Vortena

by Neven Iliev

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to address me so casually?” Edward chastised him.

  “Hahaha, sorry old ma- I mean, sir. Force of habit!”

  “Drop the antics, Question. Show me what you found.”

  “Ah, right. Walk this way.”

  Edward and Zone followed the man known as Question into the back of the building and up to the second floor. They went into a conference room filled with a massive table and a number of chairs, although it appeared that it was currently in use as an office of some sort. Stacks of paper were strewn about the table and all over the floor, while a huge map of the surrounding area had been pinned to one of the walls. Question spent a minute moving the mess around to allow his compatriots to take a seat, then stood next to the map. He picked up a wooden pointer from the floor, slamming it against the map with a flourish.

  “Right, so,” he began his presentation. “The good news is, I believe we’ve identified the root cause of what we’re tentatively calling ‘F-day.’ The bad news is that it’s your fault, old man.”

  Edward sighed in exasperation.

  “For the hundredth time, Question, not every single bad thing that happens is my fault.”

  He would have already slapped the upstart into next week if he hadn’t been aware of his problematic personality. It wasn’t just him, either. Some way or another, every single person within his inner circle had some troublesome quirk to them. Edward couldn’t help but wonder yet again – how had it gotten like this?

  “No, of course not,” Question chuckled, tapping the map again. “This one is, though. Look, I even made you a diagram!”

  He reached into his robe, pulling out a slightly wrinkled piece of parchment. He unrolled it to reveal a number of graphs and pie charts which he had neatly drawn up, along with the words ‘CONCLUSION: EDWARD’S FAULT’ circled and underlined in the corner.

  “The facts don’t lie, you know,” he added with a carefree smile.

  Edward sighed again. He may have been insufferable, but if there was one thing Question was good at, it was finding answers. The man’s skill at gathering, organising and analysing information was top-notch, not to mention his extraordinary ability to spot patterns. The problem was that, although all those qualities made him good at piecing together puzzles, they also made him an intolerable know-it-all.

  Not to mention that he always found a way to blame Edward for every single bad thing that he had ever been asked to investigate. His determination to lay blame upon his employer would have been impressive if it hadn’t been so damned infuriating.

  Still, if Question had any insight into the mystery at hand, then it was Edward’s duty as his superior to hear him out. It was the only reason that the Spymaster was willing to tolerate the analyst’s borderline insubordination in the first place.

  “Alright, let’s hear it,” he said dejectedly. “Show me what you got.”

  “Do you want the short version or the long version?” the blond man asked, twirling his pointer.

  “Is the short version ‘this whole Bootsplit incident is Edward’s fault?’”

  “… Maybe.”

  “Then give me the long version.”

  “Gladly!” Question smiled widely as he started his explanation. “So! Let’s begin by establishing the ways in which Edward failed to prevent this catastrophe. First of all, you let your mimic prisoner escape.”

  Zone, who had fittingly been zoning out until then, suddenly took notice, as she had a personal stake in the prisoner that had gotten away. Her mentor, on the other hand, was much less enthusiastic, judging by the way he furrowed his brow and pinched the bridge of his nose irritably.

  “… So that thing’s involved after all, huh?”

  The incident already had the same stench to it as the Monotal case, so it wasn’t as though part of him hadn’t been expecting this. Boxxy T. Morningwood had proven far more annoying than the Spymaster had initially anticipated. First had come the inane answers that had somehow managed to confuse even his Eyes of Truth during the interrogation. Then, it had somehow managed to escape its bindings mid-flight – which, while impressive in its own way, had drastically derailed the Spymaster’s plans to replicate the Calamity. The bright side, though, was that it had at least dropped a few hints as to where Edward could start looking.

  Based on the new information, the Spymaster had sent Zone with a few other subordinates and some scholars on an expedition to Redrock Ravine – a weak, out-of-the-way dungeon on the Empire’s eastern fringe. Their task had been to extract the dungeon core and discover how to force it to go into meltdown. And while conquering the Ravine and locating the core had both been accomplished easily thanks to Zone’s absurd strength, the team’s efforts had thereby immediately ground to a halt.

  They were completely unable to dislodge the dungeon core from its magically-affixed spot.

  They had arrived at the site with various theories and guesses, yet hadn’t managed to make any progress even after weeks of poking and prodding at the crystal sphere. The Empire’s foremost ‘experts’ on dungeons, and they’d been losing to a two-month-old monster that didn’t even know how to tie its metaphorical shoelaces. Not a single one of them had been able to figure out how to make the blasted core move even a single millimetre from its original position.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Zone had proposed ‘hitting it really hard,’ which had been immediately shot down by every scholar at the site. They had been adamant that there was simply no way for brute force to overcome a dungeon’s peculiar brand of magic when their own Spells, potions and magic tools had failed. The most her idea would accomplish, they claimed, was to damage or even rupture the dungeon core, possibly causing it to explode right on the spot.

  Zone had merely shrugged and continued to follow her orders to keep them out of danger. Her instructions had been to keep them safe, not assist with the actual experiments, so she had quietly fulfilled her duties without sticking her neck out until she’d finally been relieved by someone else two weeks ago. And judging from her mentor’s perpetually bad mood, those self-proclaimed experts hadn’t made a single shred of progress since.

  In the end, Edward had been left without the weapon of mass destruction that he had wanted so badly, at least until he could recapture Boxxy and properly interrogate it. That, however, was easier said than done. The possible places that the monster could have hidden were just too numerous to launch any sort of coordinated search. Its name had, of course, been added to the country’s list of wanted criminals, but that would only pan out if it were stupid enough to try to do Mercenary Guild work again.

  As for the gnome, Edward had already written her off when Hook’s investigation of her psychic residue had revealed that she had undoubtedly been eaten. One less thing to worry about, at least, especially considering the very real possibility that the creature had had outside assistance during its escape. That was a separate mystery altogether, however, and there were more immediate concerns for Edward to deal with.

  “Alright, Question. Let’s hear it,” the Spymaster said tiredly.

  “Hear what?” the analyst asked in mock ignorance.

  “You know damn well what I’m talking about. Just get it out of your system so we can move on with this.”

  “Oh, do you mean the fact that I told you so? Because I did tell you that that monster was definitely going to come up north! But nooo! My ‘baseless conjecture’ wasn’t enough for you! You didn’t want to waste ‘precious manpower’ to search beyond the Sawblade Mountains and ignored your damned analyst. Because we were certain to figure out the Calamity method all on our own! Well guess what?! We got done in by a fuckin’ box! Not once! Not twice! But three fucking times! All because you refused to listen to me, you senile old geezer!”

  Question took a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He had gotten so engrossed in his rant that he actually felt a bit dizzy.

  “Are you done?” Edward asked.

  “Yeah. Yea
h, I’m done.”

  “Good.”

  *THWACK*

  Question regained consciousness a few minutes later and continued his presentation as though nothing had happened. Zone made a mental note of the blond analyst’s grit and dedication. It took a special kind of fortitude to speak so calmly after being literally kicked through the wall. That said, she was having an awfully hard time taking him seriously with Edward’s boot print on his face. That would stick around for at least a few days, if past experience was any indication.

  “So, once the mimic escaped from the griffins, it landed somewhere in the Sawblade Mountains,” he traced Boxxy’s route across the map as he spoke. “It then moved steadily northwards, avoiding civilisation for the most part. Given Zone’s Appraisal of the creature and the average Level of monsters in that region, it’s highly likely that it has already Ranked Up.”

  “Shit.”

  Edward cursed under his breath, though not because he disagreed with Question’s words. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was only natural that a creature capable of wiping out entire squads of armed guards would have little difficulty battling its fellow monsters, and the wilderness held no shortage of targets. Tracking the thing had been difficult enough when it had been just a box-bound shapeshifter, and now it had probably evolved into something else entirely. With no way of knowing what species it had Ranked Up to, his agents would have no idea what they were even looking for anymore.

  “We then received some information regarding the mountain village of Carran south of here,” Question continued. “A merchant reported it as completely deserted with not a single soul in sight. After sending people to investigate, we’ve been able to determine that the village was not abandoned, but eaten.”

  The Spymaster blinked.

  “Come again? A whole village was eaten?”

  “Indeed. There were no signs of open combat and no bodies to be found, just empty houses and bloodied bedrooms. Except for what appeared to be the guards or militia protecting the wall. Those had been turned into piles of black ash.”

  “I see… That’s definitely our monster’s handiwork.”

  Boxxy had left behind a similar trail at the site of a certain caravan that it had ambushed on its way from Monotal to Erosa. Unfortunately, neither Question nor those Arcaneum eggheads had been able to figure out exactly what could’ve produced those peculiar leftovers, but they were nonetheless a dead giveaway that Boxxy had been there.

  “How many casualties?”

  “Two hundred and eighty-five. Well, assumed anyway. Couldn’t confirm the exact count, but given the circumstances…”

  “So, it must have spent several days feasting on them?”

  “Indeed. Though it likely eliminated all the civilians on day one, I find it impossible to believe that a single monster could consume so much mass in one sitting. That said, there was nothing stopping it from loading the bodies onto a cart or something and taking them with it.”

  A reasonable assumption, though it severely underestimated Boxxy’s post-Rank-Up hunger pangs.

  “Whatever the case, it must have known we’d be coming after it,” the Spymaster mumbled, mostly to himself. “It wouldn’t have stayed long before moving on, and given its path it must have passed through here.”

  “Yup,” Question confirmed.

  “And that’s when it somehow caused ‘F-day,’ huh?”

  “Nope.”

  “… What do you mean, ‘nope?’ This sort of disaster is clearly right up its alley.”

  “That may be so, and while the mimic was likely involved, I have reason to believe the chief perpetrator in this case was someone else. Here, gimme a sec.”

  The analyst stepped away from the map for a moment to rummage through his notes. He brought out a large rolled parchment, which he unfurled and stuck roughly to the wall with a couple of small knives. Generally speaking, pinning things to the walls in a borrowed space was quite rude, not to mention unnecessary. However, Edward had already put a Question-shaped hole in the wall, so nobody was going to notice a few knife marks. Besides, the Gilded Hand was hardly one to hesitate when it came to property damage.

  “Now then, where were we?”

  He tapped his pointer on the new map, this one of the Empire’s northern territory. As he spoke, he indicated the Empire’s capital city at the southern edge of the paper.

  “I spoke briefly with Master Shinji in Oshinas, just before we were dispatched here.”

  “Your old teacher, right?”

  The name rang a bell in Edward’s mind. The two of them had met only in passing, but the Spymaster still knew of Arakawa Shinji, the Level 100 Warlock who lived in the northern province not far from the town of Bootsplit. He was an odd man with a dubious background, but his loyalty and service to the Empire were exemplary.

  Although not quite a full-blown meritocracy, the Lordak Empire had a long-standing tradition of uplifting those who had proved themselves capable. Shinji was one such, as his position of viscount had been earned through his blood, sweat and tears, rather than simply handed to him due to noble birthright.

  “Is he involved in this somehow?”

  “Not that I know of,” Question shook his head. “Though the old geezer did tell me something interesting. Apparently, he encountered the most intriguing ginger-haired elf on his way to the capital. Shinji’s a bit of a misanthrope, so the fact that he took notice of a stranger struck me as unusual. Although he admitted that the elf himself looked pretty plain, apparently his entourage was anything but. He was accompanied by a steel golem and two demons that appeared to be his familiars. Namely, a blue-skinned succubus and a female fiend, both with exceptionally huge knockers.”

  “Hmmm…” Edward cupped his chin in thought. “Sounds like their owner is quite the-”

  He froze mid-sentence as a crazy idea struck him. He pulled out his booklet, leafing through until he reached his notes on a certain interview from over a month ago. He quickly skimmed the page with the words ‘perverted box’ circled and underlined at the top.

  “The elf was our mimic?!” he exclaimed.

  “Close, old timer, but not quite! He is, however, our main suspect.”

  Question pointed back to the map of Bootsplit, more specifically its southern gate, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious.

  “An elf whose description matched the one Master Shinji gave me was recorded entering the town the day after their chance meeting took place, on the morning before F-day. The Scribe on duty logged him as a seventeen-year-old male elf, a Level 25 Warlock bearing the name Chester Underwood.”

  Edward nearly leapt from his seat at the last bit.

  “An Underwood was here?!”

  Coming from a long line of spies, assassins and sleeper agents with strong ties to the Ishigar Republic’s Foreign Intelligence Bureau, the elves of the Underwood family were notorious within the world of international espionage. They had a reputation for being meticulous, efficient and highly adaptive, one that Edward had been able to personally confirm during his many years of service to the Emperor. Just thinking about those people made the deep scars on his left cheek and forehead ache.

  That said, something seemed off about this.

  “Are we certain it was the real deal? Those twigs would never leave an obvious trail like this.”

  Indeed, in most cases one would never know an Underwood was in their midst until well after they were gone. And that was assuming that anyone ever realised they had been there at all. While one would think an Appraisal would be enough to root them out, these were agents with government connections. It was shockingly easy for them to have the names on their Status discreetly altered by the right Scribe. As a matter of fact, that had been one of Zone’s main duties for years.

  “Normally, I would agree with your scepticism,” Question twirled his pointer. “However, I believe that this was a deliberate act rather than an oversight.”

  “So, they wanted us to know that they’ve bee
n through here.”

  “Yup,” the younger man nodded.

  “To what purpose, though?”

  “I’m getting to that.”

  Question rummaged again through the stacks of papers, pulling out one marked with the Order of the Black Wand’s official stamp.

  “These here are the ‘confidential’ results of the Full Appraisal of one Chester Underwood. He visited this guild in order to have his Warlock Job advanced and get a magic item Appraised. His Warlock Skill set is… Well, it’s exactly the same as the ones the mimic had, based on Zone’s report.”

  Edward took the documented Appraisal results, mulling them over.

  “Hmm, so he had the Demonology Skill… No Mentor Skill, so he wasn’t the one who gave the monster its Warlock Job… Perhaps they had the same teacher? Wait, who was the trainer that this elf met with?”

  “One Joshua Grimebeard. Missing, of course.”

  “Missing? So, he’s not one of the frozen dwarfcicles littered about the place?”

  The majority of the citizens of Bootsplit caught in the wake of the catastrophe had been encased in the same magical ice that had covered the entire neighbourhood. It hadn’t killed them outright, but had instead placed them in a sort of magically-induced suspended animation. Not all had survived the process and many were still being thawed out, but Arcaneum reports suggested that at least sixty percent of them were expected to make a full recovery. Frankly speaking, the fact that any of them were able to be saved was nothing short of miraculous.

  “We’ve had several subjects who match his physical appearance, but none who were affiliated with the Order,” Question explained. “His place of residence was outside of the affected area, so theoretically he should have been spared. As far as we can tell, he gathered his valuables and skipped town in the confusion, though it’s hard to tell if this happened before or after everything froze. But the timing is rather curious.”

  “I see. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want to stick around if he was involved. The fact that this Underwood went to see him specifically also concerns me. Their kind normally doesn’t trust anyone outside of their own family.”