The corpse was cooling on the carpet, and I stared at my hands.
I remembered him from his teenage years. Maybe it was Randall's memory, but still… Unpleasant.
I had passed the sentence myself, executed it myself, and the guy had been a little shit through and through, but still, it was unpleasant. No questions if I'd killed him in battle, but like this...
Enough with the whining. Pleasant or not, there are still three more candidates for a one-way trip to hell waiting in the hall. Time to deal with them.
I step out of the room and order the soldiers to remove the body.
"Sir, what should we do about the prison?" Til asked again, waiting outside the door.
"I already told you, nothing for now. I'll deal with it later. First, I need to finish with the mages. If they recover their mana, they'll be dangerous."
Captured mages in this world were a pain in everyone's ass — no such thing as dimeritium shackles here. So they either politely waited for ransom or were killed if their lineage didn't qualify.
Of course, no one could stop you from breaking those unwritten rules. Truth be told, they were broken almost every time it was profitable enough. And reputation… Reputation could be rebuilt.
Everything in the large cave was as before: the pentagram, without energy, looked like mere scratches on the stone floor, and the trio of mages, tied up and dragged to the center of the cave for safety's sake. Their white robes were stained with the blood of their shot colleague. All that remained of him was a congealed puddle. The body was already being digested in the demon's stomach. Good riddance.
I gesture, and the soldiers douse the mages with water. Each one has a soldier with a dagger beside them. If anyone tries casting, they get a blade to the ribs.
"Get them up!" I command, and the groggy mages are forced to their knees. The slowest gets a couple of slaps.
"How dare y—" began the mage in the center, only to get the hilt of a dagger to the forehead and shut right up. I smiled. My guard, no doubt. Their lack of respect for aristocrats was, for once, entirely appropriate.
I slightly open the Source to assess their strength. Two quite strong healers… and a necromancer? Hm. Two people well-versed in anatomy, and powerful — that's damn tempting, if I can force them to work for me. On one hand, they deserve a slow death for what they've done. On the other, they're too useful. Hell, I think I'm starting to understand how countries felt after the war when dealing with the scientists of defeated Germany.
"I'm the one speaking here. You listen. I—"
A flash of a cabinet filled with thick folders of experiments passed before my eyes. Suddenly, I didn't care. No point pretending to be a noble, playing word games, trying to persuade this filth. Yes, I need specialists, but do I need them enough to sacrifice my conscience?
"I'll keep this brief," I continued after a short pause. "You three are pieces of shit, and you've got two options. First, the afterlife. Second, forget about your experiments and devote your lives to serving and saving ordinary people. You've got five minutes to decide. Time starts now."
"You forget yourself, sir!" the mage raised his voice again. A guardsman lifted his hand to strike, but I signaled him to hold.
"You're flagrantly violating the noble code with such outrageous statements! I'm from House Geld, and we have considerable influence in the Healers' Guild! If you don't release me without ransom right this moment, I'll make sure the Guild withdraws its support from your House, Mister…?"
"Randall Condor. Viscount Randall Condor."
"Ha! And such a pitiful House dares to dictate terms to us! My cousin works for you. One word from me and he'll abandon your castle!"
Looking closely at his robe, I did spot a barely visible yellow trim on the white fabric. Funny. I beat up this bastard's cousin? Rotten bloodline, that family pride is unmistakable. All clear now, but for curiosity's sake, I asked:
"Would the Guild be pleased if I told them what you've been doing here?"
"Triple ha! Our family is the Guild. One word from my uncle and no one will even remember the lowborn mages who died in the name of science. And as for the unGifted trash, even less so."
"I see. Untie him."
A knife flashed, and the ropes fell. The pleased mage got to his feet, rubbing his stiff arms, and addressed the two others.
"Well, you see now the power of my House, scum? I told you, skill doesn't matter. It's who stands behind you. No one's even going to ransom you! Ha! But if you beg and lick my boots right now, I might save you."
I signaled the soldier to step aside, but the talkative healer didn't even notice.
"And you, Viscount, I'll forgive you if y..."
The crack of a pistol shot cut him off forever. A man who couldn't use his brains in life finally got to spread them around in death.
"He made his choice. I gave him a chance to die on his feet, and he spat on it. You won't get that chance," I told the remaining mages. Funny, only now did I notice how similar they looked. Twins? One a healer, the other a necromancer? Apparently that happens too.
I held out my hand to Til for his pistol, but he handed me an empty one. Ah, right. Til had fired at the demon. I hadn't had time to teach the soldiers how to reload pistols, and we barely had any powder to begin with — what if they messed up? Especially since it wasn't granulated powder, just loose meal powder. Press it too much, and you get either a misfire or a blast. I didn't let on that anything was wrong and pointed the unloaded pistol at the nearest mage.
"Time's up. What's your answer?" I prompted the mages, frozen in terror.
"We accept your terms! I'm Ron Dinar, and this is my brother, Nor Dinar. We're knights, non-inheriting. But our great-grandfather was a baron…"
"I don't care who screwed your great-grandmother. But I am curious how a necromancer became a knight."
For reference, an untrained necromancer is basically a hobo with a shotgun in the magic world. Can't do much besides kill things by flooding them with death energy. A healer in reverse. Liches, zombies, reanimated skeletons, and other undead are privileges of the few masters who fully understand their Gift and spend decades refining their craft. Only they can toy with concepts of un-life and un-death. The same applies to top-level healers.
Necromancy is officially banned everywhere. Even in the Mage Concord. No one wants a rogue arch-lich setting up shop in their country.
"Um… truth be told, I'm the only one who got the title. Twice. The second time I pretended to be my brother," Ron admitted, a bit sheepishly.
"So what did the necromancer do around here?"
"Drove off evil spirits!" Nor declared proudly. Then, much quieter, added, "And finished off test subjects when the fire mage was away."
"What damn evil spirits?"
"You don't know? They're everywhere. All around us. Constantly. They feed on blood from open wounds and cause fever. But if you treat the area with death magic, they retreat for a while. That's what I did."
I barely stopped myself from facepalming. Using a necromancer as a UV lamp? Huh. Not bad, actually. I could use a disinfectant like that.
"Alright. You've made your choice too, but surely you understand — no one's going to take your word for it."
I drew a bit of metal from my sword and shaped it into two collars. On each, in English letters, I engraved the word "BAD BOY". On the inside, a pair of simple runes that made the letters glow faintly in the presence of magic. For the final touch, I sliced my finger and ceremoniously smeared blood across them.
"You saw how that fool died. You saw the demon flee in terror. You have no idea what I know or how deep that knowledge goes."
I snapped the collars around their necks. The words "BAD BOY" began to glow softly.
"As long as you wear these artifacts, you belong to me. Try to run or betray me — you die. Try to remove the collar — you die. If one of you dies, the other dies too. Behave yourselves, and I might consider taking them off. Understood?"
The mages nodded obediently. Who knows, maybe they'll figure out it's a bluff — but I hope I scared them enough.
"Release them. Til! Now we're finally going to the prison. You two, come with me."
What do you picture when you hear the word 'prison'? Damp, mold-covered walls, rusty bars, icy water dripping from the ceiling, and a disgusting smell?
Almost all wrong.
The containment zone for test subjects was dry, warm, and clean. No carpets or carved tiles, but the floor was polished stone, almost mirror-like. Definitely some magic involved.
A long corridor lined with thick bars, as wide as a wrist. And a disgusting smell of rot mixed with animal musk and sweat.
As soon as we descended the stairs into the corridor, a true cacophony erupted. Barking, shrieking, screaming, growling. Hands reached out from the cells, covered in boils, thick fur, or scales.
"It usually doesn't stink like this, sir. The ventilation's been shut down — too much mana needed to heat the place otherwise, and the air barriers haven't been installed yet," one of the brothers quickly explained, but I didn't bother to respond.
"QUIET! If anyone still has a mind left, give me a sign!" I shouted to the experimental victims.
Pointless. The noise only grew. Howling and incoherent screams, not a hint of intelligent speech.
Pity. Looks like these people are beyond help. The mind is a fragile thing, in our world or this one. I turned to Til:
"Bring Dolan and his crossbowmen here. We need to clear this place. Have them kill everyone who's beyond saving."
He saluted and ran back up the stairs. We continued down the corridor. Damn, how many cells are here? Hundreds? I stopped every so often to repeat my call. Only near the very end did I hear human speech from the farthest cell.
The cell itself was different. The bars were thin and jagged, as if carved from dark stone. But its occupant was even more unusual.
"Over here! Thank Merlin, finally some sane people! Please let me out!" A naked brunette made no attempt to hide her curves. On the contrary, she clutched her head and pushed out her ample chest.
"…Yeah…" I took off my doublet and passed it through the bars. "At least cover yourself first."
But the girl kept holding her head, ignoring the clothing.
"Open the cell first! Please! I was kidnapped from the castle and subjected to horrible things! I swear as a lady — if you free me, I'll repa— kyaaa!" She suddenly squealed and scrambled into the corner. I saw a flash of a black tail behind her.
"Don't trust her, sir," the healer chimed in, just arriving. Looked like he was the one who startled her.
"She's no lady. Just the daughter of a penniless knight. No one even kidnapped her – her father sold her for three coins."
"Three gold coins for a beauty like that?" I asked, surprised.
"Ahem. Three silver coins," the mage corrected.
Tears welled in the girl's eyes. Yeah, that was a misstep on my part. Not exactly tactful.
"In any case, her family won't pay a penny for her. But there's a great alternative! Marquis of Furra would pay her weight in gold — we'd just need to replace her hands with cat paws, do a bit of work on the fur distribution, maybe adjust the face with..."
I slammed the overly enthusiastic healer into the nearest cell wall. The cell's occupant, an old man with oversized eyes and greenish skin, immediately waddled over and began mindlessly chewing on the mage's robe.
"What part of 'forget about experiments forever' didn't you understand?" I hissed.
"I… only wanted to be as helpful as possible, sir."
"I'll let it slide once. There won't be a next time."
I let the healer go, and he immediately pulled away from the bars.
"Now open the cell."
"I can't. It only opens to Baronet Lawrence's magic signature. We had… an incident with the last test subject. Meister Ashi raped her a little… So the cell can only be broken open."
"Ugh."
I spat and grabbed the thin bars. Shame it wasn't steel — that would've taken me less than a second. Then again, making a steel cell for someone who controls metal would be idiotic. Even a weak noble could weaken the bars enough to escape.
"Sir! They only look fragile. That cell is magically reinforced to hold aristocrats. I think a squad of soldiers could break through in a couple of hou..."
A sharp crack echoed down the corridor. The moment I leaned on the bars, they shattered into fragments. With a few quick motions, I destroyed the rest and cleared the way. Once I broke the main structure, the others lost all integrity.
I picked up my doublet and offered it to the girl again. This time, she accepted and slipped it on.
"Smells like a man," she complained. I could only roll my eyes. Gods, the place reeks of shit and rot, and you're whining about that?
"You'll get clean clothes at the camp, don't worry," I replied, a bit colder than I meant to.
"That's not bad!" she said quickly. "I've just become really sensitive to smells."
I finally got a good look at her set of cat ears. Covered in black fur, they looked exotic from afar. Up close, though — they were just regular feline ears, only far too large. More fitting for a panther than a house cat.
"Mind if I touch them?"
"Um… alright."
Soft and pleasant. I ran my finger along the base where the ear met her head and felt a slightly raised seam. I couldn't help myself and patted her on the head. She responded with a strange sound. Embarrassed, I pulled my hand away.
"Sorry. Couldn't resist."
Her ears suddenly twitched and turned toward the corridor's entrance. A few seconds later, Dolan appeared with his crossbowmen.
"They actually work?" I asked the girl, but the mage answered instead.
"Of course! Better than human ones. Any idiot can stitch on a bit of leather! And the tail works too! We connected it to..."
"Enough. Dolan, clear this place out. Check who's still sane, and grant mercy to those who've lost their minds."
I had checked everyone, but still. Maybe I missed someone. Maybe someone was just too afraid to speak. A second pass wouldn't hurt.
"And get the girl some boots and a cloak! We're heading back to camp."
I left the mages under guard and handed the girl off to the soldiers with strict orders to protect her and see to her needs. Then I rushed to the steam engine.
Even from a distance, I sensed something was wrong. There was no rumble of cylinders, no hiss of steam.
The machine was still. A faint, wispy smoke curled from the chimney. Workers were hauling severed tendrils, and on the ground, beside a discarded saw, sat an old man with wild, wide eyes.
His beard and white hair were standing on end. When he saw me, he perked up and shouted:
"I figured it out! It's lightning!"
Next to him lay two wires from the generator, insulation stripped. Looked like he'd deliberately shorted them.
I could only facepalm. And here I was, thinking he had a shred of common sense.
"Lightning, huh? You crazy old fool, what the hell did you do?"
But the old man wasn't listening.
"I had a revelation! Temperature isn't just a property of space — it's motion!"
"Wow. Groundbreaking."
"You don't get it! I broke through! I ascended! I'm now a Lesser Adept!"
"And what mighty battle did you fight, Meister Orin?" I smirked. Looked like he really had taken a shock.
"Ah, my Lord Viscount. What is battle? If all it took to ascend was clubbing each other in the head, this land would be overflowing with Archmagisters. How is my battle with myself any different from one on a field? Pain from wounds is nothing compared to the pain of a collapsing worldview. Changing your perspective and admitting fault is no easier than slaying a monster. Sometimes, it's even harder — because the monster is you. And your delusions."
I looked at the old man with new eyes. He was right. Many charge into a battle at death's door, but why do so few ascend, while most simply die? Looks like ranking up isn't as simple as I thought. A shame. It'd be great if you could just level up mages by strapping them to electric chairs.
I picked up the saw lying nearby and scanned it with the Gift. Holy crap — the entire winding had fused into one solid mass!
"It wasn't me!" the old man blurted the moment he caught my displeased look. "That thing had already stopped working, so I decided to run my own experiment."
I sighed and took another look at my "brilliant" creation. If I were being honest, it was a piece of crap.
The steam engine had stopped because it ran out of water. It guzzled it like mad since I hadn't even bothered to install a proper steam recovery system back into the boiler. I figured there were more important things to do, and water could always be topped up. I didn't make a human-friendly speed governor either , I just controlled the steam flow by magically narrowing or widening the pipe. Didn't even bother putting a voltage regulator on the generator! The saw wasn't much better — I botched the cooling, and the power feed settings were a mess. Then again, that's what prototypes are: they kind of work — barely.
Still, even this half-baked contraption sped up the work tenfold. All I had to do was refine it.
I rolled up my sleeves and got to work.
Late night. The clearing was lit by the alchemist's lanterns. The steam engine hummed, and the workers were already using three saws to continue the job. I'd had to promise them extra pay so they wouldn't raise too much hell about working double shifts in the name of progress. Grumbling or not, it had to be done. Soon, someone very powerful and influential might come after us and that made delivering the core to the king a hundred times more important. Once that was done, not even a Duke could act recklessly against someone backed by the Crown. Hm. Unless, of course, that 'powerful someone' was the king himself… We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
I left the workers under the sleepy alchemist's supervision and headed for the command tent. Not to rest. If anything, the workload had only grown, threatening to bury me completely. For starters… I grabbed a scroll off the table and readied my quill.
Wages and the Empty Treasury
Finally, something I could cross off with a clear conscience. The money my grandfather gave me was running out fast, and Hornet's regiment treasury had been completely dry. Fortunately, the raid on the chimerologists' lab had helped patch that hole, at least for now. The cash haul wasn't massive compared to the equipment's value, but it would hold for a while.
Provisions
The next biggest problem. Hunting turned out to be a bust — you won't find anything bigger than rabbits near the Black Forest. Luckily, now that we had some funds, we could send a caravan to nearby villages, maybe even further... and buy supplies. Probably needed some livestock too.
Defense and Weaponry
This one was worse. We had to stay alert, and most of the elite troops had died in the fight with the spiders. No strong warriors left. I could churn out muskets, but we didn't have much saltpeter and we needed live-fire drills to properly train anyone.
I'd already sent out a few squads to distant villages in search of saltpeter, but after that, we'd be up a creek. We might try to build saltpeter beds, but that would take time. What other options did I have? I couldn't pull off the Haber process — even extracting nitrogen from air would be a stretch. Maybe the arc method? But that required thousands of kilowatts, which meant turbines and a whole lot of magnetic iron ore — and there just wasn't any of that around. I was lucky the alchemist had a couple of chunks to begin with. Damn.
Well, we'll push through. I'd already milled enough meal powder for about fifty shots, and more saltpeter would arrive soon. Should be enough to reach the capital — I hope. Better not forget to granulate it all...
I grabbed the quill again and added another note to the endless list at the bottom of the scroll. Right beside: concrete, lead mining, steel smelting. Plans for years ahead. Now if only I had the time and manpower to do it all.
I sighed and set the scroll aside. The engine, generator, and saws had been patched together — barely, but the next problem was looming: how the hell to lift and transport that massive head? No way to do it without at least some rough calculations.
I pulled out a fresh sheet from the chest and sat down to sketch. Not much parchment left, either. Eh, there's tons of it back at the lab — I'll order a couple bundles sent over tomorrow.
Now, what suspension type would be best for a cargo platform?
"Master, I noticed you've returned…" purred a female voice way too close, making me jerk and splatter ink across the page. Another assassin, seriously? Why are there so many people in this world who can sneak like ghosts? I hadn't even heard her enter.
The girl held my doublet, now washed and dried. She had changed into a long-hemmed dress that hid her tail, and tied a scarf over her head, though her ears were still clearly visible underneath.
"I broug—"
"Yeah, toss it on the chest. Thanks."
Silence settled in, broken only by the scratching of my quill and the creaking of my thoughts. I looked up and saw she hadn't left.
"Something else?"
"Well… thank you for rescuing me, but I don't know what to do now. My father won't take me back. What am I supposed to live on? What should I do?"
"What's your name?"
"Lede... just Mira."
"I'm Randall. Nice to meet you."
"I know..."
"What can you do, Mira?"
"I've had a full education. I can read and write!"
"Great. Anything else?"
"Um… math?"
"Ever done paperwork?"
"A bit."
I swept a pile of scrolls off the table and dumped them onto the bed. Sadly, I only had one desk and I needed it.
"Spare inkwell's in the chest. Quills too. Grab a chair and get started. Review the contents, then prepare a summary of income and expenses on a separate scroll. I need to know exactly how much it'll cost to implement night shifts. Get to it."
If she was surprised, she didn't show it, and really did start going through the documents. We'll see if she's any good.
"Ooh, what's this?" she asked, holding up a page with a sketch of the steam engine mixed in among the receipts.
"That? Hand it over. And don't worry about getting ink on the bed — no one's slept on it for three days now."
The next two hours passed in quiet, focused work.
"You know, Viscount," she mumbled sleepily, "when I first came to you, I thought I'd thank you for saving me in… a different way. Though I guess I wasn't wrong about the bed."
"We're swamped. No time to fuck when the world's already fucking us. Pile of work's taller than a siege tower. But if you don't change your mind — we'll revisit the matter later."
"M'yeah…" she sighed, disappointed, and went back to rustling through the scrolls.