Chapter 36: Chapter 33 – Finishing Touches

"Take care, lest your protests grow tiresome! I have asked for so little! Anyone would think that I have asked you and your sons to serve me in eternal servitude, yet in my blessed and boundless mercy I had merely asked for your daughters to warm my beds. Surely you would not deny your rightful Lord his small enjoyments?" - Infamous last words of Viscount Horatio de Burgess, circa 527 FP, shortly before he was lynched to death by a raging mob.

On one hand, maybe Cal overdid things a little bit when she broke every bone in the fat noble's arms and legs into tiny pieces and tied them up into a ribbon knot while he wailed and soiled his pants from the pain. In actual fact, she was quite uncertain whether the man had died from excessive pain or fear, for he expired before she had done half of what she intended to do with him.

 

On the other hand, this way the whole "incident" as it was can be comfortably thrown on her head, which would relieve Guilbert from most of the pressure associated with such incidents. Unlike him, Cal has the backing of an entire nation behind her, and besides, they could not have done a thing to her as an individual. Not unless they mobilized what few archmagus they had and were willing to take heavy losses.

 

In fact, when she considered all the stories, rumors, and bard songs about herself in the journey so far, the sort of overwhelming violence she just did would be exactly how the Alcideans expected the Blood Demon of Al-Shan to react to such a slight.

 

"Was that… really necessary?" Guilbert asked her nervously after they had retreated for the night to the opulent living room in de Burgess's manse.

 

"Probably not." Cal admitted. "Though it would give more credibility to those bard songs they already sing of me anyway. And besides, this way you can just toss the responsibility for that fat fuck's death on my head. Which isn't a lie since you didn't even lay a finger on him."

 

"Which would mean…" Guilbert fell deep in thought for a moment before his features brightened. "I could even justify my presence here as an attempt to contain the situation from getting worse."

 

"You could even claim his bunch of thugs has terrorized the populace after the silly bastard committed suicide by me. Considering how they acted, I don't think that'd be a far-fetched idea." Cal added, pleased at how quickly he caught the implication. "And you brought your troops in to restore order like a good neighbor would."

 

"That definitely could work." Guilbert admitted. "Would that not trouble you though?"

 

"No offense, but unless your country employed a void archmagus in the past year or so, none of the ones you employed can even make me stay here against my will. Not even if they worked together." She elaborated. "And besides, I highly doubt Ezram would want to compound their troubles by committing to an act that would basically be equivalent to declaring war on Al-Shan."

 

As the matter stood, Ezram kingdom has on-paper one of the largest militaries in Western Alcidea, but the bulk of the army they could muster relied on peasant levy, and their high-caliber combatants were sorely lacking in comparison to their neighbors.

 

They had all of five Archmagus in their employ - Cal did not even deign to acknowledge the many theorycrafter archmages they had - and of the five only two were focused more on the combative aspects of magic. Neither of which had good compatibility when faced with Blood mages like herself, at that. Even the orcish tribes to their north had around twenty archmagus amongst them, most of which specialized in combat at that due to the orcish warrior culture. Bogdan of the Beastfangs was one too.

 

"No, I doubt those old bastards had anywhere near enough mettle for that indeed." Guilbert said with a disappointed sigh at the state of his own country. "What is it that you're writing, if I may know?"

 

"Just a formal letter explaining this 'incident' from my perspective, for you to pass on to your council." Cal stated, blowing on the paper to dry the ink faster. "Do you have any wax? I didn't make it a habit to bring some with me."

 

"I do, here." Guilbert said as he handed her a small block of wax. Cal heated the wax by the flame of a candle before she dripped a measured amount on the bottom of the letter, then pulled out a signet ring from her storage and stamped it - the signet ring had been packed along with the sets of formal clothes Xain gave her.

 

"If you bring this letter along with that fat fucker's corpse with you, it should lend good credibility to the story." Cal said as she handed the roll of parchment to Guilbert, the roll once again sealed and stamped by her signet. "I'd recommend keeping it preserved though, otherwise it'd stink to high heaven by the time you reach the capital."

 

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"I have an ice mage in my employ, should do the job, I think." Guilbert nodded. "I presume you plan to act separately?"

 

"Yes. I take it you'll need what? Another week or so to get this place under control and functioning properly, before you head to the capital to report?" Cal asked, answered by Guilbert's curt nod. "I'll be heading there ahead of you to lodge a formal complaint to set the fire under their asses first, then head for Knallzog. By the way, did the fat bastard have any heirs?"

 

"No direct lineage from himself. As best as my knowledge goes that scum was impotent in bed, thank the gods." Guilbert mentioned. "His heir would be a second cousin, a scholar in the capital. I know the lass, a decent sort, who professed nothing but loathing for her cousin at that. If she becomes the next Baroness de Burgess I'm quite confident we could work something out satisfactorily."

 

"That's good to hear." Cal nodded. "I'll be leaving these lands to your capable hands then, Baron Guilbert."

 

"You have my gratitude for the aid you have rendered to the people of Ezram, Lady Ambervale." Guilbert said, this time he rose from his seat and gave her a formal bow. "It has truly been my honor to make your acquaintance."

 

"You're a good man, Guilbert. I hope you do these people well." Cal said in return. "Otherwise I wouldn't mind lodging another complaint the next time I happen to pass by."

 

*********************************

 

Not three days after she departed from the late Baron de Burgess's manse, Cal found herself waylaid by a group of nearly thirty assailants on the road, in broad daylight. Assailants that spout bullshit about human supremacy and dressed much alike the group of cultists she annihilated near Poschei.

 

Apparently some of the cultists housed by de Burgess were smart enough to escape the moment they heard an army was approaching, but not smart enough - or maybe they simply had no news of what happened to their brethren up north - to pick on someone their own size.

 

Not five minutes later Cal was left with twenty corpses in various states of butchery and seven badly injured survivors that she had spared on purpose for the time being. Those seven trembled as she approached them with her halberd - still dripping with blood from the cultists she butchered - casually leaning on her shoulder.

 

"Now… are you boys and girls going to be more talkative than the previous bunch? Or would you need some… persuasion first?"

 

Unlike the previous group, these cultists visibly tembled but kept their silence, even as they looked at her with trepidation. She did not wait long, and picked the youngest of them - the one least likely to know anything of value - to use as a demonstration piece.

 

Cal had no tools in hand this time, so she used one of her throwing daggers instead to roughly pry out the cultist's fingernails and toenails, before she slowly and methodically broke every bone in his hands and feet, one at a time. The young cultist cried, wailed, and screamed in pain throughout the ordeal, he lost control over his bladder and his bowels, until apparently his mind could take no more and the man flopped to the ground, where he no longer drew a breath. A quick inspection showed Cal that he had bitten off his own tongue and swallowed it.

 

"Well, smart boy, that one." Cal commented dryly as she turned to the remaining six cultists, all of whom had visibly paled by now. "Now, which of you boys and girls felt like talking, or would you prefer another demonstration first?"

 

The remaining cultists proved far more talkative indeed.

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