Headed by a Snake

Chapter 921 The Moonwell Tragedy

?If Tycondrius were a better person, he would have recognized the young Highblade's bravery and respected her wishes.

...If he were a better person, he might have considered her words, then made tactful inquiries about whatever troubles had come to pass.

Unfortunately, Tycon was not that.

The Highblade's age was a point of weakness.

He chose to capitalize on it.

Tycon turned to face the Sapling... and relaxed his control over his Gold-Rank aura.

The Shadowstrider was first to react. They took a step backward and melded into the shadows.

His or her presence disappeared completely.

...It was not a stealth-type Skill. A moment later, Tycon sensed their aura, faint and... distant.

They had fled in earnest.

Tycon took a step towards the Highblade, his aura pulsing outward. The surroundings trembled, yet the expensive tile underfoot remained undamaged.

(If Ophelia was going to scold him for anything, it wouldn't be property damage.)

The holy elves ceased their chanting. The martial elves fumbled for their weapons. The wise caster elves looked to and fro, confirming that the exits were unblocked.

The Highblade stood fast.

Of course, the blood-heat drained from her face, rushing towards her heart and extremities.

If the Sapling had yet to understand, her body certainly did.

Tycon added a tinge of mana to his voice to reflect his general displeasure.

"My name... is Tycondrius of Charm," He said in a low growl. "(The winds whisper my name AND my deeds...) Do. you. know. me? Whelpling?"

The resolution in the Highblade's eyes faltered for a brief second.

At the same time, hushed voices began to spread amongst her vigilant peers.

Tycon had to concentrate to catch the Elven words and grasp their meaning... but it seemed that many elves were well aware of his identity.

...Had the Shadowstrider remained, it was likely they'd have been the most knowledgeable.

The Elven Blademaster narrowed her eyes... and, decisively, she moved her hand away from her weapon.

Straightening her back, she rendered a polite bow.

Ridiculous child. As she was armed, a military salute would have been more appropriate.

"(Please accept this warrior's humble apologies, Prince Tycondrius. Your servant's name is Sindal... and it is with a heavy heart that I inform thee of a tragedy, recently befallen to House Moonwell. Due to the confusion--)"

"Hold," Tycon grit his teeth. "Look me in the eyes, Sapling."

...He sucked in air through his teeth and sighed deeply. Twice in as many suns, he was being rude to an elf of status.

In doing so, he perpetuated the image of savagery and brashness stereotypical of those... not Elven.

Unfortunately, he had already spoken. Words could not be taken back easily.

...Internally, he cursed his earlier wishes for speaking to an elf.

"My... apologies, Prince." The girl's expression remained steady, though Tycon's saw the corner of her mouth twitch. "Thy servant beseeches thee for thy meaning."

Tycon cleared his threat, "Master Highblade, I bid thee to... explain it as if I were human."

The elf's eyes narrowed once more. However, she held her bearing and nodded, as befitting of her station.

"The enclave was attacked last night."

Tycon clenched his eyes shut... "You don't say..."

Everywhere he went, he stumbled onto some sort of exigent crisis.

...But. WHY. Did. Tarquin. F*CKING. Wroe. Make. NO MENTION. OF SUCH?!?!?

"I speak true," Sindal tilted her head.

"Ah, 'twas... an utterance oft spoken by a human companion. Please continue."

Sindal gave a slight nod, as if she understood Tycon's troubles-- "Nineteen bodies were recovered, their corpses bereft of blood and mana."

Tycon grimaced. Such an incident was uncommon, considering the locale.

"Have you any suspicions to the perpetrator?"

"Nothing... concrete," Sindal shook her head. "We first suspected the involvement of the Sleeping Country. However, the magic involved was... dissimilar to their military necromancy. I've never seen anything like it-- nor have the Warriors and Mages under my command."

Tycon took a quick glance at the elves around the room. The mages present had achieved Second-Circle, and together, they were a formidable defense against any of the City-State's would-be attackers. However, Tycon could safely assume that their collective age and experience were lacking compared to his own.

He was tempted to request a personal inspection of the victims... but his own priorities took precedence.

"And what of the Arcanite Princess?" He asked.

Sindal shook her head, "Princess Ophelia is missing."

"Of course, she is," Tycon muttered.

"Two unrelated witnesses have reported seeing her on horseback, speeding towards the morning sun."

Tycon placed both hands over his head... "In the direction of the Tree God's forest?"

"That is correct," The elf nodded.

The pit of Tycon's stomach growled, his hearty breakfast threatening to betray him...

"Is it... possible... that the Tree God has lifted the ban of elves entering his domain?"

...The elf bowed her head, as if in apology, "Naught has changed, as far as we understand."

Tycon paced the hallway, calculating the speed of a horse and the distance Ophelia would need to travel.

"Breed of horse?" He asked.

"Valenari," The elf frowned.

Of course. Knowing Ophelia's wealth and status, it should have been obvious that her personal mount was the fastest horse breed in the Realm.

"Window of time?"

"According to the witnesses--"

"Answer!!" Tycon snapped.

...It was unintentional, but he had increased the mana augmenting his voice.

The Blademaster flinched, her pupils dilated with momentary fear.

With her mental defenses so disrupted, the Sapling's knees shook and the corners of her eyes brimmed with tears.

Tycon grabbed her wrist to prevent her from falling. She had done well to last so long.

It was one thing to teach a child her place. Forcing her to her knees, however, was too cruel of a disrespect.

...With Ophelia missing, Sindal's ability to meet eyes with a furious Gold-Rank made her the best leader Whitehearth could afford.

Concentrating on precision, Tycon began to reign in his aura, "Answer... please."

After a few seconds, Sindal retracted her hand and whimpered a response.

"B-between 9 and 10 bells... Prince."

"Seven... hells..." Tycon moaned in wonder.

It had been... far... too long.

Ophelia would soon reach the forest. And once she arrived...

A flare of anger brought Tycon's voice back to a shout, "HIGHBLADE! What are your plans to recover her?!!"

Even without the oppressive mana, Sindal shrank under Tycon's gaze...

"House Whisperwind has t-taken on the task... By now... the quest-- should have been issued to--"

"Emptyyy niiiiiiiiiiight!" Tycon groaned as he turned on his heel, "Without the Arcanite Princess, the houses of Whitehearth only amount to this much..."

The Adventurer's Guild-- or any mercenary collective still required time to gather before venturing off.

...It was likely they hadn't even started.

If they were to depart on regular horses, it might not even be worth the trouble.

Elves were loathe to lend out their prized Valenari horses to those outside their families. Negotiations for those would take far too long...

Perhaps an airship? Considering the circumstances, it would be possible to expedite the preparation of one.

That... still took time they did not have.

Tycon could think of but one viable solution.

Teleportation... a spell, supremely rare amongst Mages lower than Seventh-f*cking-Circle.

...It seemed that, if Tycon wanted Ophelia alive, he needed to act on his own power.