Memoirs 252 - Tensions (Patreon)

Guifford Knottley gazed out at his city through the broad window of his office, his brow furrowed in a deep frown.

Count Hayden’s voice resonated from the communication device on his desk. “I’ve consulted with the other lords, and we unanimously agree to petition His Majesty urgently. The situation cannot be allowed to worsen.”

Guifford remained silent, his eyes surveying the signs of devastation across Freybrook from his vantage point at the city’s heart. The landscape of broken rooftops, charred dwellings, and shattered streets was enough to make his blood boil.

“…Imposing further burdens on our citizens might not be the best solution right now,” he finally responded in a deep voice. “While I agree that an imperial Security Edict is necessary to a degree, aiding the realm shouldn’t demand more of the people than they’re already giving.”

“You can only say that because Freybrook suffered less than Kilsfell or other cities,” Count Hayden said. “Too many have lost homes and loved ones in these attacks. Far too many are now left directionless and vulnerable, and it’s clear that we lack the resources and capabilities to protect them properly against this threat. We need to muster both the required funds and manpower to counteract this blatant aggression effectively, and that can only be done if His Majesty decrees it.”

“Don’t act as if I’m not aware of the stakes, Rawling,” Guifford replied through half-grit teeth. “I’ve witnessed them firsthand several times before.”

“Then there’s little more to discuss. I’ll be taking my leave, Guifford. We can speak again later.”

As the device clicked off, silence enveloped Guifford’s office. He continued to stare out over Freybrook, reflecting on the turmoil that had descended on it the day before. His grip tightened on the chair’s armrests, the wood groaning under his grasp.

He had heard from both Count Haldey and several others that Freybrook had fared better than most during the attacks, so perhaps it truly was so that he should consider himself lucky. Yet the mere thought of it stirred an almost profound anger within him.

One should never feel fortunate merely because ‘things could have been worse’. An injustice remained an injustice, irrespective of scale, and settling for that mindset invited nothing but further injustice.

The general populace was still in a state of shock from the assaults, but there was no doubt among those in power who the perpetrators were. The signs pointed unmistakably to the Tribe of Sin—and, by extension, the Hallowed Cabal—being responsible.

The enigma lay in how they had managed to marshal and control such a vast array of monsters, including dragons, to launch these coordinated attacks across the empire. The destruction wrought in just one day might almost rival the ruin caused by the dragon of devastation eight years ago. And the crisis was far from over.

It had been years since Guifford last stood on the front lines in any of the empire’s cities. Thankfully, after a grueling day of united efforts among the empire’s factions—including knight orders, mage towers, the Assembly, the Shields Guild, various mercenary groups, and noble retinues—most cities had repelled the immediate monster threats by nightfall. Although Wildscar and Ambercrest still grappled with straggling beasts, now that the Kilnstones had become active again in the morning, it was only a matter of time before a swift retaliation was reached.

But Guifford harbored no illusions that this was all. To his knowledge, there had been no direct sightings of the Tribe’s or Cabal’s agents, implying that these attacks were merely a prelude.

A heavy sigh left him. It seemed to him that things were returning to how they were in his youth when the empire last was in open conflict with the Tribe. Back then, the Undead Council had simultaneously embroiled the eastern border in conflict, and there had rarely been a day of peace for him and his peers. But even then, there had never been a point where the empire’s heartlands were affected to this degree.

Turning from the window, his eyes settled on a small painted portrait on his desk of his family, with him and his late wife smiling as they stood behind their young children.

He pondered what Rilla would have thought of the current chaos. Certainly, she would have been horrified by the havoc wreaked, but perhaps she would also have been proud of their efforts to defend their home. Guifford had personally overseen the training of many of Freybrook’s defenders, and they had shown great bravery in yesterday’s battles.

His son had also displayed impressive courage, fit for his heir. Garrin had his shortcomings, but Guifford was proud of him nonetheless.

Finally, his gaze lingered on the image of his daughter, Livvi, in the portrait — painted when she barely reached his waist, her long brown hair and keen brown eyes seemed to gaze back at him.

Concern for Livvi’s safety weighed on him. He hadn’t received any updates on her after the attacks, and he didn’t know where her Guild responsibilities currently placed her. She was likely well-protected and, given her sharp mind, capable of looking after herself. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

Closing his eyes, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the burden of his responsibilities as the lord of Freybrook and a noble of the empire. If he could, he would have liked to put all other duties aside and ensure her safety himself, but he couldn’t. Nevertheless, his parental concerns were difficult to set aside, in more ways than one.

Much to his chagrin, his thoughts almost inevitably drifted to one of Livvi’s ‘closest’ friends and a frequent source of irritation for him — Baroness Scarlett Hartford.

It still surprised him that the callous woman had been proactive in implementing several emergency initiatives around Freybrook designed for crises such as the one they were currently facing. Although he had supposed some of those efforts out of a sense of obligation to her father and sympathy for her sister, he hadn’t truly expected them to become relevant so soon.

A cynical snort escaped him. It was almost ironic that someone like the Baroness was so well-prepared to assist in these circumstances. No doubt the Empyreal Chronicle and the citizens would laud her for her foresight and generosity, which he supposed was part of her calculations. With the recent tensions across the empire, she seemed to have anticipated a major event like this to bolster her standing after alienating herself from most other nobles. How far-reaching were her schemes, he wondered?

Reluctant as he was to admit it, however, the Baroness’ initiatives were poised to provide significant aid to many. Ultimately, the intentions behind her actions mattered little if they resulted in saving lives in the now.

Though it annoyed him that, knowing his daughter, Livvi would likely see this as further proof of her friend’s apparent transformation, raising her hopes unnecessarily. As perceptive as she typically was, Guifford sometimes thought her idealism bordered on naivety.

Shaking his head, he lifted his large frame from his chair and gave Freybrook one final glance before grabbing hold of the large greatsword beside his desk, moving towards the exit. There was much to be done, and he needed to focus on the tasks at hand.

“We’ve arrived, My Lady,” announced the coachman from the front of the cabin, snapping Scarlett back to reality. Looking out the carriage window, she saw that they had already arrived at the Freybrook mansion without her noticing.

Turning her head, her eyes swept over the cabin. A slight tension hung over the space, with hardly a word exchanged since their arrival in the city.

That was her fault.

She rose silently and stepped out onto the snow-dusted ground. Garside, accompanied by a group of servants, greeted her politely.

“Welcome back, My Lady,” the elderly butler said. “It is a relief to see that you have returned unharmed.”

Observing him, Scarlett detected a trace of fatigue in his voice, mirrored by the tired expression of the servants. Her attention remained on Garside as she spoke with a firm tone. “What is the current situation?”

“Things are stable here at the estate,” the man answered. “The monsters largely avoided this area, and none approached the mansion directly. As such, there have been no injuries among the staff, allowing some of our people to assist in the city where possible.”

“Does that include you?” Scarlett asked.

Garside paused briefly. “Once I confirmed the mansion was safe, I did take it upon myself to set into the city to check on My Lady’s ventures there and lend support where possible. In the process, I did engage in a few minor conflicts.”

Scarlett studied him closely. It didn’t look like he had any injuries.

“I see,” she eventually responded coolly, turning to survey the estate, confirming that it appeared untouched.

Not that she had been expecting any attacks on it. Even without her pact with the Hallowed Cabal, the Loci would likely have been able to prevent any portals from opening and setting monsters loose on her land. It might even have been able to deter threats entirely if they were weak enough, though she still wasn’t entirely sure of its full capabilities.

From what she had seen during the carriage ride here, the damage in Freybrook had generally been pretty minimal as well. Although not all the buildings were spared, the city had fared better than she suspected others did.

She turned back to Garside and the servants. “Ensure that everyone who stayed up through the night gets adequate rest,” she commanded. A couple of the servants visibly tensed at the sharpness in her voice, but she couldn’t be bothered with that at the moment.

“I will see to it, My Lady,” Garside assured her.

“That includes you,” she added.

He hesitated, then bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Of course.”

“Good.” Scarlett then proceeded to walk past him towards the mansion’s entrance, crossing the courtyard with Garside and the others hurrying to follow. “What other updates do you have?”

“From what I can tell, the Count’s forces succeeded in clearing the last of the monsters by last night,” Garside reported. “We are still waiting for a direct communication from the Count himself, however. Small numbers of refugees have been arriving via the Kilnstone since this morning, and if I am to understand it correctly, the Followers of Ittar are spearheading the local relief efforts, though I have not observed the work personally. There’s some uncertainty among the people about how the outlying settlements have fared during these attacks, and we are still awaiting further details regarding the state of things in Stagmond, but for the time being, it does appear as if the attacks were concentrated on the cities.”

“Very well. I need you to inform Seneschal Kinsley that he is to oversee the initiatives Evelyne was organizing,” Scarlett said. “It may be premature, but we cannot delay the matter. Tell him that he is to begin immediately.”

“I will do so. But if I may ask, is there a specific reason for the urgency, apart from yesterday’s events?” Garside inquired.

“Yes. We cannot lower our guard yet. This will not be the last attack that the empire faces.”

“…Are you certain, My Lady?”

“Yes. Those responsible have not yet achieved their goal, and until they do, they will not stop.”

“That is concerning indeed.”

“What more can you tell me?” Scarlett asked.

Garside cleared his throat. “Lady Withersworth is currently here at the mansion. She arrived with Lady Evelyne this morning through the Kilnstone.”

Outside the mansion’s entrance, Scarlett stopped and turned to face the man. “Lady Withersworth?”

He nodded sincerely. “It would seem she suffered injuries when monsters attacked their estate in Autumnwell, and is now recuperating here.”

Scarlett paused for a few moments to consider this, then turned back and resumed her stride. “And Evelyne?”

There was a brief silence before the reply came. “…Lady Evelyne is currently resting in her chambers. However, My Lady, you should know that—”

“I will go see her by myself,” Scarlett interrupted the man, ending the conversation there.

As she entered the mansion’s foyer, she subtly extended her senses through the Loci to confirm where Evelyne and the others were. Noticing the concerned looks from Rosa and the rest, she quickly composed herself, replacing her scowl with a neutral expression and giving a reassuring nod. She directed Garside to carry out her earlier instructions before leaving the others and ascending to the second floor alone, her footsteps echoing as she proceeded down the mansion’s hallways.

Her mind was a whirl of thoughts as she approached her destination. She did not know what to feel, truly. She could hardly define her state at the moment. It was hardly good, but was it bad? Or rather, in what way was it bad?

No clear answer emerged as she reached Evelyne’s room. She paused there for a moment, studying the sturdy oak door, before finally entering.

The room was dimly lit, curtains drawn tightly across the windows, with the pungent aroma of disinfectant permeating the air. Scarlett’s eyes adjusted and focused on a figure lying on a bed at the end, her gaze sharpening as she saw them stir beneath a mound of blankets. Beside the bed, a bucket, several towels, and medical supplies were neatly arranged on a low table.

“…Garside?” a weak voice muttered in the dark.

Scarlett felt the simmering stream of anger that she had been suppressing for a while begin to surface, and she fought to keep it in check.

Her control was tenuous at best.

“…It is not Garside,” she said slowly. “Hello, Evelyne.”