Sustaining The King's Life 96 The Unveiling Of The Enemy Part 2

"Aren't you all listening?" Lucas asks.

Owen scowled. "Not that I'm protectin' this Francois, but I've seen him couple o' times in the capital working on his inn. I mean, it's getting' common to even n.o.bles to tend to their businesses." Owen explains.

"Now that you mentioned it, I also meet him quite a lot of times even when I'm lodging in Feuer manor," Lucas says. "So I don't think we can take his presence to account. He can't possibly be there just to wait for Faustina. How could he expect my sister to be there?"

Orwell's gazed from his spectacles. "We made reservations, Lucas."

"We did not specify who was lodging! We told him we needed a suite that could accommodate four people."

"Okay." He says. "But he attacked me. You should take that into account."

"That, I don't understand. He attacked you, but you were gone to meet with a friend and he suddenly did? He's aiming for you, Orwell!" Lucas says. "You did not join us for dinner. AND who were you meeting, exactly? And you, Faustina! You have to tell me everything after Orwell finishes up explaining himself, do you understand?"

Faustina nodded plainly.

Lucas stared at his sister in worry, and then to Ezekiel, who was doing the same. Lucas blinked. Ezekiel Johann? The brat who only showed curiosity and wore a blank look over his face, was now worried? He must be imagining things.

"Francois attacked me when I was lured into an alleyway, which was bizarrely tinged with dark magic."

"Now that you mentioned that…" Owen says. "That must be the dark magic that I sensed."

"Dark magic…" Lucas eyed Orwell. "The baron is nothing but a man with no magical prowess."

"That's right," Orwell says. "There's no way he could've cast that enclosed dimension. Someone else did it."

"A mage who's practicing the dark arts…" Lucas mutters.

"Or a Warlock," Ezekiel suggests. "You said that the baron is in league with the Forsaken?"

"It was speculation," Orwell says. "But it would be closer to the truth. There was no other way it isn't."

"Are we the target?" Lucas asks. "And besides, the friend you were meeting with was Abe? Since you aren't answering what I asked earlier."

"Are you listening, Bigshot? I had Abe run an errand for me. I needed him to complete something." Orwell says. "But he also ended up protecting me,"

"That's why you were injured?" Lucas frowns. "Which on part was that the protection?"

"Look. I met with Abe because he agreed to run an important errand. We were ambushed by Francois, or more specifically—" Orwell paused. "Shadows."

"Shadows…!" Owen exclaims. "The manifestation of human discord…"

Shadows were the same as their name. They are a dark area or shape produced by a body coming between rays of light and a surface. They are also usually called the first ent.i.ties, a blight in the existence of sheer light. They were underneath creation—only looming originally, until they learned to embody darkness. When a human commits a perilous act or a thought that is enough to summon deprivation, their shadows harbor these emotions, sufficient enough to take their own consciousness.

They are simply called Shadows when deemed harmless, but when they are concentrated and get darker as time goes, they become Shades, which are able to corrupt the owner of the discord, but when the owner is a strong being, such as a Warlock…

"The Shadows… or more specifically, the Shades created the infernal s.p.a.ce," Orwell says. "This is simply a theory I created prior to the evidence that is present. It is, technically, not far from possible. Shadows can create obscure dimensions when given the proper conditions such as empty, abandoned places. The alleyway was perfect for such things. It matched the prearranged setting. A lively place outside—and a contrasting dark, abandoned dwelling on a given time."

Lucas blinked.

"Light and dark," Lucas says. "The liveliness of the people and the abandoned alleyway! 'Brighter thee light, darker thy shadow'…"

"And it was the start of the End. It was a jubilant festival last night, a perfect time to create a strong infernal s.p.a.ce."

"But it must take a really powerful Warlock to let the Shades create such inferno," Owen exclaims silently. "And for the Shades to ambush you and beat ye up, 'Orwell of Lotheringwood'…"

"Meaning…"

"There is a possibility that the Forsaken is involved in this." Ezekiel murmurs. "Only a strong Warlock could command Shades to cast dark magic so strong it could fragment an entire s.p.a.ce."

Lucas stared directly at Orwell, staring at his bruises bandaged up. How could Orwell get beat up like this? How strong were the Shades to even beat a graduate of Ianua I? Lucas knew Shadows and Shades only had to experience REAL peril to insinuate such a strong manifestation of infernal magic. How strong was the discord that it got Orwell beaten up?

"That takes me to ye, Vice-captain," Owen exclaims. "How come mister Lotheringwood here is beat'n up, while yer perfectly fine?"

Silence.

Orwell smiled.

"I'll answer that for Abe," Orwell says. "I know it's not much revealed, but his line… the blood he possesses… contain regenerative properties. He heals quicker than most of us. I'm still healing myself with magic, but I would need a clairvoyant to speed up the process."

"His genetic profile is different from us," Ezekiel says.

It was common knowledge to the general public, how the king employed and a.s.signed a man with the blood of an a.s.sa.s.sin as the Vice-captain of the High Knights, the king's five royal aides and bodyguards. It was the first time to even hire someone that did not possess the background of a n.o.ble—but having a young king was, as a matter of fact, a first as well.

"I still don't understand how you fought Francois," Lucas says. "But when we came to your rescue, he wasn't there."

"He got away," Orwell says. "The Shades were hard to destroy because it was an infernal s.p.a.ce. Francois just sat there and was being protected by the Shades. Abe and I fought the Shades. I used different types of spells, but it was oddly overbearing. Next thing I knew, I was injured."

"But discords can only force you to affect yourself."

"That's exactly how they did it," Orwell explains. "Shades can indeed create s.p.a.ces but they cannot inflict direct harm. They had to rely on the concentration of light and an object. They created their own s.p.a.ce so that the moon could act as their light source—thus their 'life'—and the barrier forged by dark magic could give them access to move around freely without disappearing. Shades are also Warlock servants, but they are weaker than Marionettes…"

Owen thinned his lips. "But yer this injured. How could that happen?"

"The Shades inflicted no damage to me," Orwell said. "They coerced me to do it to myself."

"What?!"

"The same with Abe. The Shades are a manifestation of discord, and they tricked us. In Demonology lessons, there are two ways to seize Shades. We could either expose it to direct light or chant the Mantra of Sun & Moon."

"Since we were dealing with quite a lot, and Abe isn't a magician, we needed to expose it to light. I decided to use fire magic. Abe had to buy me time and pierce the appearing shadows repeatedly with physical weapons."

"That'll be suicide! It's like cutting to thin air while getting corrupted at the same time!" says Lucas, unexpectedly loud. He eyed Abe, expression blank and unwavering.

"He had to. I chanted a fire spell, and the next that followed is that I realized the attacks were reflected me twofold."

Owen blinked.

"T-that's what happened to me too," Owen exclaims.

"It was unusual," Orwell mutters. "Marionettes could double the magic inflicted on them. Usually, they retaliate with a purple magic circle as a defense. And as a result, the impact would spring back to, dealing greater damage to the attacker. It's a dark hex; dummies supplied with a tad of infernal magic use it to duplicate certain attacks and return it twofold. However, Shades doing such things are unheard of. Returning the attack that should have destroyed them twofold."

"It's impossible," Lucas says. "I've never heard of anything like that."

"You dealt with a marionette, did you not?"

Owen nodded. "It was aiming for the kid. I fought it and bled crazy from my own attacks."

"That could be impossible if we're dealing with a normal Warlock," Orwell says. "They've weakened since the year 300 when Zuerst defeated Zweite. They've retreated and almost gone extinct."

"Until the Forsaken resurfaced," Ezekiel says. "There is an immense possibility that he's on strike. And for some reason… he's aiming for the duke's daughter. How could this be, I wonder?"

"I don't understand," Lucas says. "What does he want with my sister… I see no reason why he even KNEW her…"

Orwell stared apprehensively through his spectacles. He met Faustina's gaze—eyes that talked. Eyes that knew each other.

"Or… is he targetin' the Feuerlon family next?" Owen exclaims. "After the Feuerkrieger ma.s.sac—"

Owen stopped midsentence as he met a cold, arctic gaze. A nerve showed in the neck of Lucas Feuerlon, and in an instant, Abe's dagger was just a centimeter away from his throat.

"Do not speak of that," Lucas mumbles coldly.

"Put your weapon down, Abe," Orwell commands.

"S-sorry…" Owen apologizes. "I just don't get what's happenin'…"

Orwell smiled. "Let's not bring that up. We can't have speculations with this without further shreds of evidence at hand. Let's switch to Faustina's explanation for a while."

Faustina closed her eyes.

"It all started when duke Feuerlon entrusted me with a task…"