Chapter 9

After sunset, we finally reached the fortress wall that marked the boundary between Baron Clemen's lands and the desolate wastes.

Because of the downpour, the road had taken far longer than expected. Carts and wagons kept getting stuck in the mud or breaking down.

In the twilight, it was difficult to make out the details of the structure, but even so, illuminated by just a few torches, it inspired awe. The spot where the fortress had been built was already ideal for protecting nearby settlements from any threat. There, the mountains nearly converged, making the valley resemble an hourglass from above.

During the expansion, no expense had been spared on the construction, they even hired earth mages. After all, this was the last barrier between the monsters of the Black Forest and the lands of the Northern Province. The mages did an excellent job, and the fortress blended smoothly between the sheer cliffs, plugging the "bottleneck" of the valley.

"Admiring the view, Viscount?"

The Baronet walked up to me, still in full armor even during rest. He held two iron bowls filled with hot stew. He handed one to me and sat down on a log across from me.

I took the bowl and immediately hissed in pain, it was too hot. Then again, was that really a problem for a mage? Levitating the bowl in front of me, I scooped up the stew and put it in my mouth. Scalding, but delicious. Then again, anything tastes good after you haven't eaten all day… Hmm. Actually, has it been three or four days since I last ate?

The Baronet stared at me in silence. Again. It was starting to get on my nerves, but I calmly finished the meal before deciding to ask him about the Black Forest.

"The Black Forest, huh... To be honest, I didn't want to take this assignment. If it weren't for the shortage of contracts, and the fact that the client is Count Condor, I wouldn't have dared even consider going near that forest."

Hmm. Problems with Steel Honor? That sounds suspicious. I sifted through the viscount's memories and found that Randall had no idea about any of this. Then again, here and there, I noticed smudged memories, gaps, missing hours, or even days.

Apparently, the Baronet's troubles were also the fault of one very offended Viscount Randall, offended by Hornet's unshakable principles.

Hornet, not suspecting that the greatest threat to his squad was sitting right in front of him, continued his tale.

"There aren't that many monster species in the forest. Or rather, the forest itself is a kind of monster. It's impossible to explain, you have to see it. Fortunately for us, we're just ants to it. The real problem is the tree spiders that live there."

"Tree spiders? How strong are they?"

"Quite strong. Even the smallest ones, the size of a dog, are dangerous. Their bodies are as hard as wood, and you can only kill them by cutting off the head or piercing the core inside their armored torsos. They may be called spiders, but they're more like cockroaches or crabs. What they share with spiders is extreme agility and the ability to spit acid. Well, you never know what they'll shoot at you. It depends on the spider species. Some spit acid, some shoot sticky goo, like thick syrup that hardens in air..."

"Doesn't sound great. Do you think it's even possible to establish a forward outpost in that territory, like the King wants?"

"There've been attempts, some more successful than others. The forest doesn't like people settling nearby. The spiders will definitely attack. And even if you fend them off, each new wave gets bigger and stronger. One day, the Matriarch will come. A gigantic armored beast, as tall as a trebuchet. All previous attempts to secure land there failed because of her."

"So it's impossible?"

"Most likely. Fortunately, we're only here on a reconnaissance mission, not a cleanup. The plan is simple, we take only the best fighters, leave the supply wagons behind, and try to reach the outer wall. On the way, we kill a few spiders, gather trophies, and pray the Matriarch doesn't find us."

"When was the last time anyone saw her? Maybe the damn thing died of old age?"

"Ha. Joking, Viscount? It's a magical creature, things like that don't die of old age. If we do meet her, we'll have to use your grandfather's gift, assuming Count Condor described its power correctly."

Hmm, right. I should probably take a look at what the old man gave me.

I turned the box over in my hands. How did you open it again? I had to dive into the memories again to find the answer. Blood.

After a blood offering, the box opened. Inside lay a rune pulsing with a bluish-indigo light. And Randall knew this thing well!

Frost Rune, one of the greatest treasures of our House. In fact, it was what saved our castle during the time of unrest.

Enchanted by a senior water mage, this single-use magical artifact could freeze hundreds of people in solid ice.

Looks like the Count was taking this expedition very seriously. When the rune was in the treasury, his most loyal men never let it out of their sight, not even for a moment. I touched the rune and my finger was instantly burned by a chilling cold. Not a fake.

"Your grandfather values you highly. He told me to inform you that if we encounter the Matriarch, you are to activate the rune without hesitation."

"It'll kill her?" I asked hopefully, remembering the Frost Rune's power.

"Kill her? We'll be lucky if it lets us escape without serious losses."

I snapped the box shut and slipped it into my pocket.

"Hard to believe your grandfather would tell a mercenary about one of our House's treasures."

"He made me swear a blood oath of secrecy, of course. Besides, we've... done business before."

"I see." Though in truth, I didn't see at all. Grandfather was a cold man, not the sort to trust others without a reason. This was unlike him. "Back to the spiders, how strong is their armor, and what exactly can their acid do?"

The more the Baronet spoke, the more I regretted not picking up some saltpeter in the last village. I would've dug through the compost pile myself, had I known things were this bad! Not that I could've gotten sulfur anyway, you have to order it from alchemists.

Damn.

Why was I so frustrated over not being able to make gunpowder? Simple: it turned out that only the Baronet or I could kill a warrior-spider. These beasts were the size of bulls, had absurdly strong armor, and worst of all—they never traveled alone. The rest of the squad could handle smaller ones or stall for time, but when it came to killing a warrior spider, it had to be one of us. No one else could pierce those damn plates.

"I see," I said, rubbing my temples to ease the headache. "And what about the acid?"

"It's nasty if you're unarmored, but a decent suit should hold... unless it hits the visor, of course. Anyway, we have this."

The Baronet pulled a small vial from his belt pouch.

"What's that?"

"Glass essence. Our alchemist, Meister Orin, brewed it. Supposed to help against the acid."

I took the vial and uncorked it. A sharp stench of vitriol hit my nose. My professional instincts revolted instantly, and I hurled the bottle away in fury.

"Disgusting. This is the most revolting glass essence I've ever seen. Take me to your 'alchemist.' Now."

***

"What the hell is this crap?!" I shouted, shaking the vial in front of a swarthy old man's face. "And you call yourself an alchemist?!"

"I... I..."

"Smell this filth!" I dripped a bit of the essence on my finger and shoved it under the so-called alchemist's nose. "Gods damn it, it even has a bluish tint! Essence should be clear. Clear!"

Ignoring the man's stammered excuses, I barged into his tent and started yanking out the reagents I needed. My whole body buzzed with the urge to dive into real work.

"Where are the retorts? Damn it! What did you use to make this filth?"

"A p-pot!"

"A pot?" I repeated blankly.

"Yeah, a copper one. It's over there in the corner."

"Savages..." I muttered, momentarily stunned. The plan would have to change on the fly—but like hell was I giving up. "Bring it here."

The old man darted into the tent and rolled out a massive, soot-blackened pot. On the outside it looked like anything but copper, and the inside was streaked with multicolored grime. There it was—the first problem. Making glass essence required maximum sterility.

I scanned the pot with my magic. The metal was thoroughly contaminated. I poured out a quarter of my reserve, purging everything useless in a cloud of dust and leaving behind gleaming clean copper. Not that copper was ideal either.

I splashed the interior with the low-quality essence to coat the walls. That would at least reduce contamination in the next batch.

"Well? Don't just stand there! Bring me the reagents! You're assisting now!" I shouted and rolled up my sleeves.

***

"Thank you for the lesson, Master," the old man said wearily, collapsing to the ground.

I was just as exhausted, but still on my feet, watching the crystal-clear, glass-like liquid bubble in the pot under the dawn sky. Randall would've been proud of this work. Sure, he could've made perfect essence with one hand tied behind his back, but under these conditions?

No equipment. No quality ingredients. No real lab. Hell, I had to teach the old man alchemy on the fly just to make him useful. Randall wouldn't have managed it, but my knowledge of physics and his knowledge of alchemy had merged into something greater—practically a miracle.

This batch would be enough for the entire squad. With it, they wouldn't need to fear the acid and maybe not even the resin. But we'd have to test that in battle. Without samples of that crap the spiders spit, I couldn't promise anything. Still, essence of this quality offered at least minimal protection against magic, so we had a shot.

"Are you done?" came a baritone voice from the side. I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the pot. The Baronet. He'd stopped by several times through the night to check on us—probably worried I'd murder his camp alchemist.

"Yes. Pour it into vials… if any are left."

"We'll figure something out. The squad moves out in an hour and a half. I've arranged a place for you in one of the wagons. Let's go."

I took a few steps after Sir Hornet and realized I was more drained than I'd thought. I'd had to push hard during the process, creating equipment on the fly from whatever materials were available. I'd nearly emptied my reserve—though not enough to fall into magical coma.

Barely managing to climb into the wagon, I wrapped myself in animal pelts and passed out.

* * *

I woke up with a strange feeling. Not danger, exactly, but the sense that someone unfamiliar was nearby. The wagon flap opened, and a half-naked woman appeared before me.

"Ah, my lord Viscount, you're already awake?" she purred, pushing out her bare chest to catch the rising sun in just the right way. Sunrise? How long had I been asleep?

I jolted up from the furs and, still a bit unsteady, walked past the startled girl. No chance today. I'd already spent the whole day knocked out, and if I wasted more time fooling around instead of running the expedition, who would take a commander like that seriously?

The sun had barely begun to rise over the mountains, but the camp was already buzzing. Soldiers sharpened weapons, checked their gear, and tried to joke around. The tension in the air was thick enough to taste.

"Wow, I'd heard aristocrats were fast, but that fast...? She only went in a few seconds ago!" someone snickered nearby.

I turned my head and saw Bert grinning ear to ear, sitting on a log. That bastard had finally pushed too far. I'd tolerated his disrespect, ignored his jabs, and clearly, my leniency had been mistaken for weakness. Wouldn't be surprised if he was the one who brought that 'lady' to my wagon.

A rush of adrenaline burned away my fatigue.

I yanked my sword from its sheath and pointed it at the smirking second-in-command.

"What was your name again, joker? Broken Bard? I challenge you to a duel. Second blood. Right now."

Bert spat casually.

"Hah. Can't help you there, milord. I'm not nobility, and I don't play your little games."

"A commoner?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. What was he even hoping to achieve by provoking me? Technically, I had the right to hang a commoner from any branch I pleased, and no one would say a word. In theory.

"Yep," he replied just as calmly, though his hand nudged his sword's scabbard a bit closer.

"Good. That makes it easier." I let go of my sword and let it fall. His eyes instinctively followed the weapon. Mistake.

In a blink, I was on him. Berten reached for his sword , mistake number two. Obeying my will, the blade flew aside, nearly hitting some bystander. At the same time, I struck with my right fist. He tried to dodge, but wasn't fast enough. Pain shot through my hand, but his jaw was just as hard.

He wasn't wearing armor, which actually worked in his favor. In plate, he'd have been nothing more than a puppet in my hands. I nearly took a hit from below. Step back. Punch. Block. He was recovering now, and he clearly had more experience with bare-knuckle fighting. I needed something to get the upper hand. A belt rivet? Too small.

A dagger in his boot? That'll do. A burst of force. The dagger shot through the sole and stabbed into the ground.

Berten stumbled, collapsed, and couldn't do a damn thing to stop the rain of blows that followed.

No idea what rank he was, but his body took hits surprisingly well. Still, everything has its limit. Berten finally went limp. Breathing hard, I stood over him and slid my sword back into the sheath.

"Feeling better now?" came a low voice. Damn it, how could a man that size sneak up so quietly?

"And if I'm not?"

"Then feel free to give him a kick from me too. Breach of discipline and all. But no more than that."

"And if I proposed to execute him for insulting my honor?" I tested the waters, but Hornet didn't bite.

"From what I've seen of you... you won't."

The Baronet stepped closer, almost within arm's reach. I instinctively tensed, ready for a fight.

"I have one question for you, honorable Viscount. Why did you really stay behind at the Baron's keep?"

Looks like he no longer believed the official story. Well then. Time for a half-truth.

"Magical coma. Let's just say... there was an accident."

He stared at me in silence for several long seconds, then extended his hand.

"Alec von Hornet. Baronet of the Grey Hills and commander of Steel Honor."

"Al... Randall Condor, Viscount..." I hesitated, trying to recall the name of my lands, "Heir of Eagle's Bluff."

We shook hands.

"Glad the rumors about you were wrong," Alec said, gesturing toward the waking camp. "You missed our meeting, but I'll catch you up. First, though, how much of your reserve have you recovered?"

I focused inward. I didn't feel completely drained, but I wasn't at full strength either.

"Around three-quarters. And let's drop the formalities already. We're in the same boat — why pretend otherwise?"

"Those are the rules, but I'll try. We tested the essence. It might save a few lives. The only problem is... do you remember what we talked about yesterday?"

"Hmm... I think I do."

"It's not my place to scold you, but if we run into a warrior-spider — only the two of us are strong enough to take it down. Burning yourself out right before the battle... not the wisest move, Viscount Condor."

He had a point. But damn it — these were real people, not mindless pawns. Sure, I hadn't expected to use that much power, but even if the essence saved just one life, it had been worth it.

"Don't you care about the lives of your men?" I snapped.

He replied just as harshly:

"Men die either way. That's their job — to protect the main force. Our force. If you want to save more of your people, save your strength so you can quickly kill what they can't. I get it, you've never hunted monsters... hell, you've probably never even been in a real war. But trust me — this isn't idealism. It's basic tactics. Because of your stunt, we've already lost a mage. Our alchemist may just be a Fire Apprentice, but even basic support matters. He only restored a third of his strength — we can't count on solid cover from him now."

A deafening screech overhead cut him off. He drew his sword in a flash, just as something crash-landed beside me, kicking up a spray of dirt.

"Hold!" Hornet shouted to the soldiers who'd dropped what they were doing and grabbed their weapons. "It's a royal messenger!"

A bald, limping creature shuffled toward me. Hard to believe this magical chimera had once been bred from ordinary hawks. It looked more like a bat than a bird, with leathery wings and a bare, scaly body. But nothing matched its speed. The chimera dropped a scroll at my feet and took off with a shrill screech.

I picked it up and unrolled it.

"Dastan Dorn, third Prince of the Steel Kingdom, Count of... blah blah blah, more titles... here's the point:

Command: Acquire no fewer than three barrels of solidifying slime from the Dark Forest monsters, for alchemical research in service of the Throne, the Kingdom, and His Highness the Third Prince personally."

I tossed the scroll to Hornet with a sneer.

"Whatever plan you had for a scouting mission — time to revise it. The Prince wants us to begin a full-scale hunt."

In the sudden silence, a whisper from one of the soldiers carried through the camp:

"We're screwed..."