, the female mercenaries are shipped directly to the territory of the myriad races' military to reward soldiers.

"Is that so…" Aza'zel muttered, apparent dissatisfaction in his voice even as he said, "Alright then, bring me a batch of seven children around my age instead, and you can keep the stragglers to yourself."

Frederick nodded. "These arrangements are much to my liking, Master. These stragglers are too attached to their life as it is, surviving in the cracks of anarchy without a hint of solid reason or loyalty. If you want to build your private force, grooming a few children from a young age would be for the best."

Although this was no different from brainwashing, Aza'zel knew he didn't have the liberty of choosing at the moment. He didn't want to rely on the stragglers groomed by Frederick or the forces under Wendy in the future, nor did he feel like personally taking action when he wanted someone dead.

Just like when playing chess, the king needn't needlessly march forward when flanked by the soldiers, ministers, and his queen.

The young prince didn't have any soldiers or knights, much less a queen. At first, he thought he could fend for himself with his supernatural abilities, even when compared with the twelve Rakshas.

However, Wendy's coup last night highlighted the value of underlings to Aza'zel, and while the town basked in the illusion of his death, he opted for Wendy to bask in the illusion of his solidarity.