Commerce Emperor Chapter 35: Berserker Soul (Patreon)

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“No,” Selestine said.

I shifted in my seat and exchanged a glance with Duchess Griselda.

“No?” I repeated, slightly annoyed.

“I will not sign these accords as the representative of the Reformists, because our movement has no head,” Selestine explained. “Reformist churches are interdependent, Lord Merchant. They share donations and collaborate while remaining self-governed. The signature of one does not bind the others.”

I suppressed a sigh of annoyance. Duchess Griselda had invited me and Selestine to her castle for another round of negotiations over the Walbourg-Archfrost peace treaty draft. I would rather have stayed at the manor to help comfort Soraseo—my friend hadn’t left her room since she received that fateful message, which worried me greatly—but duty called.

The meeting had started out well. Duchess Griselda mostly supported my treaty draft and agreed to represent it at the Estate-Generals; which left only the question of securing Reformist support for the treaty.

Unfortunately, Selestine proved more stubborn than expected.

“I admit I am confused, Lady Selestine,” Griselda said. “I was under the impression that you negotiated with the Arcane Abbey on behalf of the western Reformist movement.”

“Hundreds of Reformist churches gave me a mandate to solve their disagreement with the Arcane Abbey,” Selestine replied. “This is a purely theological conflict. Signing your treaty, meanwhile, would mean involving ourselves in political matters. Conflating faith and politics is exactly the kind of behavior our movement criticizes. I do not intend to become a second Fatebinder, Lady Griselda, nor to create a new Arcane Abbey. It is not my place to tell people how they should live their lives.”

“You don’t have a choice in that,” I countered. “You’re the Priest and a Reformist icon. No matter your intentions, many people will take your words as doctrine. If you aren’t upfront, then you will allow others to interpret them to suit their own agenda.”

“Then let me be frank.” Selestine cleared her throat. “I believe all forms of belief should be respected, so long as they do not infringe on the good of others, and that matters of faith should be clearly separate from matters of state.”

An idealistic approach, but one with severe limitations. I immediately asked, “Would you accept cults dedicated to the Demon Ancestors then?”

“I would, if they did not harm anyone.” Selestine smiled thinly. “I understand a pacifist Church of Belgoroth would be something of an oxymoron, Lord Merchant, but everyone should be free to worship at the altar of their choice. We should not punish beliefs, only practices.”

“You possess an interesting approach to religion, I’ll admit it.” Albeit one I found frighteningly naive. “However, there are beliefs that are harmful by themselves. If priests say that this race of man is inferior to another, that loving a certain kind of people is wrong, then it will foster violence even if those same priests do not carry the knife themselves.”

“But who can say which belief is acceptable? All of us are prisoners of our little world.” Selestine shook her head. “Battles of beliefs must be won with words and arguments Robin. Violence is legitimate when used in the defense of yourself and others, but it should never be the first resort.”

“Some souls are born deaf to reason, Selestine.” You couldn’t negotiate with the likes of the Knots. “You can’t be tolerant of the intolerant.”

“We are digressing,” Duchess Griselda cut in. “Lord Robin raises an important question: do you support this agreement?”

“I do,” Selestine confirmed. “But I support it as a person, not as a spokeswoman for the Reformists. You are asking me to sign it as head of the movement, which I am not.”

I saw an opportunity and pounced on it. “Would you support it as the Priest?”

Selestine frowned slightly at me. “What difference would that make?”

“Archfrost’s first king was a Priest crowned by the Fatebinder,” I reminded her. I supposed that since she came from Erebia, that particular tidbit of Archfrostian history escaped her. “To have the current Priest sign this compromise would give weight to both the royal family’s suzerainty over Archfrost and legitimacy to its future parliament.”

Moreover, I knew that even if Selestine didn’t sign it as head of the Reformist movement, her own public support for the accords would give it weight among her supporters. Since Archfrost’s royalty derived its legitimacy from the Arcane Abbey, they needed reassurance that their own faith wouldn’t be suppressed upon reintegrating into the kingdom. Having Selestine approve of the agreement should convince most of them of our goodwill.

“I do not wish to bind future Priests to my decisions,” Selestine insisted. “This treaty is an undeniable step forward, but who can say if future generations won’t go farther? You tried to find a middle ground by respecting religious freedom while calling the Arcane Abbey the ‘faith of the majority of Archfrost’s people’, but how long will that assertion last? Decades? A century?”

“I have already taken that into account,” I said before reading some of the clauses. “Title Sixteen, Article Eighty-Nine. The current text may be subjected to revision through procedures detailed in articles Ninety to Ninety-Nine–”

Both Duchess Griselda and Lady Selestine listened with attention as I reviewed the methods that would allow for a modification of the treaty: either a vote by two-thirds of both chambers combined and with the king’s approval, or through the direct consultation of the entire population of the united kingdom. Duchess Griselda didn’t voice any opposition to the measure, since either solution would de facto require Walbourg’s votes.

Selestine’s expression grew more thoughtful the further I read. She was a Hero, not a zealot. I didn’t fault her for trying to stand by her principles. She wanted faith and politics to be separated. I respected her position. One day, we might even make it a reality.

However, like it or not, state decisions did influence faith and vice-versa. This treaty wouldn’t just ensure peace between Archfrost and Walbourg; it would also legalize freedom of religion throughout the entire kingdom.

“Lady Selestine, let me be blunt,” I said. “I understand your refusal to compromise on what you believe in, but there is a very strong chance that these accords won’t pass through Walbourg’s Estate-Generals without your assistance. Prolonged conflict between Walbourg and Archfrost will serve no one but the Knots.”

“If we make it easy to violate principles, Lord Merchant, then what value do they have?” Selestine countered. Still, her expression softened slightly. She was wise enough to understand we all meant well. “I must meditate and consult the other members of my movement for advice first. This treaty should be agreeable enough if I am allowed to sign as the current Priest without binding my successors.”

“That should be easy enough,” Duchess Griselda conceded before turning to face me. “What of the future King Roland? Any news from him yet?”

“I have sent him the draft and now await his answer,” I replied. Eris should hopefully return with Roland’s validation in the coming days. “I am confident he will agree with most of the treaty.”

“The Devil of Greed is in the details, as they say.” Duchess Griselda intertwined her fingers. “If Roland does agree with the proposal, I believe we can secure a favorable vote at the Estate-Generals. My barons will follow my and Lady Selestine’s lead.”

I would have allowed myself a sigh of relief under most circumstances, but I knew too well that no contract was secure until its signature. I had done what I could to both find a compromise and lobby its different parties to sign. All that remained were Roland’s validation and the vote at the Estate-Generals.

I also had another threat to factor in.

As if on cue, Vernisla opened the door to the meeting room and stepped inside. From her short breath and the fact she carried her spear to a diplomatic gathering, I guessed she had just barely climbed down from her bird mount and rushed straight here.

“Milady, Lady Selestine, Lord Robin,” she greeted us with a fist against her chest. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Duchess Griselda’s brows furrowed slightly. “It is not like you to interrupt me this way, Vernisla. You must have urgent news to report.”

“Is it about the Knots?” I asked.

“Yes,” Vernisla confirmed sternly.

I knew it. I immediately listened with alertness, as did Griselda and Selestine. Things were going too smoothly here.

“I returned from Clearwater empty-handed,” Vernisla explained. “The golems that had passed the border a few days ago did not reach the town. We suspect they might have been smuggled into Walbourg itself.”

“Golems?” Much to my surprise, Selestine’s crimson eyes narrowed with a hint of anger as she turned towards Griselda. “You allowed golems into your country?”

Her tone caused the duchess to scowl. “We could not confiscate them without risking a deadly fight.”

“You should have fought.” Selestine did not raise her tone, but quiet fury burned in each of her words. “Golems are abominations that keep the souls of the dead trapped in metal shells. Their existence is a crime against the world’s natural order. The mere fact you allowed these constructs free-passage into your duchy without scrapping them severely disappoints me.”

“They cannot be in the city,” Griselda insisted, her voice laced with disbelief. “Our soldiers and citizens would have noticed such giants. Criminals would have an easier time smuggling a behemoth inside our walls.”

“According to early interrogations, the golems might have been broken down into parts and snuck into the city with the expectation of being reassembled,” Vernisla replied. “I can’t say whether they can do that or not.”

“It should be possible,” I confirmed. At the end of the day, golems moved because souls were infused into each of their limbs. Expert witchcrafters could easily break them into small pieces without ‘killing’ them. “If their creator is there to put them back together.”

Which means that Will is likely in the city right now. Marika will be on a warpath… and in danger. From what I knew of the man, I bet he would unleash his golems against her first. He had created them after all. I would be surprised if they weren’t built to obey his commands first and foremost. We need to strike before they can take the initiative.

“What purpose would it serve?” Duchess Griselda shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “It would be madness to attack the Estate-Generals. They lack the support for a coup, and an attack would only encourage me to stomp them out. I don’t see what the Knots can reasonably expect to gain from deploying golems inside my capital.”

“That’s your mistake, Lady Griselda,” I said. “You assume that the enemy is rational. It isn’t.”

Something had been bothering me for a while. The two Knot leaders we had encountered, Florence and Sebastian, weren’t demons; yet both led organizations including violent creatures much stronger than them. I wondered why the Demon Ancestors would allow this until I remembered why Chastel took orders from Florence: because she inspired him.

Demons were a shadow of their human selves; all their warped desires distilled into a parody of a person. Sforza had murdered his own men within seconds of his transformation, even though he had nothing to gain from it. Chastel was a murderous beast in human skin. The rest barely managed to pass for humans, because they had lost all inhibitions.

Demons had no impulse control whatsoever, and the golems were Will Costa’s creation; a man so vindictive that he tried to murder his own wife and son out of frustration. Without Florence to keep these people in line, they would probably devolve into pointless bloodthirst.

“These golems were created by the Knot of Wrath, whose leadership we decimated in Snowdrift,” I reminded Griselda. “I strongly suspect that their replacement lacks any form of long-term planning. Chaos and slaughter are an end in themselves for these people.”

The duchess let out a snort. “Do they think we will fold to intimidation? Or that an attack on my city will destabilize our institutions? If so, they shall learn the cost of their mistake.”

“We won’t give them time to assemble a single golem, Milady,” Vernisla added with confidence. “I have already compiled a list of suspected locations where they could be keeping them. All I need to raid them is your authorization.”

“It would be best if we could deal with this quietly, especially before the Estate-Generals,” Griselda replied, her fingers intertwined into a thoughtful pose. “What places do you have in mind?”

“There are only a limited number of warehouses suitably large enough to assemble golems of this size.” Vernisla unfolded a map of the city onto our work table. Her hand traveled across the paper lines to point at various locations. “The Fronan Printing Press offices, the granaries, a handful of noble estates, the Abattoir–”

“The Abattoir?” I interrupted her. I did not recognize the name. “What’s that?”

“A slaughterhouse in the new district,” Duchess Griselda explained to me. “When Walbourg grew too large, we centralized meat production into a single complex for sanitary reasons. Tens of thousands of cattle heads roll each year on its killing floor.”

It felt as though I had lived this moment before, in an unsettling way. This whole setup sounded awfully familiar to me.

Selestine was the first to notice my unease. “What is it, Lord Merchant?”

I gathered my breath as everyone’s gazes turned to me. “Lady Griselda, please allow me to speak my mind in the bluntest possible terms.”

My tone managed to spook her. “You may do so?”

“We will find the golems at the Abattoir alongside a hideout of the Knot of Wrath,” I declared with confidence. “I strongly suggest that you order an immediate attack and mobilize all your available witchcrafters to contain a newborn Blight.”

“A newborn Blight?” The duchess’ face turned whiter than chalk. “What madness are you spewing?”

“I think I understand,” Selestine said, a grim scowl spreading on her fair face. “They’ve built an altar to death and murder.”

I nodded slowly. “I have seen a similar case unfold once before in Snowdrift. For years, the Knot of Wrath used an illegal fighting arena to feed human sacrifices to their Berserk Flame. They focused all of the city’s negative essence in one place, until it reached a critical stage and erupted into a Blight.”

Animals didn’t produce as much emotionally charged essence as humans, but they generated some nonetheless. The Knot of Wrath could easily perpetrate ritual killings at the slaughterhouse too. All meat looked the same once skinned.

“Walbourg is not Snowdrift,” Griselda insisted, perhaps out of denial considering the risk her city faced. “You have seen it for yourself. Our streets overflow with wealth and happiness. A Blight will find no fertile ground there.”

“That might be the case,” I conceded. Marika would have noticed an abnormal quantity of negative essence in the air like she did in Snowdrift otherwise. “However, the Lord of Wrath has grown so strong that a single battle between Prince Roland’s army and the Regent’s allowed him to transform the battlefield into a Blight.”

“A sufficiently bloody massacre around the Abattoir might achieve the same result,” Vernisla guessed, her hand tightened on her spear. “Hence the golems.”

“The Abattoir is compelled to employ exorcists to meet our regulations,” Griselda insisted. “They would have reported any anomaly.”

My furrows curved slightly. “Who pays them?”

“The Butchers’ Guild. They oversee all the meat production and leather work in the city.”

I didn’t like her answer one bit. “So what you are saying is that the Abattoir’s exorcists are not under the state’s direct oversight?”

The more I questioned her, the more the duchess stiffened in her seat. “Lord Robin, the entire point of a guild is to empower professionals to manage their affairs with minimal government regulations.”

As a merchant I would usually agree with her policy, except for cases relative to public safety.

“Let me rephrase my earlier question,” I said, my tone sharp as a knife’s edge. “If say, a criminal organization of murderous demon worshipers were to infiltrate the Butchers’ Guild and ensure that the witchcrafters selected to purify the Abattoir worked for them, would the state have any way of confirming that they actually do their job?”

The more I spoke, the deeper Duchess Griselda’s scowl grew. “The superintendent visits the site once a year.”

“Is he a witchcrafter?” Selestine inquired at the same time I asked, “Is he incorruptible?”

Griselda answered both questions with silence.

—-----

I had to give it to Walbourg’s armed forces. Once Duchess Griselda gave the order, they mobilized within hours.

We Heroes acted quicker.

I quickly gathered my allies and then left for the new district to scout ahead. Thankfully, the Abattoir was located between the new district’s meat market and a Reformist belfry. The latter offered us an excellent vantage point to observe the area.

The Abattoir proved as foreboding a place as I expected it to be. Pens of tightly packed cattle and ominous oaken workshops were gathered around a massive, three-floor high warehouse of coarse gray stone. The building was new, its coat of paint almost fresh enough to hide the metallic tang of blood hanging in the air. A few barred windows allowed scant light to enter its bowels. The place was loud. I could hear the bellowing of cows and the cackles of poultry from many streets away. Animals weren’t stupid. They knew what awaited them inside these walls.

Death.

“Pretty nasty place,” I commented. “What do you think of its essence, Marika?”

“Not enough corruption to create a Blight, too much for any reasonable exorcist to tolerate it.” Her jaw tightened into a scowl. “I think you were right on the money, Robin. It’s not another Gilded Wolf yet, but it’s getting there one death at a time.”

“I concur,” Selestine added. “I smell something vile.”

I took a quick glance at my allies. Whereas Marika and Selestine surveyed the Abattoir from the outside, Vernisla reviewed a map of the location. Mr. Fronan sat near the belfry’s edge, his hand applied to ivy running down the tower and to the ground below. Local plants relayed information back to him through this intermediary.

Soraseo worried me the most. My friend reminded me of a corpse who had crawled out of her grave. She soldiered out of her room when duty called and observed the Abattoir’s surroundings with the trained eyes of a veteran, but the way she used her sword to support her weight did not inspire confidence. I half-expected her to collapse at any moment.

She’s unwell. Anyone could see the sorrow written on her pale face and hollow gaze. And she’s our muscle. This doesn’t bode well.

“Do you see anything, Lord Fronan?” Vernisla asked.

“It is a novel experience to interpret the reports of roots,” the Druid replied with a small, sheepish chuckle. “Is this Abattoir supposed to house a large basement? I would assume otherwise.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” Vernisla confirmed. She quickly showed him her map. “Where is it?” Mr. Fronan pointed at a large room in the building’s northern wing. “Right beneath the killing floor, huh?”

“The ‘killing floor?’” Selestine asked, slightly uneasy with the name.

“The place where they execute the livestock, Milady.” Vernisla folded the map. “Makes sense. That Berserk Flame you spoke of must be located right underneath.”

“They feed its fire one death at a time,” Selestine said. Her head turned to the meat market near the Abattoir. “I worry for those poor souls.”

So did I. In stark contrast with the grim slaughterhouse that fueled its appetite, Walbourg’s meat market bustled with chaotic energy. Rows after rows of butcher stalls stood along muddy streets, their owners hawking cuts of flesh to customers. Chicken, beef, lamb, pork, venison… one could eat anything if they looked long enough. Clouds of flies gathered above tables overflowing with freshly processed skin and leather.

I would have loved to visit the new suburbs under better circumstances. Crowds of hundreds still walked along the stands in the late afternoon; the number of visitors probably reaching the thousands in the morning. It would be something worthwhile to watch, and an enticing target for our enemies.

“What else did you see?” Vernisla questioned Mr. Fronan. “How many are there? How large is their hideout?”

“Roots do not have eyes, nor ears, so forgive the lack of details,” Mr. Fronan replied calmly. “I can confirm that the basement chamber is hot, as much as a forge. The roots sensed flesh. Metal. Strong vibrations.”

“What kind?” Marika inquired.

“Hammers hitting steel. Gears turning too, I believe.” Which would suggest they were indeed rebuilding the golems there. “My plants report the presence of a small tunnel leading to the river. An exit route, I would assume.”

“They probably used it to smuggle the golem parts inside the Abattoir,” I suggested. “If we collapse the tunnel, then we can trap the cultists inside their own lair.”

“Thousands of people gather at the meat market in the morning,” Vernisla noted. “Once our foes completely repair their golems, they’ll burst out of the Abattoir and charge at the area. That’s how I would proceed to maximize casualties.”

“How many golems do you think Will managed to reassemble?” I asked Marika.

“I can’t say,” she replied. “It depends on how many assistants Will has with him. I doubt he has all the golems up and running though. Putting one together is a lot of work. He could have finished one at best, maybe none if we’re lucky.”

“We’re never lucky,” I replied. Experience taught me that much. “We’ll assume the worst and proceed accordingly. If the Knots have managed to complete any number of golems, they’ll likely deploy them the moment we raid the Abattoir. They might also have stocked canisters of Florence’s berserk gas under the building.”

A prospect that worried Selestine. “The market is crowded at this hour. If we strike now, thousands will perish.”

“I suggest waiting for nightfall,” Marika said. She acted much calmer than I would have expected. The news of Will’s presence in the city both spooked and excited her in equal measure; she wanted to take him out swiftly, but she understood he would come for her too. “It would reduce the number of civilians around the location and let us test the Dreadwolf cloaks.”

“Cloaks?” I smiled. “Plural?”

“Who do you take me for?” Marika chuckled and raised two fingers. “I managed to craft two sets, thank you very much. They should turn us invisible in the dark.”

Vernisla examined the area, her hand stroking her chin. “The way I see it, we can proceed in two ways,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “First, the loud option. We can establish a perimeter around the Abattoir after evacuating the locals. We collapse the tunnel, set the warehouse on fire to smoke out the rats, then intercept those who escape the flames.”

A plan as simple as it was brutal. I could see the hardened mercenary speaking.

Both Mr. Fronan and Selestine looked aghast. “Set the warehouse on fire?” the former asked. “You wish to burn down the entire building?”

“Rebuilding the place should take less than a fortnight with Lady Marika’s power,” Vernisla replied. “This option would limit the risks on our end. Stone can be raised back. Lost lives can’t.”

I noticed Soraseo’s head perking up slightly. My friend had been eerily silent so far, not speaking up on military matters; her own expertise. I was truly starting to get worried.

“Second, the subtler option,” Vernisla continued. “We raid the Abattoir but leave the exit tunnel open. We force them to split and intercept those trying to flee towards the river. This will improve our odds of at least capturing some of the Knot members alive. It will also increase their odds of escaping.”

“A surrounded force with no way to escape fights to the death,” Selestine noted with an uneasy tone.

“Good. When dealing with a vermin colony, Milady, a thorough cleansing spares us future infestations.” Vernisla gave Soraseo a knowing look. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Soraseo?”

Soraseo’s lips tensed up like bowstring. She looked away without answering.

“Thought so,” Vernisla commented with a hint of disappointment.

There’s some bad history there. My eyes shifted from Vernisla to Soraseo. I noticed the latter’s hands trembled on her sword’s hilt. Did she let someone she should have slain escape and lived to regret it?

“If I may, Lady…” Marika cleared her throat. “Lady Priest? Lady Selestine?”

“You may call me however you wish,” Selestine replied calmly. “What thought clouds your mind?”

“You can summon miracles, no?” Marika asked the Priest. “Can’t you simply wipe out this place with a quick prayer?”

Selestine joined her hands, her back straighter than an arrow. “The Four Artifacts are forces of nature. They never act subtly. If I call upon them to intervene and they agree, this entire district might suffer the consequences. Neither can I expect which form their intervention will take.”

“Moreover, most of this place’s employees are legitimate workers blissfully unaware of its macabre purpose,” I added. “We should limit casualties if we can.”

Selestine nodded quietly. “Beyond my mark, I am a trained exorcist who has undergone the Second Awakening. I can seal the Berserk Flame on my own if needed.”

“That would free me up to help deal with the golems,” Marika conceded. “My power can make the difference there.”

Vernisla sharply nodded to herself. “I would like to go for the first option with your support, if you think we have little to gain from taking captives. It offers us the best odds of wiping out our foes in one strike.”

I didn’t mind this option. I doubted Will or any Knot of Wrath member could provide more information than their imprisoned leader. The debacle with Sebastian remained fresh in my mind too. I didn’t want a repeat of that disaster.

“I do not have much experience with military operations, but I will offer what help I can,” Mr. Fronan said with no small apprehension. Selestine kept her arms crossed, but offered no resistance. Neither did Soraseo, who hardly appeared to be listening anymore.

“Seems like a good enough plan to me,” Marika commented. “I can put up ramparts to ensure they stay boxed in. Make sure they all burn in their holes.”

“You don’t want to put Will in chains first?” I asked with an eyebrow raised. Her reaction surprised me. “Tell him how much you’ve surpassed him in his final moments for catharsis’ sake?”

“Why would I want that?” Marika shrugged her shoulders. “I want Will out of my life for good, that’s all. I don’t care who puts him in the ground, Robin, so long as he sleeps in the dirt.”

“That’s refreshingly practical,” I commented. I couldn’t help but notice the contrast with Mersie, who insisted on killing her targets personally.

“You said it yourself. I don’t owe him anything.” Marika scoffed. “Not even his death.”

Hopefully, she would see her wish granted soon enough.

After coming to a decision about how to proceed, we divided the roles between ourselves and waited for nightfall. Vernisla, as befitting a military commander, quickly organized a blockade of the Abattoir. The meat market was closed and evacuated—officially for fear of a rising epidemic—and the beast pens emptied. Marika used her powers to raise makeshift barricades at every street corner and we staffed them with guards and crossbowmen.

We had the Abattoir surrounded. The staff had already returned home, so the only people within its walls should belong to the Knot of Wrath. The city watch would swiftly arrest the other employees for interrogation later.

As the Merchant, I was asked to stay in the reserve at the southern blockade near the belfry; the least exposed part of the defensive perimeter. Unsurprisingly, Vernisla assigned Soraseo to my area. She understood that we needed the Monk in case the operation went south, but that she wouldn’t perform well in her current state.

Truthfully, I would rather see Soraseo sit this one out. My friend clearly suffered from deep depression. A pity we couldn’t spare someone capable of dueling a golem on their lonesome. The best I could do was to watch over her.

Before being assigned to the northern barricade near the meat market, Marika delivered me one of the two Dreadwolf cloaks. It was quite the refined piece of clothing. Its enchanted fur quickly shrouded the armor underneath from sight once I put it over my shoulders; I actually had to keep the hood down to leave my face visible. A few of the guards were already sending me strange looks. I looked like a floating head to them.

Mr. Fronan and the sappers should be collapsing the tunnel by now. Our Druid had little combat experience–hence why Marika lent him the second invisibility cloak–but his fast-growing roots should swiftly obstruct the Knots’ escape route. Will has to know we have him surrounded by now.

I took a quick glance at the future battlefield. Selestine stood atop a roof, a finely crafted and dragon-shaped runestone scepter in her hands. A group of witchcrafters and city exorcists waited for a signal next to her. Archers had taken a position on the belfry and other buildings. I couldn’t see Marika’s face among the northern troops, but I assumed she stood ready.

As for Soraseo… her armor had never seemed so heavy on her, nor her hold on her grip on her weapon so loose. The proud and fearless warrior who had demolished Fenrivos and dueled a golem on her own was nowhere to be seen. Only its ghost remained.

“I can buy it,” I told her.

My friend looked at me with a confused look. She briefly muttered words in her native tongue in surprise, before quickly defaulting back to Archfrostian. “I… I have no understanding of your meaning, Robin.”

“Your anguish. Your memories. Whatever gnaws at you.” It hurt me to see her in such a sorry state. “I can take it away if you would rather focus on the battle.”

For a brief moment, Soraseo appeared to thoughtfully ponder my offer. She stared at me with sad eyes, her expression dead as a tombstone. She gathered her breath and struggled to find her words.

“I have appreciation, Robin, but I must deny your proposal.” She focused back on the Abattoir. “It will not provide any help.”

She had lost someone. I could tell from her reaction. Her answer did not reassure me either; nor the grim look in her eyes when she stared at the slaughterhouse. I’d seen it before after Belgoroth reminded her of her past crimes. That gaping emptiness that allowed little to no satisfaction.

“Don’t,” I all but ordered her.

“What is your meaning?” she asked softly.

“Don’t throw your life away.” Her desire was written all over her face. “As your friend, I will never forgive you. Neither will Marika or Colmar.” When she wouldn’t answer me, I grabbed her helmet and forced her to lock eyes with me. “You don’t get to die. Do you understand me? You won’t die today. It won’t give you absolution.”

Soraseo stared at me without a word.

No, scratch that. Her eyes looked through me. My words had entered one ear and escaped through the other. My concern had failed to reach her heart. It hurt mine more than a dagger to the back.

Still, I refused to give up on her. There had to be a way to snap her out of her despair.

I was considering how to shake her out of her depression when I heard the signal.

It came from the sky in a high-pitched screech loud enough to wake the dead, followed by the flapping of great wings in the night sky. Vernisla’s firehawk flew high above our heads with burning feathers and a glorious battle cry. A squad of wyvern riders followed after them both in a tightly packed formation.

Curses. I needed more time to get through to Soraseo. Now I feared she might do something stupid if allowed to fight now. It’s too soon!

The Cavalier opened hostilities with a package delivery.

I saw the bag of fire runestones fall from her hand to the Abattoir below. It hit the roof with a cataclysmic blast that illuminated the night. The wyvern riders swiftly dropped more bombs in a cacophony of fire and sparkles. I squinted to protect my eyes as the ground shook beneath my feet.

The bombardment swiftly blew off the slaughterhouse’s roof. Flames spread through the Abattoir’s wooden support beams within seconds, raising columns of fire and smoke into the sky. The western stone wall crumbled under its weakened flank, crushing the empty pens beneath in a landslide.

A blue hue at my vision’s edge caught my attention. I looked up at Selestine and held my breath. The Priest had gathered a swirling sphere of blue flames above her staff; one larger than a man and brighter than the sun. I saw her chest rise as she gathered her breath, then she unleashed the condensed essence with a slight flick of her wrist. The azure fireball soared across the sky before hitting the Abattoir faster than any arrow. A burst of light and smoke followed in its wake.

I’d dabbled in witchcrafting, but here I stood in awe of an expert.

How does she do this? I’d never seen any witchcrafter pull off such a feat even with plenty of fire runestones. Selestine was no Mage, so where did she pull the required essence? Thin air? Who is this woman?

At least the results spoke for themselves. Flames consumed the Abattoir in an instant. I heard screams coming from the pyre, but no cultist nor demon escaped the debris. If this continued, we might kill most of them without firing a single arrow. The witchcrafters would then contain the Berserk Flame once the normal fire died out.

I knew better than to expect an easy victory, and what happened next proved me right.

I sensed it in the air. A sudden surge in temperature higher than what any pyre could produce. A rancid smell of sulfur and burned flesh, soaked with ashes straight from a charnel pit. A terrifying pressure that reached all the way down to my bones and marrow.

Something was coming at us. Something great and terrible.

Soraseo’s hand moved to her forehead. My friend grunted in pain, her fingers scratching at her helmet. A question formed on my lips and died the moment I saw her mark burning bright on her skin.

Debris went flying without warning. A metal titan emerged from the Abattoir’s rubble with a fearsome roar, its heavy footsteps starting a small quake.

Marika was half-right. Will had barely managed to rebuild a single golem. It was missing protective plates on its right shoulder and the crossbow weapon its siblings used near the capital, but it carried a single claymore in its left hand.

But the way it stood up, its back straight, its head held high with aristocratic disdain, its right hand curling into a tight fist… the hateful, oppressive aura of murderous anger radiating from its armor… Those were new.

The other golems were mindless machines, mountains of steel fueled by maddened souls. This one’s movements betrayed a spark of intelligence. A sense of purpose. It burned inside and out. The Berserk Flame flowed through the metal frame like blood through veins, animating its gears, possessing its pistons and joints.

A chill traveled down my spine as I remembered that a certain class allowed its wielder to master any kind of weapon.

Demonic light shone through the golem’s visor. A booming voice stronger than roaring thunder erupted from its helmet; one I had heard once before in Snowdrift’s bowels and that confirmed my worst fears.

“Weep in despair, mortals.”

A sword-shaped mark burned bright on the back of the golem’s left hand. The yellow hue of the Berserk Flame swirled around its blade and a crown of wicked fire arose above its helmet. The golem took a step forward, not with the lumbering clumsiness of a machine, but the martial grace of a wicked Knight on a warpath.

“For I have returned.”

The Lord of Wrath walked among us, with fire for a crown and death for a scepter.

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