Last Life

THE NEXT FEW DAYS were surprisingly tranquil. No one bothered me. It was as if everyone had up and forgotten about me. I naturally did not believe in miracles, so I didn’t waste any time — I was training, meditating, giving Bertrand treatments with potions I bought in the pharmacy and doing a lot of reading.

The owner of the bookshop, Gaspard Mercier, finally got my order in — the history book on Vestonia and neighboring states had finally arrived alongside the map of Mainland.

When I unfolded the map, I was slightly stunned. Whoever made it had approached the process with extreme diligence. They weren’t stingy with the inks and had combined them into a large number of shades. The fine work of art cost me just ten crowns. Another five crowns went to the book. As an aside, historic opuses cost less than the mediocre novels I had sold to Gaspard before.

The map of Mainland was a patchwork of standalone principalities, counties, duchies, and dwarf kingdoms. In the middle of the colorful quilt, I saw a big, huge coal-black spot — the Shadow of Strix.

There were also relatively large countries on the map, such as Vestonia, Atalia, the Eastern and Western Caliphates, Astland and others. Trixie’s homeland, the Foggy Isles, were split into a large number of counties and duchies which were at a constant state of war. That must have been why so many of the islanders had set up shop in Vestonia. They were fleeing the horrors of armed conflict.

Bergonia, which had caused Vestonia to declare war on Atalia, I found on the map immediately. It was a little mountainous state famed for its master artifactors and was even smaller than several independent counties. But later, I read in the book that Bergonia had been a large country before the Shadow. Now, the little patch of mountainous land was just a rump state, a fraction of its former size. But that rump had something the other dwarf states did not — a border with the Shadow. And although that was more of a curse for the first few years, now it had become a huge advantage.

And I didn’t yet know exactly what made the kings of Vestonia and Atalia take the bit between their teeth, but it could not have all been over the execution of some ambassador. Both were looking for a reason to stoke conflict, and they had found one.

Upon closer inspection of the map and books Gaspard Mercier had gotten for me, I concluded that a conflict had been brewing between the two countries for a long time. All it needed was a spark.

Both states had access to the Middle Sea, where their fleets regularly got into minor engagements. On top of that, both of them had spent a long time trying to secure the counties and duchies that formed something of a buffer zone between them. Basically, this was a long time coming.

The three inkwells cost me twenty-five crowns. More expensive than normal, but there was an explanation. I had ordered the highest concentration inks. For the record, Gaspard did not cheat me — the magic dust content of this ink was double that of Max’s old one. Just what I needed for my scheme. Still, pure brown dust with no adulterants would have been preferable.

The issue was that I had decided to absorb energy of all three kinds simultaneously. At present, in light of the fact that my reservoir capacity was growing very slowly in spite of the shock therapy I was subjecting it to, I had to concentrate on reinforcing the energy system itself.

When I was a kid under the protection of a powerful gifted woman, my small reservoir was never a huge concern. As a matter of fact, at the time, like all children I was more interested in frivolous pursuits. Training with Vadoma, meditating, and self-cultivation were all things I saw more as obligations like the homework I was given in school.

Most likely, Master Yamada came into my life because of my adoptive mother. It was his training that made me realize the depths of the Gift I had been given by Creation itself.

The absorption, to my delight, went swimmingly. The brown mana, which was most painful for my body to take, I fed to my energy system at the same time as the crimson and emerald.

The crimson mana instantly healed all the reinforced sections and eliminated the painful symptoms, which prevented my brain from shutting down. The emerald meanwhile accelerated the process, delivering a double dose of energy fuel to my reservoir.

Thanks to those procedures, in a matter of days, I had reinforced all the most important energy channels and nodes. Now I could increase the pressure without worrying about accidental micro-strains or fissures in my energy system. It was just a shame the ink ran out so fast.

I would have to order more but, in order not to raise the bookstore owner’s suspicions, do it for instance through an attorney. I was certain Monsieur Moreau would be happy to do me that favor.

I also had to figure out some way to get more dust: my reserves were melting away before my very eyes. I caught myself thinking several times that I regretted bringing that gift to the witch.

Seemingly, it had all been in vain. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Lada since. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she left Abbeville after my last visit. She just looked painfully frightened. There was no fooling me — beneath the mask of rage, she was hiding fear. She had good reason for thinking this backwater was a place she could go undetected, but I had changed that.

Beyond training and reading, at night I studied the strange dagger I had stolen from the hiding spot in Paul Lepetit’s home. I should note that the longer I spent studying it, the more the thing scared me.

But I was also aware that my initial analysis of the weapon was incorrect. I had even visited Ursula Hoog’s armorer to get another look at the stryker armor. And there I discovered that the energy structure of the dagger I found differed noticeably from that of the armor suit made of strange metal. In fact, it was more elegant, and the material was not the same. Beyond that, the unusual ornament and angles of the handle as well as the snake head pommel were evidence that this dagger had been forged somewhere other than Vestonia or Astland.

After an in-depth examination, I started experimenting, which just about ruined everything I’d managed to achieve. Now I could see that the decision to share energy with the dagger was extremely rash even though it didn’t seem all that perilous at first.

Like the last time, when I grasped the hilt, I felt an unmistakable energy. It was like it was looking at me. Studying me. After that, it “requested” a bit of energy, to which I acquiesced while carefully observing its spindly energy structure.

It all happened when the first masses of my mana entered the dagger’s energy channels. It went into a frenzy and, like a leech, attached to my hand and started pumping out all my energy. And meanwhile, the lilac shade of its energy structure started to slowly glow brighter.

I had a hard time cutting off the flow of energy and severing the link with the dangerous artifact. Throwing the frenzied vampire aside, I glanced stunned at my reservoir and gasped. The dagger had practically drained it in a fraction of a second. After that, my experimenting was over. But only for a time. I would definitely return to it when my reservoir got a bit bigger. I wasn’t going to give up so easily.

* * *

After six days of relative calm, on day seven, it was like the dam burst. Early that morning, a courier knocked on the door of our annex with a letter from Vincent de Lamar written in a fairly malicious style inquiring about my health and reminding me the clock was ticking, and it was time to settle our issues once and for all. And for expediency’s sake, I was supposed to tell the courier the exact day our duel would be taking place.

In my response, I thanked de Lamar for the kindness of letting me delay our duel, told him I was back in perfect health and feeling fine, and ready to send my dear de Lamar to meet his forefathers tomorrow at midday.

An hour after the courier left, Trixie brought me another two letters. For the record, I kept my word and had a talk with Madame Richard about hiring her maid away temporarily until Bertrand got back on his feet.

The owner of the guesthouse was happy to help me out. I even got the feeling she was happier than Trixie.

I didn’t know what Madame Richard thought about the reason for my offer, but while we were talking, she gave a knowing smile and told me in so many words that she understood, what with my young body and all.

Both letters were from my stubborn relatives who had shown up out of the blue and come quite fervently for their wayward brother and cousin.

The letters were vastly different from one another both in manner of writing, and content. Whereas Valerie tried several approaches to apply pressure and threaten me with the Count de Gramont’s dismay, Yveline made a timid appeal to my sense of duty to my house. Overall, they had nothing new to say.

I decided wisely not to respond. I knew how it all would end. As soon as I entered the discussion, they would bury me under a landslide of responses.

To get a bit of fresh air, I picked up both of my swords and went out to the back yard. First, I shoveled my training area clear of the previous night’s snowfall, then started my warmup routine.

Once finished, I started in on dual-wielding katas. I increased my speed slowly, pushing small masses of mana through my energy system. Once my arms got used to the balance of the swords, it was as if the blades became extensions of them.

Mamoru Yamada called that configuration, “Dragon Wings.” For some reason, today I finally felt the wings for the first time. My body turned into a whirlwind. Pulsating mana came streaming down my reinforced channels, nourishing them with the power of my gift. The deadly dance swallowed me up entirely. The world around me disappeared. Ceased to exist. And in that moment, I became a dragon spreading its sword wings.

The last step was to allow the energy to swallow up both of my blades, and I almost did just that, but stopped myself — the swords couldn’t stand that kind of abuse.

The whirlwind died down. The high-speed death dance came to an end. Breathing heavily, I got down on one knee, bracing myself on both swords. My heart felt like it was about to jump out of my chest. Steam billowed off my shoulders, back, and arms. Bliss!

I drew in air through my nose and detected the familiar aroma of lilac coming from the alleyway leading from the front door of my annex. What could she want with me?

I quickly stood up and, adopting one of the poses used by local swordfighters, started performing clumsy lunges. A moment later, I heard a dress fluttering in the alleyway and oncoming footsteps. Soon after, the sounds disappeared, and I got a strange feeling in the back of my head that someone was watching me.

Pretending to be distracted with training, I turned around as if by accident.

“Miss Gilbert!” I feigned surprise and gave a bow. “What are you doing here?”

Betty, and that was exactly who it was, was standing in the alleyway and looking me over scornfully.

“Chevalier Renard!” she said angrily through clenched teeth. “Just don’t pretend you’re surprised by my visit!”

“But...” I wanted to object, but Betty interrupted me.

“Oh, knock it off, Renard! Put an end to this farce! The innocent simpleton act does not suit you!”

What the...?

“And yet,” I frowned. “Tell me what exactly is going on.”

“You have the nerve to ask?” Betty’s white cheeks flared red. “You had it all worked out behind my back! But rest assured, you and he will both live to regret this!”

“Me and who now?” I managed to get a word in edgewise.

“My father!” Betty exhaled angrily. “Who else?!”

Aw heck...

“Your father?”

“Renard, why must you insist on this imbecilic farce?!” the dark pupils of her blue eyes seemed ready to sear a hole straight through me.

“Miss Gilbert, I truly don’t understand. As a matter of fact, for me to have made any secret arrangements with you father, I would have to have met him first.”

“You’re lying again, Renard!” In a surge of anger, Betty started making more incendiary accusations. “You two had this all worked out a long time ago. Your grandfather, Pascal Legrand, is in on it, too. Father said it’s already decided! He instructed me to personally extend you an invitation to dinner tomorrow.”

“I’m completely lost,” I shrugged.

“But I beat you all to the punch!” Betty said with an angry smile, turning up her chin triumphantly. “You don’t think I figured out my father’s plan right when he sent me from the capital to this backwater several months ago? Look into this young man, he said to me! Haha! You thought I would obediently bind my fate to a nonentity like you?”

She was clearly at the end of her rope. I though was just standing there listening. Very curious.

“You know something?” Betty continued, squinting her eyes. “I actually did look into you. I even wrote my father a few letters about you. Womanizer, debauchee, coward, scoundrel! That’s what I wrote him. And another thing — a pitiful moron who was ejected from his own family like an injured puppy from a purebred litter. And he wants me to marry the likes of you? And where did you get the bright idea, while laying claim to my hand, to woo that pitiable actress, Vivienne? Is it some new kind of insult? How dare you try to lay claim to my hand, you pathetic bastard?! Look at me and look at you! No way, no-o-o-ope! I’ve already thought about it and taken measures!”

Hm... Looks like I’m a hot ticket item all of a sudden.

“No person — no problem?” I said, casting off the mask. “Is that it?”

My tone threw Betty off slightly.

“And here I kept wondering why you were so insistent that I duel de Lamar,” I said, rubbing my chin. “Now I get it. You decided to use him to get rid of me. Well, respect. Excellent plan. The first time, it almost worked.”

“This time, it has to work!” Betty went on the attack, quickly finding her footing. “Vincent de Lamar is one of the best swordsmen in Vestonia! Your tears will not save you again. You die tomorrow! And after your death, I will savor the look of disappointment on my father’s countenance when I tell him of the duel.”

“So, you’re saying your father wants us to get married?” I asked calmly, ignoring her tirade. “And my grandfather is also mixed up in it...? Curious.”

My tone again jostled her out of the fighting mood. While she gathered her thoughts, I continued:

“Tell your father and my grandfather that they’re too late. I already have a fiancée. And whatever made you think I’d want to marry you?”

An instant later, I saw Betty blush and gasp for air like a fish out of water as she searched for an answer.

“You don’t think there are any noblemen after my hand?” she finally spat out in anger.

“What is this stupid crap?” I laughed. “In my veins flows the ancient blood of those who fought shoulder to shoulder with Prince Albert the Brave several centuries ago on their journey into the Shadow. While my great ancestors defended the frontier from incursions by otherworldly creatures, your urchin forebearers were catching and selling perch on the islands.”

Over the course of my short speech, Betty blushed and went pale several times. She was no longer trying to say a thing, just sizing me up with a furious gaze.

“Just so you know, the viscountess of an ancient family is after my hand with a lavish dowry and connections in court,” I continued improvising. “As an aside, those future connections are seemingly why your father is trying to mastermind our engagement. He must have grown too big for his britches. Time to move up. And you, little fool, don’t understand that. He was only thinking of his grandchildren’s future. So tell your father that we’ll have to reschedule that dinner.”

Betty stood there taut as a fiddle string. Her hands, clenched into fists, were pressed up against her stomach. A fire raged in her blue eyes. If she could incinerate with a look, I’d have turned to ash already.

“You die tomorrow!” she hissed out and, turning sharply, dashed down the alleyway.

I smiled and bowed mockingly after her. After that, picking up my weapons and belongings, I hurried into the annex. My nose could already detect the pleasant aromas of lunch.

Just when I wanted to push the door open, a familiar female voice rang out behind me in an ancient witching dialect:

“So, this is where you have your fun?”