“Eri!” Dulcina cried, grabbing him urgently. “No!”

  Even Dulcina could tell it was a fatal shot. The arrow had slammed straight into the left side of his chest. It was too deep not to have struck his heart.

  The boy coughed wetly, blood spilling from his lips. Elen was holding him in place, her expression blank.

  The red-headed witch — Peythra — immediately knelt over the boy the moment he fell, but one glance at the wound already told the healer it was too late.

  “I cannot fix this,” Peythra said hesitantly. “Not even the Lifeweaver Artes can mend a damaged heart. The symbolic Sympathy between the organ and a person’s life alone is—”

  “Shut up and check his wound,” Elen ordered.

  Peythra grimaced. “There’s no point. I cannot heal—”

  “Check. His. Wound,” Elen growled.

  The woman sighed. She placed a hand on Eri.

  A second passed. Then two. The woman frowned.

  Ten seconds later, Peythra staggered back, flabbergasted. “What in the world is wrong with his body? Everything’s reversed!”

  “And his heart? Is it fine?” Elen asked seriously.

  “Yes, the arrow missed it completely,” Peythra confirmed, stunned. Her eyes shone with an unusual fervour. “His heart is on the literal wrong side of his chest, yet everything anatomically functions. How in the world did he do this? Not a mutation… An Artes? I’ve never seen this before. Fascinating! Please, you must tell me how you have accomplished this!”

  Eri groaned. He opened his eyes.

  “Can you heal me first? I'm still bleeding into my lung here…”

  “R-right. Give me a moment…”

  Minutes later, Eri stood up again, whole and healthy — albeit irritated.

  “Can’t believe he caught me off guard,” Eri complained. “I thought Cedric was unconscious…”

  “The sleeping drugs must have worn off faster than Kalisa had anticipated. He mentioned before he had poison training,” Dulcina hissed, her expression complicated — relief warring with frustration. “Stupid, stupid! I should have slit his throat the moment I had him!”

  “It’s fine. You couldn’t have known,” Eri assured her.

  “It’s not fine!” Dulcina yelled, the stress finally breaking her composure. “Because of me, he nearly killed you! He got away with the Seneschal — the person we needed to interrogate the most! And if that wasn’t bad enough, that bastard stole the Emerald Hellgate Core!”

  Peythra looked up in shock at the mention of the high-grade Core. Eri winced.

  Lord Draevan limped over and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Do not blame yourself. We are all alive and well. That takes far more precedence than our wealth.”

  “My blunder cost us an Emerald Core and our primary link to Justinia,” she countered miserably. “Don’t lie to me. You cannot tell me this does not bother you.”

  “If we are to speak of blunders, then mine is worse by far,” Draevan said evenly. “By failing to see Armael for who he was, I’ve doomed our House to ruin. Your mother, and your sister… Their demise was my fault.”

  Dulcina flinched.

  Elen grunted. “There was no way for you to know. The Wyrd is impervious to conventional detection. The Fae haven’t been a threat to Humanity for millennia. Nobody can blame you for failing to account for extinct schools of magic.”

  “The Duskcrowns are a foe we vastly underestimated. We paid the price for our mistakes. But this time…” Draevan smiled slightly. “This time, we were one step ahead of them.”

  Lord Draevan nodded to Eri. The boy reached into his inventory pouch.

  From the void within, he pulled out a vibrant, shining Emerald Core.

  There was a startled gasp from Peythra, not just at the appearance of the Core, but at the casual display of spatial magic Eri just showed. Dulcina herself was silent.

  “Eri had approached me. I didn’t want to believe it, at first. Even if the signs were there,” Draevan continued. “Armael had been the bedrock of our House before I was even born. If there was a person I could trust beyond family, I had thought it would be none other than him. But recent events have already shattered any certainty I have in my judgment. I am a hound forced into the shoes of a Lord. And so, instead of a hound’s judgment… I had decided to place faith in the trust you gave Eri, Dulcina.”

  Draevan met Dulcina’s eyes. “You didn’t blunder, my daughter. If anything, you have saved us.”

  The Heiress said nothing. After a moment, she sobbed and leaned into her father’s hug.

  “It’s over?” she whispered.

  Lord Draevan held her tight. “For now. There will be others coming to harm us, and we must still find your sister… but for now, we have survived. We have won.”

  House Elathion emerged victorious. The road to recovery could now truly begin.

  [Side Quest Completed! ‘Not On My Watch!’]

  [+45000 XP]

  [+7500 Heroism Points]

  [Bonus objective Completed! ‘Twins, They were’]

  [+30000 XP]

  [+5000 Heroism Points]

  [+10000 Reputation with Elderkins]

  ~~~

  “There’s one thing that is bothering me… Eri, if you had the Emerald Core all this time, then what was in that strongbox the creature stole?”

  “Oh, that? Don’t worry, Dulcina. Just a little surprise I prepared. A shame I couldn’t see the aftermath. I spent quite a lot of time and resources making the device compact enough to fit. Though perhaps it was best that it didn’t go off when we were all so close…”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  ~~~

  Somewhere far away…

  Cedric gasped frantically as he made the final Shadow Jump and arrived at his destination. He pushed away the slimy, heaving insect-creature he was forced to rescue before collapsing against the ground.

  They were in a claustrophobic cave — the secret hideout agreed beforehand for the assault team to meet up after the operation was concluded.

  Cedric and the malformed Skinchanger were the only ones left to return alive.

  It was a fuck-up of colossal scale. The Duskcrowns were going to skin them alive.

  But there was still time. If Cedric could find a way to kidnap the Heiress, or maybe steal something worthwhile from Castle Elathion, then—!

  “I should not have to tell you how much of a failure this was.”

  A chilling voice — one that the assassin did not expect. Cedric paled.

  He and ‘Armael’ were not alone in the cave.

  Cedric immediately shifted to a kneeling position and kept his forehead to the ground.

  “I have no words to offer for my failure,” the assassin murmured.

  A foot was pressed on his head, forcing him roughly into the dirt.

  “Can I kill him?” The person stepping on him said, her tone bored.

  “Not yet, please. Not until we find out what he has learnt,” the first voice requested calmly. “Bring him to me.”

  Cedric was allowed to raise his head. He kept his eyes low.

  His superiors had shown up. Given that they were not scheduled to be meeting so soon, it could only mean one thing.

  The Duskcrowns were somehow already aware of the operation’s disastrous blunder, and they were pissed.

  There were only two others in the cave. The first voice was a male, cloaked heavily in robes with strange growths on his arms. He held a staff made of dark bones and runes.

  Cedric did not recognise him. But he did recognise the other.

  The assassin nearly threw up in fear.

  Black haired. Enormous dark horns, mighty wings, and an undeniably draconic tail. She carried a ridiculously massive blade that was taller than even her already-towering height. A mask depicting a single, golden eye covered her face.

  The inhuman woman was a fearsome sight, without doubt. However, it was not her appearance that inspired the most dread.

  It was her Core.

  Not Metal. Not even Jewelled.

  It was Mythic Tier. The person standing before him was none other than a living Saint.

  And she was positively dripping with bloodlust.

  There was not a single soul within the Duskcrown faction that did not know her by sight alone.

  If anyone ever wondered why the Duskcrowns had survived for so long despite their open defiance of the Aurelian Crown, it was because of her.

  A fallen Saint in their service, and arguably the strongest Chosen of their generation.

  The woman dragged Cedric over to the man. The robed figure brought his staff forward.

  “Look at me,” he instructed Cedric. The assassin reluctantly faced him.

  Inhuman, goat-shaped eyes stared into him. Cedric resisted the urge to scream as a foreign presence seeped into his brain and began plucking memories from his head. There was a searing pain, as if his mind was melting.

  Still, Cedric kept silent. The agony was horrifying, but it was also a familiar one.

  This was not the first time he had had his memories forcefully extracted by an Acolyte of the Frenized Goat God.

  All of Cedric’s recent memory was viewed and taken, save for one.

  A certain conversation with a Fox. Whatever magic she placed on him, it held firm against the acolyte’s Artes.

  The remembrance of her passed, unseen by the inhuman Chosen.

  “Hmm. The elven twins are lost to us. They took Maelric as well,” the acolyte said dispassionately. “That boy who blew up the port — it appears he was both the code cracker and the one who slew Gunther.”

  “All our problems, stemming from one troublemaker?” the Saint laughed. “We should recruit him.”

  “Unfortunately, he’s dead. This fool here struck him in the heart with an arrow. There is no way he survived, even with the Lifeweavers by his side. A pity. Recruiting such talent to our cause would go some way in making up for this debacle. Alas.”

  The acolyte looked away from Cedric. The assassin curled up immediately, biting his lips to prevent a whimper as his tears bled gold and red.

  “Maelric is dead, or worse, possibly compromised. The port’s Caustic Oil is unsalvageable. Multiple half-blood assets are dead or lost to us. The operation here in which the Duskcrowns have invested countless resources, agents, and funds has met a catastrophic conclusion,” the acolyte summarised, voice still cold and unfeeling.

  Cedric said nothing. In the corner, the malformed fae creature whimpered.

  “If you have anything to say in your defence, now is the time,” the acolyte offered.

  Cedric tried to think of anything to offer. There was none. He had thought the boy’s death would have appeased his superiors, yet it appeared the opposite had happened. His rescue of the half-blooded fae agent did not endear him to them either.

  There was no escape. Not even his Shadowalker Artes could teleport him fast enough — not with a Saint nearby.

  The acolyte sighed. He turned to the Saint. “Now, we can kill them.”

  “W-wait!” The fae creature gasped, holding up an ornate strongbox. “I-I have something! I stole this! A gift! A precious gift!”

  The two superiors paused. The Saint glared at the fae, annoyed. “What’s in the box?”

  “P-precious! A jewel, a bauble of great worth! It is the heritage of Hous Elathion itself! The Wyrd tells me so!” the creature frantically said.

  None of them missed how its body appeared to be liquifying, nor how its eyes shone with deranged light.

  Cedric doubted the creature would last much longer.

  The acolyte grimaced. “Check its contents. But be careful. The Wyrd is a fickle mistress. It could be a trap.”

  The Saint snorted. She snatched the box from the malformed fae.

  Everyone was distracted. Cedric decided it was now or never.

  [Shadowalker Arts, First Form — Embrace the Vo///]

  He could not finish in time.

  The acolyte’s beast-like hand grabbed his throat before Cedric could even blink. A powerful force squeezed his neck, threatening to snap his spine.

  Cedric couldn’t breathe. In desperation, he summoned shadow knives to his hand and frantically stabbed the arm holding him.

  The acolyte barely even flinched. The knives punctured flesh, but it was as if the man felt no pain. The difference in their strength was clear.

  Within the acolyte, a vibrant Gold Core pulsed in heavy beats.

  The hand squeezed tighter. Cedric’s mouth opened wordlessly in a futile gasp. His stabs became weak flails.

  The goat-like golden eyes of the acolyte stared into Cedric’s soul. “I will not kill you now. We still have to extract the genetic material we implanted in you. You will not be permitted to die until we relieve your worthless body of every last drop of Drow essence. Consider it your penance for wasting our investment.”

  The acolyte held him up against the wall. Their enormous body partially blocked his view from the Saint, but Cedric was able to make out the mildly amused look on the woman in his fading vision.

  The Saint turned away a few seconds later, sighing. She lifted the ornate box to her face before opening it with a bored expression.

  Despite being on the brink of death, Cedric’s eyes widened.

  Nestled within the box, there was a single sphere of complex design, clicking as a hidden mechanism triggered its activation.

  The runes on the device glowed — runes that looked very familiar to Cedric.

  He had seen them just recently when he had teleported the boy around to plant his ‘Hellbombs’.

  Ah, fuck.

  There was no time to do anything before a burning bright light consumed the tiny cave.

  ~~~

  Far away, Eri received a message.

  [Congratulations! You have slain a Lvl 64 Malformed Skinchanger!]

  [Congratulations! You have slain a Lvl 98 Frenzied Goat Acolyte!]

  “Huh, neat. Looks like the bomb went off.”