Deviants and Drunks

It was dawn at Joltenheim, and servants and guards rushed about in preparation for Preto's journey.

"Sound," Nate spoke, his voice low as he sat up in his bed, his eyes heavy with thought.

A thin man entered the room without a sound, his steps quiet. "My Lord," the man said. His hollow, empty eye sockets stared ahead, a chilling reminder of the price of his abilities. Despite his blindness, Sound was one of Nate's most useful tools. His cursed hearing allowed him to pick up even the faintest whispers and movements, seeing the world in a way others could not.

"You will leave with my brother," Nate whispered, the words barely audible to an ordinary man.

"Yes, my Lord." Sound gave a curt nod and vanished, as silent as the shadows he seemed to blend into.

"Send in Sight," Nate commanded softly, certain his words would reach the unseen ears.

Moments later, Sight entered in a rush. His features were sharp, and his urgency crackled in the air like a brewing storm. "Problem, my Lord."

"What!" Nate's tone sharpened, though his volume remained controlled.

"Blonde is not in his room," Sight replied, his voice clear and steady despite his inability to hear his own words, his sharp eyes following Nate's lips.

"That is not possible. Sound confirmed his presence," Nate snapped.

"I read his footsteps leaving his room," Sight explained.

"Footsteps in the castle? How?" Nate's brows joined as he tried to piece it together.

"Moisture trails left behind by bare feet," Sight replied.

"He left barefoot in the dead of night?" Nate murmured, his mind racing. "Why?" His gaze sharpened as he barked, "Alert all observers. And find the drunk."

Sight gave a firm nod, then turned and left without hesitation.

Nate paced, his thoughts spiraling. "Where would he go?" he murmured, replaying the possibilities over and over. Suddenly a realization struck him.

Without hesitation, Nate rushed down the hallway, his strides long and urgent. Doors blurred past him as his eyes scanned each open one. He caught a quick glimpse inside Alexander's room; it was empty. His gut twisted.

He reached the staircase; he paused at the fork. One set of stairs led down; the other, up. His ears caught the echo of footsteps ascending above. Pressing himself against the wall, he leaned just enough to catch a glimpse.

Schnitzel. The colonel was climbing the stairs, a knife gleaming in his hand. Fool! Does he think this is some tavern brawl? Noisy footsteps, a blade in the open, it's like he wants to get caught. This was a mistake. I should've known better than to trust a drunkard with precision work. But now… now I have to clean up the mess before it spirals further out of control. For a brief moment, Nate wrestled with indecision. Should he kill Schnitzel right now and eliminate the liability? Or to use him in some other way. I can make some use of him, He thought.

"Colonel," Nate hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Abort. Return to your hole and don't move until I summon you. If you so much as breathe out of turn, I'll deal with you myself."Schnitzel froze at Nate's command, then slowly nodded.

"Hide that, idiot!" Nate hissed, his gaze flickering to the knife in the man's hand.

As Schnitzel retreated, Nate released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

Thank God. I thought I'd die today, Schnitzel's relieved sigh echoed faintly as he disappeared down the stairs.

Hopefully, the Observers will secure him on his way, Nate thought. His tension didn't ease as he ascended the staircase.

At the top, his gaze locked onto a single door, the guest room where Margot Clove was staying. He approached it carefully, pressing his ear against the cool wood.

A muffled sound came through.

"Ahnh," Margot's voice, soft and intimate, filtered through the door.

He's definitely inside. Nate thought. His hand hovered over the door handle, trembling. Just one twist, and he could storm in, put an end to both of them. But then what? Alexander would easily overpower him. No. Not yet. This game wasn't over, and a reckless move would cost him everything. He took a step back, fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms. I have to bet it all on Schnitzel now. He thought.

I lived! I lived. But for how long? Schnitzel's mind raced as he staggered through the narrow alleyway. I…I never knew what that man was capable of… His chest tightened with an unshakable fear. He's weaker than any warrior I've ever met. Then why do I fear him so much? He Thought.

Schnitzel Vandan, one of the strongest knights of the realm, tried to steady his trembling hands. His breath came in ragged gasps, and sweat streamed down his temples. His brother, the greatest sword the realm has ever seen, does not unnerve me. So why did I shake under his gaze? He Thought.

His thoughts consumed him as he walked past battered, gray buildings lining the alley. Beggars, huddled against the crumbling walls, turned their gaunt faces toward him, their hollow eyes following his every step.

One of them stood abruptly, clutching a tin bowl rattling with a few meager coins. The metallic clink of the coins echoed in Schnitzel's ears, far louder than it should have. The beggar moved away without a word.

Finally, Schnitzel reached his home. It was modest to the point of embarrassment, a single shabby room with a cheap bed, a worn table and chair near a shut window, and a small cabinet for his clothes. The house of a man who drank more than he saved.

I am sure he will not let me live, Schnitzel thought, his fear clawing at him. I must run. Back to Old Farm, to my father. He must be told…about the capabilities of that man. He thought

He began packing his clothes in frantic haste, shoving items into a tattered bag with trembling hands.

"Going somewhere?"

The voice, calm and mocking, froze him in place. Schnitzel turned slowly, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. Standing in the corner of the room was Sight, clad in black, his face hidden up to his eyes.

Schnitzel unsheathed his sword with a sharp rasp of steel. "I'm not drunk this time," he growled.

"Oooh, I'm terrified," Sight mocked, his lips curving into a smirk. 

In a blur, Sight charged at Schnitzel. The knight swung his sword, but Sight twisted his body mid-air, moving like a shadow given life. Before Schnitzel could react, Sight was upon him, grabbing his arm and twisting it with a sickening crack. The sword clattered to the ground.

With a quick movement, Sight swept Schnitzel's legs out from under him, slamming him face-first to the floor. Sight pressed a knee into Schnitzel's back and struck a nerve at his neck.

Darkness enveloped Schnitzel as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Preto was all set for his journey. Five trusted men accompanied him

"Well, Elderwood is a fuckin' forest," remarked Peter Brodman, a red-haired man with sharp brown eyes that gleamed with mischief.

"It's a beautiful fuckin' forest, Brodman," said Clive Faroff, an ugly, bald man with a wide, jagged scar running across his skull.

""I'm sure it's as beautiful as you are, Clive," Peter retorted with a smirk.

"Where's Preto, Fin, and Ed? Why ain't they 'ere yet? We're supposed to leave," grumbled Heath Flower, an average-looking man with striking silver eyes.

"Go get 'em, Heath," Clive muttered.

"There they are!" Peter called out, pointing toward the castle. Three figures emerged, striding toward them. At the center was Preto and on his left was Fin Vetican, towering above the others like a giant oak. "Look at that beast," Peter said with a laugh. "You can spot him a mile away. Ed isn't as tall, but he's just as strong. Bloody Veticans."

"Not stronger than me," Clive growled.

"Hah!" Heath chuckled.

"Shut up, or I'll break your face," Clive snapped, his voice a low growl.

"Easy now, easy now," Preto said as he mounted his horse, his tone calm and commanding.

On the castle wall, Vandil stood alone, watching Preto's party. The young men laughed and joked, oblivious to the weight of the world. Vandil's sharp eyes lingered on them for a moment. This journey will might be a harsh one, he thought.

"Hey," came a voice from behind. A hand rested on Vandil's shoulder. It was Silver Traid, the Lord Commander.

"Lord Commander," Vandil said, saluting stiffly, his voice heavy and devoid of emotion.

"At ease," Silver said, leaning against the wall beside him. His gaze followed Vandil's, watching the riders as they disappeared into the horizon. "Tell me, Major. What exactly happened in Johnsburg?"

Vandil remained silent.

Silver glanced at him briefly, then turned back to the view. He had expected no answer, and none came.