by Neven Iliev
“It’s not unreasonable to think that a dwarf could be an Underwood,” Question pointed out. “Unlikely, but not impossible.”
Enlightened races could easily procreate with one another, after all. The resulting mix-bloods would always be of the same species as the mother, though they would inherit certain traits from the father. One such example was sitting next to Edward, in fact, as Zone was the product of the extremely unlikely union between a human woman and a raptor male. Her yellow eyes and odd personality were things the Spymaster attributed to her lizard-man of a father.
“Hmm. I suppose the Underwoods are a fairly diverse clan,” Edward conceded. “Hold on a minute, though. How do we know this Chester fellow is connected to our mimic?”
“Suggesting that the name may be a pun on the word ‘chest,’” the female officer in the room spoke up.
“Please don’t insult my intelligence, Zone,” Question shot her down. “My conclusions are based on more than just word association, even if my evidence is somewhat circumstantial.”
Ironically enough, though, the woman’s blind guess had in fact been right on the money. The main reason Boxxy had chosen ‘Chester Underwood’ as its alias was due entirely to the fact that it saw itself as an undercover wooden chest.
“Enlighten us, then,” Edward insisted. “What is this circumstantial evidence of yours?”
“The ledger at the south gate said that our suspect wore a robe bearing the insignia of the Brotherhood of the Third Eye, a small-time Caster-oriented guild. One with an office in Carran.”
Question thwacked the village’s position on the map.
“Our suspect’s physical appearance matched the recorded description of one of the guild’s members, though the attached name was obviously something else. Based on that, and what Master Shinji told me of his random encounter, I have concluded that the elf was most likely an FIB agent using the village as a base of operations.”
It was perhaps a bit ambitious to assume that a seventeen-year-old could be an agent or spy, but only if one underestimated the Underwoods. Subterfuge had run through the clan’s veins since the days of the Elven Dominion, and they started training their field operatives at a young age, generally around ten years old.
“And you’re sure he was working with our escaped mimic?”
“I honestly don’t see how else the elf could have survived. A single Warlock would be no match for a medium-sized monster with at least twice as many Levels. Especially if he was gutted in his sleep like the rest of the villagers seem to have been.”
“Hmm, I see. It certainly sounds feasible when you put it like that.”
The assumption was admittedly, as Question had stated, based on rather circumstantial evidence. Still, there were simply too many factors supporting the theory. Not to mention that this Boxxy T. Morningwood had proven itself capable of cooperating with enlightened individuals rather than simply killing them outright. The next question was: what sort of deal could possibly have been made that would be worth it to both sides?
Unfortunately, the answer was painfully obvious.
“Heh. Those FIB bastards got us good, didn’t they?” Edward sighed with a small, dry chuckle.
The elf must have promised the monster asylum across the border in exchange for information on the Calamity. He would keep his life and bring his superiors a lovely present, while the mimic would in turn receive their protection. It was also likely that whoever had broken Boxxy out of captivity had pointed it towards the youngster as a point of contact.
“Oh? Could it be that this old geezer hasn’t gone completely senile?!”
“What about F-day, though?” Edward ignored Question’s comment. “How does that relate to any of this?”
“According to our investigation of the area, the epicentre of the ice is an establishment called the Cracked Flagon.”
He pointed towards a particular spot on the town map, a small red ‘X’ directly in the middle of a larger red circle, presumably the borders of the frozen disaster area.
“That sounds familiar,” Edward noted.
“It should! It serves- well, served as a front for the Honeydew Cartel. You know, the one we occasionally hired to- *Ahem* I mean, the cartel that we have absolutely no connection to that sometimes came up in our reports since they smuggled weapons and drugs in and out of the elven Republic.”
“Right, that ridiculous little outfit with the Granny figurehead. What about them?”
“Well, their entire operation was dismantled, likely prior to the town being frozen solid. Their underground hideout was mostly untouched by the ice, so we were able to confirm the signs of an intense battle. Lots of property damage, smashed furniture, blood stains, etcetera, but not a single sign of a corpse aside from a dozen or so piles of black ash.”
“Meaning that our monster single-handedly wiped them out.”
“Exactly,” the analyst nodded grimly. “Also, judging from the evidence at the scene, it would appear that the fighting broke out around the innermost chamber, which was likely the boss’s room.”
“So, the mimic didn’t fight its way in, but started with the head. It’s not a bad approach to dealing with punks like this, but why would it even bother?”
“Well, a large portion of their warehouses appeared to have been rummaged through and a looted. We have no idea of what exactly was taken, but were able to confirm that a large number of weapons, armour and provisions were missing.”
“Any signs of our elven Warlock at the scene?”
“Indeed, on the rooftop of the Cracked Flagon,” the analyst circled the spot on the map with his pointer. “Not to mention traces of what Arcaneum boys confirmed to be a Warlock’s shadow-attuned magic.”
“So, the elf and the box walked into the bar, tried to strike a deal that went bad and took the things they wanted with them.”
It was a somewhat stereotypical scenario, but that was what made it so believable.
“I’m lacking enough information to make a concrete call on that front,” Question noted, “but it seems likely. Especially since our investigation of the Warlock trainer suggested that he had dealings with them.”
“That Grimbeard fellow?”
“Grime-beard. But yes, him. He was probably the elf’s ‘in’ to the cartel.”
“I don’t like this,” Edward grumbled, scowling. “Too many ifs, likelys and probablys. This isn’t like you, Question.”
“Hey, I’m not omniscient,” the analyst shrugged.
And at least I have the decency to admit it, unlike you, he added internally
“You’re thinking something rude, aren’t you?” the Spymaster asked sourly.
“No such thing, sir.”
Edward didn’t need a lie detector to tell him that Question was being dishonest, but the Ultimate Skill certainly helped.
“What was that about the roof?” he asked, trying to get the meeting back on track.
“Oh, right! We found this formation drawn on the rooftop. It was clearly visible under the ice, so our scouts were able to copy it easily enough.”
He reached into his robes and brought out a small piece of paper, which he showed to Edward. On it was a diagram of a circle inside a triangle inside a second, bigger circle. Three strange symbols were scribbled in the gaps between the concentric shapes.
“Arcaneum confirmed that this was a formation for a demonic ritual linked with the Demonology Skill,” Question explained, “and judging from the entombed skeletal remains, they were able to complete it successfully. The ritual in question was identified as the Offering to Lulu- Luso-”
He took a brief pause to double check the name written next to the diagram.
“Liusolra?” Zone chimed in.
“Ah, yeah. What she said.”
The Spymaster raised his eyebrows.
“Hmm, so there exist fools in this day and age who would perform one of those?”
Edward was aware of these Offerings since he had made a point of educat
ing himself on such matters during his investigation of the Monotal incident. It hadn’t taken long before he had concluded that the rituals were nothing more than a grandiose form of suicide. Summoning a big shot demonic Overlord sounded intriguing, but those beings’ uncontrollable nature meant that their summoner would almost definitely get caught up in the rampage. In the Spymaster’s opinion, anyone willing to sacrifice their fellow man solely to curry favour with a demon deserved everything that happened to them afterwards.
“You’re certain that this ritual was the cause of this F-day?”
“That’s right,” Question confirmed with a nod. “Although Arcaneum couldn’t tell me much about the demon in question, they’ve identified the ice as the result of an ancient Spell called Ice Age. One of the Great Apocalypse Magics that only Overlords have command over.”
As the ominous name implied, the Great Apocalypse Magics were incantations to bring about unparalleled destruction. Spells that could literally wipe out entire cities with a single blast, so complex and convoluted that no mortal could ever hope to use them. Not because it was impossible to learn magic not inherent to one’s Job, though. It was possible to learn Spells through years of practice and study, but the Great Apocalypse Magics were in a league of their own. Any attempts to replicate them by mortal minds had resulted in failure or madness. The only reason that Arcaneum knew anything about them, including the method to dispel Liusolra’s Ice Age, was due to the sealed records detailing past instances where Overlords had been unleashed upon a battlefield.
That, and they had a few Warlocks with Level 10 Demonology on staff.
“Well, that answers the ‘how’ of things,” Edward noted, “but not the ‘why.’ I really can’t see a reason why an elven spy would sacrifice his life for something like this.”
“Oh, the summoner most definitely survived,” Question said confidently, completely derailing Edward’s train of thought.
“… He did?”
“There’s no sign of a body anywhere on or near the rooftop,” the analyst explained. “Or, at the very least, not a mortal one. The scouts did report two hollow ice statues, though. They both had horns and were mostly humanoid in appearance, except that one was well over two metres high and the other had wings and rather… outrageous curves. They were undoubtedly left behind by the demons Master Shinji told me about.”
“So, the Warlock’s familiars got caught up in the Overlord’s rampage, but the actual Warlock is nowhere to be seen. Meaning he and that stupid box are probably already across the border, aren’t they?”
“Yep,” the blond man nodded.
“And we have no way of tracking them.”
“Nope.”
“Any other witnesses we can probe for information?”
“Not really. Well, there was this one girl, actually. Alea Prinny, an elven Enchanter and Scribe at the local Craftsman’s Union.”
“Another elf? Why didn’t you mention her sooner?”
“Because she’s squeaky clean,” Question shrugged. “The Union’s guild building was outside of the Ice Age’s area of effect, so we were able to confirm that she and her family have been loyal Imperial citizens for four generations. We wouldn’t have even bothered with her if we hadn’t found out that she had contact with the young Underwood.”
“What type of contact?”
“The intimate and rigorous kind. I believe the word ‘legendary’ was brought up at least once.”
The afternoon with ‘Chester’ had been so intense that the elf in question hadn’t been able to help blabbing about her tryst, despite the tragedy that had befallen her town. Which was how the Gilded Hand had caught wind of their interaction in the first place, though the investigation had ultimately proved to be a dead end. Most of her coworkers had corroborated her story, claiming that she was rather notorious for having flings with customers, especially if they happened to be younger. Such relations were not against guild policy so long as both parties were above the legal age of fifteen, which was why Alea had allowed herself to be so vocal about her latest escapade.
“Sounds like our suspect did everything he could to show off, huh?” Edward cupped his chin in thought.
The insultingly obvious trail, the conspicuous attack on the city and the way the elves normally did things all pointed to a single conclusion.
“So, this whole incident… was to send a message, wasn’t it?”
“Yep.”
The contents of which were quite clear. If the Empire officially declared war on the Republic, then its Foreign Intelligence Bureau would retaliate – with terrible consequences.
“Those fucking twigs!” Edward growled. “They really think they can get away with this!?”
The Spymaster took a few moments to calm himself. Though his pride had been injured, responding to the obvious provocation with knee-jerk anger was precisely what his enemies wanted. Decades of experience had taught him time and again that developments such as these needed to be handled with as little emotion as possible. It was partly why he was so fond of the female aide who had been quietly listening to the conversation this entire time.
“Zone.”
“Requesting orders, sir,” she responded in her usual flat monotone.
“Send word to our agents across the border,” he commanded, his voice level and authoritative. “Tell them to keep a close eye on the Republic’s dungeons and make sure that nobody brings out anything suspicious. And that goes double for the dungeons in our own territory. I want to be notified the instant someone even so much as sees a dungeon core.”
“Understood.”
“Question, give me projections for any targets that the enemy might decide to hit. I also want a threat assessment as to whether they can launch an attack on the capital.”
“So, we’re still going ahead with this war thing?” Question asked.
“Of course we are. You think those Underwood bastards are just going to let bygones be bygones? We have to hit them before they get a chance to use that Calamity against us. Actually, where’s Mist?”
“I think he’s out back helping Arcaneum-”
*SLAM*
“-with… the… thawing…”
The Spymaster had left the room, slamming the door behind him before Question could even finish his sentence.
“Crazy old bastard has no chill,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Requesting a moment of your time, Question.”
“Hmm? What is it, Zone? Finally fallen for my natural good looks, superior intellect and charming attitude?” he grinned. “It’s okay if you want to leap into my arms and embrace me at any time.”
“Wanna die?”
The icy bloodlust in those two simple words caused the analyst to break out in cold sweat. He sometimes forgot that the Spymaster was hardly the only one with a deficit in the chill department.
“… N-no, I’m good… So, uh, what do you need?”
“Have you considered the likelihood that this elf and our mimic are one and the same?”
“Of course I have,” the blond man scoffed.
“And?”
“And… what? It’s impossible.”
“Completely, absolutely, one hundred percent impossible?”
“… This is unlike you, Zone.”
“Insisting that you answer the question, Question. It’s all you’re good for anyway.”
“Haaah,” he sighed. “Well, no. It’s theoretically possible, if the monster managed to obtain the Essence Concealment Skill. Nothing else could possibly fool an Appraisal. Even if the guy in the guild was in cahoots with them, the gate guard definitely would have noticed. But I don’t know of any god that would be crazy enough to make that creature into its Hero.”
“What if there was one?”
“Even if that miracle were to somehow happen, Essence Concealment can only make one appear weaker, not stronger. Meaning that if the mimic was indeed the elf in disguise, then it would have had to find a way to reclaim its Warlock J
ob and raise it back up to Level 25. And train its related Skills to that high a degree. And Rank Up into a species capable of disguising itself so completely.”
He gave an exaggerated shrug.
“I just don’t see a way anything could accomplish all that in under a month. Especially considering the average monster Level on that mountain. I mean, the reports even said that our elf had a personal steel golem of an insanely high quality and was carrying a sizeable sum of money in addition to a high-class staff. Where would a box find the opportunity, not to mention the resources, to obtain such things?”
Question finished his explanation with another sigh.
“Honestly, the odds that this Chester Underwood and Boxxy T. Morningwood are one and the same are so astronomically low that they might as well be negative.”
“I see,” Zone replied after a brief pause. “Expressing gratitude for your cooperation.”
She gave the analyst a small nod and calmly stepped out of the room. She proceeded along the hallway and headed down the steps towards the first floor. But there was something different about her. The corners of her mouth were turned ever so slightly upwards, an actual smile on her normally emotionless, doll-like face.
She tightened her grip around the piece of torn parchment under her cloak. She had found it yesterday, assuming it to be just another soggy piece of litter, but it had turned out to be some sort of letter or message. And, although the ink had smudged a bit due to the water damage, the contents of the exceptionally-silky parchment were still largely legible. Zone’s first thought had been to hand it over to her colleagues for analysis, and under normal circumstances she would have done so.
But these were not, in fact, normal circumstances. Not when she had seen that the first two words of the message were, ‘Dear Boxxy.’
Afterword
Thus ends Boxxy T. Morningwood’s reign as the chest with the best. It honestly felt a bit weird having to make it abandon its pleasantly-rectangular mimic self, but it had to grow up sometime. I could say the same about Fizzy, as she was a character that, at the time of her conception, was never intended to live past the climax of Volume 2. I grew a bit attached and wanted to keep her around, but to do that she had to undergo some… unpleasantness. I tried to play her off as something like a Harley to Boxxy’s Joker, but the parallels are kind of lost considering the attempted seriousness of the main character. Still, she was an inspired member of the team, and I feel I did my best to make her transition from wimpy tinkerer to heavy metal badass as believable as possible.
