Chapter 6

The Baron drummed his fat fingers on the golden armrest of his throne. Thinking back, everything had gone sideways from the very summoning. The seal came out defective, and that alone would've made taming the demon harder, but the defect turned out to be insidious.

When the demon "shut down" the first time, the Baron immediately suspected sabotage from his ally. He tried to decipher the seal himself, spent dozens of hours poring over Randall's notes, but found no discrepancies. Everything was supposed to work. But it didn't. The possessed body just lay there like a hunk of meat in his hall.

Time passed, the viscount's absence might've been noticed back at the castle, and the Baron had to admit defeat and fake an accident. Imagine his surprise when, just a day later, he sensed the summoned creature near his lands again! A squad was dispatched, and the demon ended up back in his hands... in the exact same state!

The Baron could only conclude that the seal was so unstable, his pawn might shut down at any moment. On the other hand, despite that outcome, the plan was working. The demon had spent an entire day in the company of his grandfather without being exposed. That was a definite success. As for the blackouts, they didn't really matter. The demon wasn't meant for battle anyway...

By the way… Why hasn't he arrived yet? Maybe he should give the leash a tug to hurry him up?

The doors, reinforced with golden bands, opened, and the possessed entered the hall. The Baron nodded in satisfaction. The demon had perfectly absorbed the essence of the viscount, even he, a close friend, saw no difference between the past and current personalities. So what chance did the grandfather have, who'd never truly known his grandson? Expensive clothes, a trim figure, the same gait, the same proud, distant demeanor, a serious improvement from the summoning day, when even an idiot could tell the viscount had no control over his body.

Randall approached the throne and gave a slight bow. Not a hair lower than etiquette demanded. Even a higher-ranked viscount was required to show respect to a landowner. The Baron frowned slightly, he'd expected more submissiveness from his new servant. Maybe he should lock him in a room and teach him obedience, but once again, there was no time.

"At last, we meet again. You're a defective product, but you can still be useful to me. Tell me, how much of your predecessor's secret knowledge have you mastered?"

The Baron regretted having to destroy such a great mind. Randall could've been a trump card in the grand plan of the forces of ruin. But if the demon had devoured his knowledge, then little was lost.

He focused and yanked on the leash, forcing the demon to speak the truth. Heavy! It felt like trying to rein in a raging bull with thread. Not surprising. His plan required an old, seasoned demon who understood human nature and could pretend to be a man. And such creatures, by definition, couldn't be weak. The Abyss didn't tolerate weakness. The viscount said nothing, and the Baron had to pour half his magical reserve into the weave.

"This man's secret knowledge was too well protected. I know enough to avoid detection, but most of his research is lost forever." The demon's voice flowed like velvet across the hall. The Baron lost focus for a moment. This creature was powerful! Just who had he summoned into this world?

Lost knowledge, that was unfortunate. Thanks to Randall, the Baron had made serious progress in demonology. Ironically, it was the viscount's knowledge that let him pull off this audacious plan, replacing the boy with a demon. But knowledge was fleeting. The Baron had learned the most important thing, the viscount's origin. Losing some notes in exchange for such a valuable pawn was more than worth it.

Even having to spend so much power to subdue the demon was only a minor inconvenience. What mattered was that he had a lever. If needed, he'd gather a circle of mages and use brute force to achieve full control.

"Extend your hand and release magical energy." The Baron whistled, and a black raven dove from the ceiling.

It landed on the Baron's hand and stared intently at the demon with blood-red eyes. It seemed the creature sealed inside the raven could sense its demonic kin even without a binding ritual.

The viscount eyed the bird thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly, as if mimicking the raven.

"Yes, that's the very same possessed raven you, Randall, gave me for my birthday. I named him Karl. Release some mana. He needs to absorb your magical signature to serve as our courier."

The demon released his mana a bit clumsily. Seemed he still wasn't fully used to his new body. But it was enough. The raven croaked hoarsely and flew back to the ceiling.

"If I need anything, I'll send word with Karl. Now let's talk business. For now, your main task is to fulfill the king's decree and elevate your House, without revealing your nature. I promised you blood and souls as a reward, and I stand by it. But there's no time now. Your defect has caused your grandfather's mercenaries to camp outside my castle for three days already, they could storm it at any moment. So get moving. I keep my word, the souls will await your return, as long as you obey me. As for your defect... it must be hidden. I'll prepare a squad to handle the mercenaries once the mission's done."

Truth be told, Brute was very pleased the demon had finally awakened. The mercenary commander had started asking awkward questions and was losing faith in the story about the viscount being ill. Had to splurge on a couple barrels of wine to shut his men up!

The Baron waited for a bow and dismissed the viscount. His enormous belly growled, the demon hidden in his body demanded offerings. He waited until the possessed was gone, then lifted a golden bell and signaled the servants to bring in lunch.

A sweet anticipation spread through the Lord's blighted body. He licked his dry lips, hoping that the next batch of peasant children, helpless and oozing terror, would be just as delicious as the last.

***

I descended the stairs, a bit uneasy. Looked like everything had gone smoothly. Though I almost botched it when the pig demanded I release mana. General magic was never Randall's strong suit. Fortunately, the viscount was used to channeling raw mana during rituals, so it didn't cause much trouble. Many nobles ignored this aspect of the gift entirely, considering it too weak compared to metal magic. Strange, manipulating metal came to me easily, like second nature, but general magic…

The difference was phenomenal. I felt a surge of euphoria as the mana obeyed my will and flowed from my body, disciplined and sharp like a trained attack dog. The feeling was indescribable. No wonder the mages here see themselves as superior beings and treat the ungifted like trash.

I had to rein myself in, or I'd end up just another arrogant snob like that pompous brat. Still, the body's memory hadn't failed me, and now I could say with confidence: the gift obeyed me completely. More than that, it was significantly stronger than Randall remembered. I needed to run some tests...

My thoughts were interrupted by a servant, who handed me a dark, fur-lined cloak and an empty scabbard.

Hmm, speaking of that.

"Fetch me a bastard sword from the armory. This dump's bound to have something made of capital steel, right? Move!"

The servant bolted so fast his heels flashed. I was pretty sure the Baron wouldn't mind if I requisitioned a blade from his stock. Heading out without a weapon would be pure idiocy.

The breathless servant returned almost instantly. Either the Baron had trained them well, or the sword had been prepared in advance. Anyway, it didn't matter.

I ran my hand along the weapon, activating the gift. The metal element gave massive advantages when analyzing weapons. Where a normal appraiser would need tests, metal mages simply felt the steel and all its properties.

A basic bastard sword, purely utilitarian, no decorations. Simple, but solid work. No voids or serious flaws in the blade. The steel, though not from the capital, was of respectable quality.

I tried the sword in the scabbard. Of course, it didn't fit. The blade was wider and shorter than the one I'd had before. But that wasn't a problem, my gift came with a special aspect. The Sculptor Aspect.

Most metal mages didn't have an additional aspect and could do a bit of everything: move metal, summon it from nothing, reshape it. But all that required huge amounts of power. You could bind metal to yourself with blood and magic, that made manipulating it a lot easier. Pretty much everyone did that.

But occasionally, especially in certain families, a specialized Aspect would show up — often hereditary. Throwers could move metal with far less effort and at much greater distances. Summoners could create more metal at lower mana cost, and the metal itself was more stable and didn't fade from reality as fast. Sculptors, on the other hand, could reshape metal. They not only spent no extra power reshaping blood-bound metal, the cost of reshaping ordinary steel was low enough to use this aspect in battle.

I focused, concentrating on the image of my old sword, and reshaped the bastard sword into an exact copy. The blade flowed into the new form without the slightest resistance. Huh. Come to think of it, I also had no trouble making that figurine from the spearhead. It was like this wasn't ordinary steel, but blood-bound to me personally! I wonder what'll happen once I finally bind a weapon for real?

I slid the transformed sword into the scabbard and thoughtfully tapped the heavier-than-expected pommel. Makes sense. The bastard sword had more mass than my previous blade. The transformation only changed the shape, not the amount of metal.

Although, I already knew that, but Randall had never paid much attention to such details. These things were ingrained in me, like muscle memory. Seems I really do need to sort through all the stuff I inherited, with fresh eyes. But that'll have to wait, I need to hurry to the gate, where the mercenaries are waiting.

I wrapped myself in the cloak and briskly left the rooms, stepping into the inner courtyard. Finally, fresh air! Well, not really fresh, the stables were nearby. I wonder if keeping a stable inside the castle walls is normal, or if this Baron just doesn't mind the stench?

A page was already hurrying toward me, leading a horse. My horse. So that's where you were, you devil! Wait, do I actually have to ride this thing? I barely held back from asking for a carriage. Or even a cart.

As the page drew closer, I was once again stunned by how massive the creature was. Looked a lot bigger than our Earth horses.

I seriously regretted not supporting the idea of buying a few real horses back at the reenactors' meeting.

Animal welfare laws had become ridiculously strict in recent years. Using live horses in the field, where they could be spooked by gunfire and throw their rider underfoot, was a terrible idea. Animal rights activists would've lost their minds, and keeping horses was expensive as hell. Much cheaper to use robots, vaguely styled to look like horses, which is what we did. The result looked more like ponies, but they could pull two-ton cannons with ease.

A massive, coal-black stallion brought his face close to mine and loudly sucked in a breath. The look in the beast's eyes was so grim, I seriously worried he might bite off a chunk or two if he sensed something was wrong with his master. After a few tense seconds, the horse nudged my chest good-naturedly, leaving streaks of slobber on my jacket. One way or another, I'd passed his test — the animal hadn't suspected a thing.

But how was I supposed to get onto this monster? I eyed the height skeptically. You've got to be kidding! He was almost as tall as I was!

The stallion, as if oblivious to my dilemma, turned sideways and snorted invitingly. Clever beast.

Fine, to hell with it! I dove deep into the memories of how the viscount used to mount this creature without the slightest trouble and let the body do the rest. Just like with channeling mana, the method worked. The fit, trained body sprang upward like a coiled spring. A moment later, I was in the saddle.

The young page waved to the guards on the wall, and the drawbridge began its slow descent.

Outside the castle walls lay a typical medieval village. Poor, wooden houses, some moss-covered. But more interestingly, on the far side of the moat, an entire armed procession of about fifty men was already waiting for me. Most of them were on foot, clad in cuirasses or lamellar armor and armed mostly with axes, though there were some swords here and there. At the head of the procession were two mounted men, the captain and his second.

The commander was a true giant, a steel-clad siege tower of a man. In our world, he'd have easily won first place at any bodybuilding competition. His horse, even larger than mine, was so muscled it looked like it hit the gym alongside its owner and lived off nothing but protein shakes. The four-legged monster bore both the armored rider and its own metal barding without breaking a sweat.

No surprise, Randall's memory helpfully informed me the beast was of the Detrian breed. Pretty much the pinnacle of what you could squeeze out of a regular horse using relatively gentle methods, ones that still left it a horse, not a magical chimera.

Such a mount was worth a fortune. Though my horse wasn't far behind, mainly because the young viscount had dabbled in demonology with more than just ravens.

The rider removed the helmet from his bald head and frowned. Gears began to turn in my memory.

I knew him!

Baronet Hornet and his Steel Honor Company were fairly well-known in these lands. Not the strongest mercenary outfit — the truly powerful ones were mercenaries in name only, functioning as private armies for high-ranking nobles — but one of the strongest among truly independent sellsword bands. Yet it wasn't strength that made them famous, it was their honor.

While other mercenaries could often be bought out mid-contract, Hornet's men always refused, no matter the sum. If the baronet took a job, he finished it. Another of his peculiarities was extreme pickiness when it came to clients. Hornet never took shady jobs, and sometimes reacted quite harshly to such offers. For instance, when a certain messenger once suggested easy money by kidnapping and selling peasants, the baronet publicly beheaded him. That was the end of the story. No one ever found out who had sent that offer.

Luckily for me, because that would-be employer had been me.

"Baronet," I said distractedly, extending my hand to the giant.

He shot me a look of contempt and ignored it.

What? No handshakes in this world? A quick memory dive calmed me slightly — the custom did exist here, but mostly among commoners. Looked like I'd just insulted the baronet for no reason. Still, as a viscount, I had some leeway in dealing with someone of baronet rank.

"Viscount of Eagle's Bluff, Randall Condor. I see your illness has finally passed. We had to delay our departure for three days because of you. We leave immediately, the supply train and the other half of the company are waiting just beyond the village. I waited. The King, however, will not." The baronet's words were clipped, harsh. He turned his horse without waiting for my reply.

Yeah… he clearly didn't think much of me from the start. Damn you, Brute, what a mess you landed me in! He probably spent the past three days feeding the company lies about the viscount being on death's door, and now I show up, perfectly groomed and polished. No need to guess what went through Hornet's mind. I could only hope I wouldn't have to beat respect into that walking slab of armor.

Something told me… I might not be able to.