Blood Magus

Chapter 63

Zeth sprinted through the streets, heading for his meeting place with Erza. He had absolutely no leads on what may have happened to Turn. Almost certainly, it was the Blood Mages, but why would they take him? And where would they be keeping him? Did they somehow find out Zeth was their enemy, and they’d captured his friend to draw him out?

Hopefully Erza, being an adventurer in contact with law enforcement, would know what was going on. Or, if not him, Rosalie would, and he’d be able to find her by speaking with Erza. He was just desperate to do something about this kidnapping—whoever had taken Turin, he wasn’t confident they’d keep him alive for long.

Normally, Zeth met with Erza back behind the tavern, where the storage room full of his magic gear was kept. However, upon arriving there, he didn’t find the man. An empty field was all there was back behind the building. Zeth was technically a little late today, and Erza had never missed a meeting before—this was weird. Where was he? Had he heard of the kidnapping and was out looking for the criminals? Had even more people than Turin been stolen?

Hoping to find his employer somewhere, Zeth looked around the outsides of the tavern, not finding him, and then went inside. And, sitting at one of the back tables with Alfon and Rosalie, there he was. Zeth’s heart rate settled slightly—at least not everyone was missing. He hurriedly walked up to the trio, who were in the middle of what looked to be a serious discussion.

Erza noticed Zeth's approach, stopping in the middle of his sentence to address him as he walked up to the table. “Ah, Zeth. Sorry, I don’t have time to work today—there’s been a development in the bounty situation. A few, actually. Rosalie was just updating me on everything she learned.”

Rosalie nodded. “This may be shocking to hear, but I discovered an entire lair which the Blood Mages—multiple—were operating out of. They’re numerous, extremely powerful, and seem to hold a large amount of influence over your town. I have reason to believe they're involved with your guild, and even that they have ritual circles in the storage closets of one of their office buildings. And in case you haven’t heard yet, your newly-appointed mayor has been killed. He was a part of their cabal. So, while I understand it would be a drastic measure, I recommend you and your family pack up and leave town, preferably going as far away as—”

“My friend’s been kidnapped,” Zeth interrupted.

Her expression morphed into one of concern. “What? What do you mean?”

“My friend, his name is Turin. I went to his house today, and he wasn’t there. Everything was a mess, like there’d been a fight. Half-eaten breakfast, stuff was knocked over—no way he just left like that. Either he’s been captured by someone, or was forced to flee, or something.”

Erza nodded, placing a hand on his chin. “Do you think this could have something to do with the Blood Mages? Perhaps he was one of them, and the recent setbacks they’ve faced convinced him to run off in a hurry.”

“He’s not one of them,” Zeth said. Then he frowned. “Wait, setbacks? Plural? Other than what Rosalie’s talking about, what else has happened to them?”

“Inquisitors,” Erza said. His face was sour. “They’ve been called in, and arrived already. Likely got here so fast because the mayor was killed, so everything’s pretty high-profile now.”

“Inquisitors are here? Right now?” Zeth asked. He hadn’t thought they’d be coming for a while, if at all—Garon had said he hadn’t even called them in yet when Zeth was interrogating him. “W-whatever. I know Turin isn’t with them, so it’s gotta be something else. Do you think the cabal was pushed into drastic action by the arrival of the Inquisitors, then? They decided to try and conduct some massive ritual that needed a bunch of sacrifices, and so they started kidnapping people out of their homes to do so?”

“Excuse me,” Alfon said.

Zeth looked over at the third person at the table. He had never really spoken with Alfon beyond their initial introduction—he’d always seemed far more quiet than the others, so he didn’t know much about him. “Yeah?”

“Your friend was not captured by Blood Mages.”

“What? How do you know that?”

“His breakfast was lying half-eaten on the table, meaning this incident happened in the morning. Blood Mages would work at night if they were kidnapping people. They did not do this. This was done by someone who did not mind being seen by passers-by while they operated—not criminals.”

Zeth frowned. He hadn’t thought of that, but it certainly made sense. Whatever happened, it’d happened in broad daylight. “But then, who did it? They obviously had some sort of a fight, from the looks of his house. And I can’t think of anyone who would be able to break down someone’s door and wrestle them out of their own home against their wishes like that. At least, nobody but the guards, but I can’t see why they would—”

Just then, the door to the tavern was thrown open, morning light spilling across the room. And through the door walked a group of about a half dozen people.

Zeth would normally, upon seeing a group of people barging into a room like this, take note of their appearances and general builds. But with this group, he wasn’t able to do that. All six of them wore identical sets of clothes and armor that completely covered every scrap of skin across their bodies.

Primarily, their outfit consisted of steely plate armor, colored to look a marble white. From their heads to their toes, they were covered in bright metal. Their heads, though, weren’t covered by typical helmets and faceplates. Instead, the face of their helmets were left totally open, with an item slotted in to cover them. Instead of a mask of steel with slots cut in to let them see and speak through, there was a solid slab of what looked like shining porcelain covering their faces, which was, itself, shaped like a face. Like someone had formed a piece of pottery to look like a generic-looking person, and these people had broken off a cut of that pottery and fit it right into their helmets. There were no eye holes or slots to breathe through—for all Zeth could tell these suits of armor were completely empty. The false faces shaped into their armor certainly looked lifeless.

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Atop these suits of armor, each individual wore a sort of cloak—a piece of fabric that draped over their chests and shoulders. For five of them, this fabric was colored the same white as their armor and masks, but the one in front was wearing a dark green cloak atop their shining plate.

Zeth knew these people. Their signature armor, the identical masks each one of them wore, hiding every bit of their identity from onlookers, were infamous among not only this town, but every single settlement that existed in the empire.

Inquisitors.

The six individuals marched into the tavern, each one striding up to a different table and forcefully speaking to the people sitting at them, each one asking for the same information—the person’s name, and whether they knew anything about the Blood Mages in this town. The entire building erupted into activity, with many people standing from their tables and backing away from the officers, others taking combative stances, ready for a fight, and a couple trying to slip out of the building before the Inquisitors noticed. Anyone who attempted to leave was swiftly grabbed by one of them, though, and thrown to the ground.

Zeth was one of the people who backed away. He hadn’t ever had an up-front interaction with these people. All he’d ever seen were glimpses as they’d marched through town in the past, on official business to conduct their executions before they left. Barging into taverns and interrogating patrons was not usual business of theirs.

As they spoke with random people they apprehended from the tables, Zeth noticed something strange. He turned to look at Rosalie, Alfon, and Erza, who were still seated, staring at the Inquisitors with cautious eyes. “Why do they all sound the same?”

“Oh,” Erza said, “you haven’t heard Inquisitors speak before?”

“No.”

“It’s their masks,” he explained. “It’s an artisan item from a crafting Class—called the Mask of Anonymity. It covers your whole face, not allowing anyone to see through and identify you, but allows you to see through it just fine. That’s the item’s most obvious trait. But it also intercepts your voice when you talk, changing it to sound like someone else is saying it. All the masks look the same, and all of them change your voice to sound the exact same, too.”

“Why would they do that? Wear masks that hide their face and voice?”

“Empire says it’s because you’re not meant to see Inquisitors as individuals—you’re meant to see them as mere extensions of the law. But personally, I think it’s so people don’t see their family members get executed and hunt down the specific person who conducted the beheading to try and get revenge. When they all look and sound the same, it’s a lot harder to find out who you should be mad at.”

“They know they enforce unjust laws,” Rosalie spat. “They know their wanton executions are immoral. They simply wish to escape the consequences of their actions.”

“Why are they here, then?”

“Trying to figure out the Blood Mage situation, it seems,” Erza said. “Though, I haven’t ever seen them this active in an investigation in all my time working in places that had them. I guess they take political assassinations pretty seriously. Just sit still and let them do their thing here. Don’t want to get on these guys’ bad side—they’re like hornets. Kicking the nest will only anger them, and bring even more to come after you.”

As they spoke, one of the Inquisitors walked up to their table. It looked like they’d just been marching from one to the next, asking a few questions before leaving the people alone, so Zeth hoped this conversation would go just as smoothly.

The Inquisitor stopped in front of them. This one was wearing one of the white cloaks. “Citizens. Tell me your names.”

The universal voice that came out of the mask sounded almost like if you went around and sampled the voice of every single human being in the world, then took the average of how everyone sounded, then added the slightest hint of a warbling magical distortion to it. Really, the voice sounded like the mask itself looked—like a completely average, mundane person with absolutely no identifying features. Not even distinguishably male or female. It was unnerving.

Rosalie, Alfon, and Erza all supplied their own names, and hesitantly, Zeth added his own, feeling slightly nervous at the sudden invasion of law enforcement. Like he was afraid they’d just pull their sword from its sheath and lop off his head right now. But these people didn’t have any reason to suspect him, right? No way they’d be able to figure anything out just from his name. They’d just take his info and leave, probably just trying to get an idea of everyone in town as a form of census, or something. This would be a quick and easy conversation for him.

But after they gave their names, the Inquisitor paused, staring at them. Zeth couldn’t tell anything at all from looking at the false face of their mask, so he had no idea what they were doing, just staring ahead for so long. Was there some sort of information being displayed to them on the inside of the mask? Could they communicate telepathically with the others?

After a stressful few moments, the Inquisitor turned away from them, and Zeth’s heart stilled. But then, they called out, “Captain. We’ve got a couple.”

Instantly, the one in the green cloak stopped their conversation with the table they were interrogating and began walking over to Zeth’s table.

Panic instantly spread through his entire body. Seriously? Had they figured out who he was the moment he got here, and all they needed to do was walk around and ask for peoples’ names until they found him? He felt so stupid. Why hadn’t he just given a false name? Sure, it would’ve caused problems in the long run, but he at least could’ve gotten out of here first. His mind raced through possibilities. Could he somehow run away without being caught? Was there a back exit? Could he fight these people off? Somehow convince them they were making a mistake?

But as he strained his mind to come up with some sort of solution to the life-threatening situation he was in, the green-cloaked captain arrived, and the white-cloaked one looked over at them. “Captain. Two of these peoples’ names were on the list.”

Zeth blinked. Wait. Two? Who else are they looking for?

The white-cloaked Inquisitor continued, pointing at two of the people sitting at the table. “That woman, Rosalie, and the man, Erza.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They weren’t here for Zeth? He was safe? He silently thanked the gods, trying to avoid looking suspicious. But what were they looking for Rosalie and Erza for?

“Good work,” the captain said, then turned to look at the two named individuals. “Citizens. You are both under arrest. Failure to comply with orders is a class one offense, punishable by immediate and unceremonious execution. You will both be coming with us.”