The Society of Dead Mages (3)
The gateway city was in the thick of a grand banquet even after Kriel had departed. Defense force soldiers, thoroughly drunk, raised their glasses one after another, toasting "To Sir Kriel!" In one corner of the city, they were finally holding funerals for those who had plummeted to their deaths or been torn apart by wyverns, gathering their corpses. Since a fair number of the dead were defense force members, the banquet doubled as a city-wide memorial beyond mere revelry.
In the midst of it all, one soldier stood from his seat. Excusing himself to his comrades as just stepping out to relieve himself, he headed toward the barracks near the walls. The soldier pulled a black pebble from his belt and moved to toss it through a dog hole.
"Hold it."
A chilling voice rang out from behind. It was Rweain.
"Mage? Uh, just give me a moment, will you?" He hurriedly pretended to adjust his clothing at his waist. Faking a belt rebuckling, he dropped the black pebble to the ground somewhere.
"I got an earful from the captain too. But on a night like this, can't a guy take a leak against the wall? I've already downed six beers!"
Rweain didn't humor the nonsense.
"There were signs of intrusion in my room. Damage to the gateway city's barrier devices. Means we've got an insider. And this section's where the barrier's weakest."
"...I'm just here to take a piss!"
"Yeah? Mind if I do the same?"
Rweain snapped his fingers. Water poured from the flask at the mage's waist, splashing widely. The soldier braced for pain, but felt nothing. It wasn't an attack spell. Yet the black pebble at his feet was smoking and disintegrating.
"Holy water."
Step by step, Rweain approached and picked up the pebble. A sharp tingle ran from his fingertips. Clearly an item tied to the Abyss.
"Looks like a long night ahead, soldier."
The traitor was swiftly bound in chains of water and dragged away. Just as Rweain's shadow vanished, a snake raised its head. It had infiltrated to report the wyvern conscription office's failure to its master.
Kriel moved with purpose. He'd stowed all his armor in Eve Kaha's cloak to lighten his load. Rest was minimal too. And the route had changed from plan. He'd intended to follow the road Rweain mentioned, but instead cut straight across to the Argentlam Duchy.
[Déjà vu, huh!]
Orishin was referring to the journey to the Holy Kingdom. Kriel didn't play along. A sigh-laden mutter escaped him instead.
"I'm out of the army, so why do I keep ending up on these damn mountain marches?"
It came straight from the heart.
['Cause you didn't discharge properly? Technically, this is AWOL, right?]
"Technically, I'm on mission."
Tuon kept silent, watching her master converse with that lowly, shabby blade—admittedly, she hated admitting it, but its subtly red-tinged blade was at least passable. Unlike that frivolous sword, every word from her had to carry weight. That's what made a fine blade fine.
At that moment, her magic soldier senses picked up monsters. The kind that could serve as lowly foot soldiers if her master assembled an army. And among them lurked a wolf. Last time, her master ignored her counsel, sending it shrieking to the afterlife. But not this time. Hadn't she proven her loyalty back at the gateway city? Surely he'd heed her now.
[Master! Monsters ahead!]
Kriel gripped his greatsword and charged, cleaving through the pack in one stroke. Tuon sulked.
After the Demon King fell to the three heroes' hands, the world—barring exceptions like the Western Front—regained peace. The Argentlam Duchy was no outlier. The duchy guards, softened by languid peace, held no undue suspicion toward Kriel. Of course, possible only because he wasn't in armor.
A matte leather tunic topped with a fixed black cloak. The cloak looked somewhat luxurious in material, but he passed for an ordinary traveler. As Kriel drew near, however, hidden details caught the guards' eyes.
First to draw notice: the swords. Two at his hips, plus the greatsword slung on his back. Rare to see three blades on one person.
When Kriel's turn for inspection came, the guard captain twitched his brow and spoke.
"Quite the sword collection. Mercenary?"
Kriel nodded naturally. He'd been one once—no lie there.
"Business in the duchy?"
"Got a mage acquaintance. Planning to ask him to check the enchantments on my weapons."
A casual gripe about how the last battle roughed up his blades, leaving their states odd. The guards, used to adventurers and mercs chatting amiably, nodded along obligingly.
"Watch yourself. I used to carry a magic crossbow. Neglected maintenance once, and bam—shot an arrow into my knee."
Shrugging that joint pain from long marches forced him from adventuring to guard duty, the captain approached Kriel.
"Mind if we check your bag and behind the cloak?"
Kriel nodded. The guards washed their hands in a basin, then searched his gear. Finding nothing suspicious, the captain nodded.
"Mage friends are treasures. Reliable ones, even more so. Lucky bastard. You're clear."
Kriel offered a soft smile in thanks and passed through the gates.
Long after he entered, the guards muttered.
"Huh. One hell of a unique-looking merc."
"Didn't notice till he got close, but that pale skin—thought he was undead for a sec."
In truth, the basin was a holy water basin. Anything impure would've screamed the instant those holy-water-dipped palms touched it. The guards dismissed Kriel from mind. Folks with eerie looks popped up now and then.
"Lemme see. Golden Cauldron building on Forge Street..."
Kriel navigated the duchy with fair familiarity. Born of visits to imperial metropolises—both in Tirnanog and on Earth.
"Kinda important spot."
[What is?]
"This city. During the Demon King war, it handled all the logistics."
Tirnanog RPG lore, and history from the era of the three heroes' exploits, before he dropped into this world.
Argentlam Duchy—especially its capital—was a trade nexus where goods converged from across the empire.
'Makes sense. Prime location makes it the duchy hub.'
[Weirdly knowledgeable. I was holed up in the mountains during Balor's time—clueless.]
"Country bumpkin, eh."
[Hey, now you're sightseeing urban spots—call it study abroad cred!]
Kriel grumbled as he sought the conference site. Creak—he pushed open the door. An elf mage with deep dark circles greeted visitors.
"General cat transformation studies on first floor. Water magic in cuisine applications on second. Mage living conditions and power correlations on third."
Kriel scratched his head. Bunch of quirky presentations.
"Here for the Abyss Prevention Society observation."
"...Pardon?"
"Abyss Prevention Society. Invite says two days starting today..."
The receptionist adjusted his glasses, took the invite, stared long, then exclaimed "Ah!"
"Basement level three."
Leaning in whisper:
"Here to collect debts, sir?"
"...What?"
Misreading his stunned pause as confirmation, the receptionist whispered even lower.
"No need to hide from me. Those folks downstairs... their ledgers are a mess, we all know."
What the hell was this? Sensing ill omens, Kriel steadied himself. First, piece together known info.
"I know the society's flush too. Cut the talk."
"Eh, society's rich—members ain't. Knew you were in the know."
Puzzle pieces reassembled in Kriel's head. Society's wealth. Members' poverty.
"Desperate for cash, they join niche hell like Abyss Prevention. Please do the collections outside..."
Societies typically shared member research for academic progress. But not always purely scholarly. Some ran on suspiciously rich patrons' whims. The Abyss Prevention Society was clearly one.
Tiny base, obscure name. But sky-high sponsorship for research outputs. Any mage specializing in anti-finance destruction spells would consider joining.
In short... the society of economically dead mages.