Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 421.5 - Interlude Rhea 4

Rhea crouched on a sturdy oak branch just outside Floria’s perimeter, watching a patrol of soldiers walk by. She adjusted the leather straps of her regular pouch to stop the glass vials inside from clinking and giving her away.

This time, she had tried crushing a dried stalk of treated Whisper-weed between her fingers and rubbing the silvery dust over her pulse points to mimic the effects of a stealth skill, and it paid off. The alchemical reaction instantly synchronized her body temperature and mana signature with the ambient mana and the cool night air, allowing her to pass by the patrolling guards with little trouble.

I’ll need to make a list of all the ways they’re still falling short. It’s useful for now, but it’s not very reassuring that it’s so easy to sneak around.

Half an hour of walking brought her into a now familiar glade, and soon enough, a shadow broke away from the trunk of the neighboring tree.

"You're late," her brother murmured, his voice barely audible over the rustle of the leaves.

"You try sneaking out of a house when a master alchemist is awake and brewing draughts," Rhea shot back, narrowing her eyes in a defensive scowl. "And I had to detour around the new perimeter patrols. I’m not made of money, you know. The potions I have to use to get away require a lot of ingredients.”

Compared to the tearful first meeting, this was a much more relaxed exchange, but she was still a little tense, testing the waters to see how her brother would respond to a bit of lip.

He offered a faint, fleeting smile, a shadow of the boy she remembered from Toneburg, but it didn't reach his eyes. They were hardened, ringed with dark circles, and she didn’t need Nick’s empathic senses to know he was not particularly pleased with her attempt at bantering.

A few weeks of secret meetings, whispered intelligence, and coordination of their future plans had done a lot to rebuild their connection, but the ease with which they had once related to each other still felt like a distant memory.

Rhea had spent years believing she was the last surviving heir of her generation in House Elpen, not daring to hope for anything more. Discovering her brother was alive reignited a spark in her chest, but that energy was quickly channeled into the cold, calculated forge of their shared hatred, and it seemed increasingly unlikely that Roman would relax before their duty was fulfilled.

"The camp is ten miles north, tucked into a ravine," he said, turning his gaze toward the dark expanse of the grasslands. “I counted five men, all of them deserters from the northern front.”

"And you're sure they're Ultimer men?" Rhea asked. She wasn’t opposed to getting her hands dirty, but involving innocent people in their revenge wasn’t something she wanted.

"They still wear the crests beneath their chainmail," he replied, his voice dropping an octave and turning chilling. “I believe they were part of the same unit you encountered with your friends, but higher up in the ranks, which means they probably have important information about House Ultimer's current dealings.”

“I suppose that’s enough proof," Rhea said pragmatically, falling in step beside him as they started moving quickly through the tall grass. She used another specialized potion, and he relied on his boots, which were enchanted to give him speed. “I brought a specialized paralytic to lock their mana coils and paralyze their muscles. If I do it right, it should leave their vocal cords should remain unaffected, allowing us to interrogate them.”

Roman nodded distractedly, “If they know enough to be kept alive, you may use it.”

The ravine was exactly where he said it would be. A small, smokeless fire burned at the bottom of the rocky depression, providing barely enough heat for the five hardened men sitting around it. They wore mismatched, mud-stained armor, but Rhea’s enhanced vision easily picked out the high-quality enchantments woven into their gear, shattering the illusion that these weren't regular bandits.

No, they were professional soldiers who had decided the dwarves were too difficult to deal with, so they chose to prey on refugees instead, as shown by the loot they were dividing among themselves.

That makes me feel a little better about what we’re about to do. Even if they weren’t connected to House Elpen, they still would have needed to be dealt with.

Of course, a duty like that would have fallen on House Crowley’s growing forces, and she could have avoided putting herself in danger, but her brother would go either way, and she wouldn’t let him out of her sight again.

Reaching into her pouch, her fingers wrapped around two spherical glass flasks filled with a volatile green liquid. "On your mark," she whispered, her thumb resting on the corks.

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Roman grunted and took a step, vanishing into the shadows. A moment later, he reappeared in the center of the camp, and his blade screeched as it slid from its scabbard, announcing his arrival with more enthusiasm than any weapon should show.

But the deserters were veterans, and their instincts had been sharpened by war. They reacted instantly, grabbing their weapons and flaring their auras, ready to face whatever fool had decided to die that day.

Unfortunately for them, unlike the people they had been preying on, Roman was not helpless, and before long, they were overwhelmed by the sheer brutality of his assault.

Her brother moved like a phantom, vanishing and reappearing throughout the camp, aiming to disrupt the men’s cohesion. His first swing cut clean through the heavy broadsword of the nearest soldier, continuing its arc to cut off the man’s arm at the elbow. Before the soldier could even scream, the smoky blade reversed course, plunging into his chest.

"Assassin!" one of the deserters roared, a heavily scarred man wielding a battleaxe. He surged forward, his body glowing with the reinforcement of a martial skill, and began taking powerful swings, clearly experienced enough in fighting that type of enemy to know he needed to jealously guard his space.

Rhea took that as her cue and stepped out to the edge of the ravine. She quickly calculated the wind direction, the trajectory, and the ambient humidity, then threw the first flask.

It shattered against the rocks right in the charging axeman's path and was immediately amplified by her magic, as [Caustic Cloud] took control of it.

The green liquid instantly vaporized on contact with the air, turning into a highly corrosive mist that swirled in strange ways, obeying her will. The axeman was too slow to avoid it and ran through it, flaring his aura violently to try to repel the threat.

Rhea’s alchemy was no longer limited to mere physical effects, however, and the mist consumed the mana of his skill as easily as it ate through steel.

The man shrieked as his armor hissed and melted into his skin, collapsing while his lungs seized from the toxic fumes.

Two of the remaining soldiers turned, seeing Rhea on the ridge. One raised a crossbow, the bolt glowing with a deadly piercing enchantment.

She didn't bother to dodge and slammed her palm down on the ground. "[Transmute: Earthen Maw]," she commanded.

Her mana surged into the soil, instantly changing the structural composition of the ravine wall. The rock beneath the crossbowman turned into a gelatinous sludge, swallowing him up to his waist before quickly solidifying back into stone, and the sudden pressure crushed his pelvis, locking him in place.

His crossbow fired wildly into the night sky.

Down at the camp, her brother finished the rest. He slipped beneath a desperate spear thrust, driving his dark blade up through the soldier's jaw and into his brainpan.

Rhea watched him as the fight ended. His skill was undeniable, but the sheer malice radiating from him made her stomach turn, and she could see that his brutality only kept increasing the longer the battle went on.

He shoved the dying spearman off his blade, chest heaving, his eyes burning with a dark, nearly feverish satisfaction.

For a brief moment, a cold surge of worry pierced Rhea's heart. He's letting it consume him, she realized.

Revenge was no longer just a goal for Roman, something to bring peace to his fallen family, but the only thing keeping him alive. And worse, the dark arts he had embraced were eroding his humanity, leaving only a weapon aimed at Toneburg.

But as she looked at the dead men wearing the hidden colors of the family that had slaughtered their parents, Rhea felt her jaw tighten. Her heart beat with the same rhythm. It was a dark, venomous hatred she usually kept buried, distracting herself with alchemy, but at times like these, it was impossible to ignore.

It’s not unreasonable, she decided as she stepped into the ravine. We are Elpens, forged to build, and they broke us. It’s only right that we tear them down in response.

The only survivor in decent enough shape to fight was the heavily scarred leader, who had wisely backed away when the caustic cloud dispersed. He was trapped against the ravine wall, his sword trembling in his hands as her brother slowly closed in on him.

"Wait," Rhea called out, falling through the dissipating mist. "We need him talking.”

Her brother paused, as if he’d forgotten why they had come, and lowered his blade an inch. "Make it quick.”

Rhea approached the terrified veteran and pulled out a small, silver needle from her pouch. Its tip was coated in a glowing purple resin, and she angled it so the man could see it.

"You're Ultimer men," she stated, and it wasn't a question.

The leader swallowed hard, his eyes darting between the dark swordsman and the alchemist. "We left that house when we left the front. We’ve got nothing to do with the war anymore.”

"I don't care about your desertion," Rhea said coldly. "I want to know about Toneburg. Tell me the state of the city and the Ultimer estate. Lie to me even once, and I’ll inject this paralytic into your spine. It will keep you completely conscious and unable to move while my brother takes his time dissecting you.”

The veteran glanced at the humming blade in her brother's hand and clearly decided it wasn’t worth fighting anymore.

"They basically own the city," he grunted. "Duke Mordhau gave Ephor the merchant wards and the guard contracts, and anyone who opposes them is exiled or executed for treason against the Dukedom.”

Rhea’s scowl grew even more pronounced. “He’s become the Duke's lapdog?”

The soldier hesitated, but when she went to press the needle against his skin, he was quick to explain. “This is just what I heard, but apparently, he has something big on the Duke. More than a dog, he’s the master, and the Duke does what he wants.”

Her brother sneered, and as the man started babbling about worthless information—having revealed all he knew—his blade flashed, neatly chopping off his head.

The body crumpled to the dirt.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION

You have participated in the defeat of [Yalen, Deserter of the North — Lv. 54]

You have participated in the defeat of [Damis, Deserter of the North — Lv. 58]

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+118,200 Exp

Level up!

“Of course, I should have expected it,” Roman grunted. “Their greed knows no bounds, and now they have sunk their fangs into the Ducal House.”

Despite speaking out loud, Rhea knew he wasn’t expecting an answer as he walked back to the camp, showing no mercy to any of the survivors.

It would take some time for them to be ready to move north, especially since she had yet to confirm Roman’s state of mind, but it was clear that time was running out. House Ultimer was still expanding despite the setback of the northern war, and the sooner they could reach Toneburg and handle the situation, the better.

Nick, I hope you’ve grown as much as you claimed you have, because we’ll need all the strength we can get.