The Novel's Sidekick

Chapter 91 51: Crisis (1)

Leaving the sick lady and Harth, I moved to secure some juice for the false-ward. Magically, it's a stone crushed into bits of dust, though juice could be used as well.

The warder camp at the foot of the mountain was a lot larger than the one that got destroyed in the mountain. It was more of a permanent facility than the other one. I hope I can get some spirit fuel here.

With the blizzard going outside, most of the people were inside, while the luminescent lamps enlightened the camp. I hadn’t checked out this camp all that much before, so I only walked, following the light. Let’s find who’s in charge first. If I’m not wrong, it's a retired knight called Penron. I saw Shailyn talking with him before.

Luckily, it seemed my appearance with the bad news had alerted the higher-ups available now. Well, the people of Victoria were more attentive to their task and weren’t sloppy. Still, it didn’t seem I would get much help from here.

As I walked, I found the old man—the one who brought us here, approaching, accompanied by another one. A taller elderly man, with a less wrinkled face, and grey-white hair. It should be Lord Penron.

“Lord Penron,” I greeted, bowing slightly. “I assumed you heard the news?”

The elderly man considered me for a moment and nodded. “I’ve already requested help from her majesty,” he said, “now if you elaborate on the matter, I’m sure you’ve missed a few points before.”

I let out a breath and started again. I told the elderly knight about the threat, about the betrayal, about what we expect from this, and in the end, the elderly man only nodded. Well, they were surely not expecting something of the legends, a Winterheart reindeer and dark ritual—sure that seemed like some fun story to read, however, even with his experience in the field, he shouldn’t have come across that. Well, he didn’t laugh--that was a win.

The world was changing. How do I express this to the old man? Typically, old men are the hardest to change, corresponding to the situation, because of the psychological effect. One simply couldn’t abandon what he’s familiar with in the face of something new.

“Lord Penron,” I called, “do you have any spirit fuel left with over 20% purity rate?”

The elderly man raised an eyebrow.

“Please,” I begged, “I . . . we can’t wait. Something big could go down now. Give me if you have any fuel, I’ll pay back later.”

. . .

The warlock is gone with his entourage, and as Noyar promised Shailyn, she was about to start the rescue part. And she would do it right.

Her partner in crime, or should be the only criminal, Pitt, still stood with that towering body as if there was no end to his endurance. However, Noyar knew that if she wanted, she could put him down easily, but best not to make any disturbance that would cause her mission to fail.

So she yawned. “Night’s getting real strange, ain’t that right, Pitt?” she asked. The spell was still working, considering she didn’t use it much as it was almost impossible to mimic the real Doug, only through a brief examination. Noyar acted, her body uncomfortable, stretching her limbs. “My bones got really stuffy in the cold. You've got some ale to share, mate?”

Pitt grunted. “No drinks,” he glared at her, “master’s command.”

“Come on, mate,” Noyar continued, “There ain’t nobody to see. I’ll only take a sip. I promise, swear on the old dead heroes.”

The giant fellow looked at her, peering into her face. Did he catch up to something? Well, a burly fellow didn’t necessarily mean a dimwit. Still, her acting wasn’t that inconvincible, unless Doug and Pitt were close buddies. There was no way for her to know that.

“Ayaan’s curses, mate,” she cursed at him, glaring, “if you ain’t giving me, I’ll take from others.”

Saying that in a fit of anger, she tried to move away, but before she could do so, a hand caught her. Noyar’s mind raced, and she was considering making her next move and was about to spin and twist that burly hand of Pitt when she heard his voice.

“Only one mouthful,” the burly man said, lifting his gourd to her.

“I only take a sip,” Noyar said, taking the gourd, “swear on the dead heroes’ graves.”

The gourd was half full, and like she promised, she only took one sip. The Ale was of regular quantity, a bit stronger than what she usually likes, still, she had the urge to drink more, but she had given her words.

“Ahh, that put a fire in my chest,” she said exasperatingly and tossed the gourd at Pitt. “Here, only one sip.”

Her toss was off short by half the margin. It fell one stride from her and made a bit of thud, though almost inaudible with the blizzard on the going.

“Ops, my bad.”

Pitt grunted, glaring at her, and came forward to collect back his gourd, and Noyar did so too, though her intention was obviously not just collecting the gourd, nor anything pleasant.

Just as the burly fellow stopped down, Noyar caught his arm and twisted her body behind him while her other arm strangled his neck. Her legs clanged, strangling too, pressing hard against his chest, trying to suck the living air out of him.

Pitt groaned loudly, his other arm going for her head. Noyar pulled her head back, evading, while her elbow strangled harder, pushing him onto the cold ground. The burly fell in a loud thud and this time it was not so an inaudible voice.

“Is everything alright?” came a voice from inside the door they were guarding.

Pitt groaned, gritting his teeth, his arm searching for ways to free himself. At last, it didn’t find her head, but succeeding in getting hold of a few strands of her hair. He pulled them with no regard.

Noyar didn’t even grunt, gritting his teeth. This one was tougher than she gave him credit for. The burly man below her tried to twist his body, in order to gain advantage, and that was when she broke four of his ribs. She had enough.

Cracking noises of bone breaking echoed in her ears as she pulled his head towards her. A couple of seconds later, she finally got what she wanted.

Pitt, unconscious, with a few ribs broken and the neck bones on the verge of breaking. If she had her way, she would’ve made it painless, but cases went rarely that way.

She let out a sigh, not sure how much damage she caused to this rogue warder. Yes, it was a rogue warder, and perhaps did many more awful things than her mind could think of, but that didn’t mean she would have to go that way, too.

Noyar always stays away from something violent unless it's absolutely necessary. Well, she failed there miserably in the last two days, but what she could do pulled against overwhelming odds?

“What’s going on?” the guards inside asked again, voice more urgent this time, “Doug, Pitt.”

Noyar coughed to clear her voice and said, “We’re under attack. Get ready, we’ll move the hostages as soon as possible.”

. . .

“Spirit fuel is not something Victoria is rich off,” Penron said, peering into the suit I’m wearing. He hadn’t asked about from where I got something like that, maybe because of my identity or because he understood the imminent danger we’re in. Whatever it was, I’m grateful to him.

False-ward was of Ruthalyn, a high functioning polymer suit, that only loses out to a Real Ward, whose formula of creation was lost ages ago. That was one of the reasons Ruthalyn was still standing under the empire's attack.

I checked five small fragments of spirit stones, among the peculiar gazes of two elderly knights. Lord Penron brought it out of his own collection, and even with all that, there’s less than 10 grams of spirit fuel with over 20% purity, while the rest were around 10% or even below.

They had a lot of lesser spirit fuel, but they were useless to me. Though I could've made it work, purifying them, but that would take days.

“Gentlemen,” I called, getting ready to crush all of them through a purifier. It was almost like a coffer maker, though sturdier and larger. “If you may prepare the team, we’ll be leaving with.”

I tried to say in a tone that wouldn't sound commanding. Scar's voice, whatever I say, came out somewhat forceful, but that's not the way things work. Yes threats and commands were welcome elsewhere, but not here. Well, as for the team, I will definitely overtake them if they had no Knights with Dominion of gravity in their rank, but any extra help would be worth it.

“There’s only one among us who can arrive in time,” Penron said, “and if the matter is as imminent as you made it out to be, I think it's best to proceed with those who can fly first.”

I nodded. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll leave when I’m done with this.”

I started crushing the stone into pure dust and then into liquid, providing enough heat. I used my personal fire to do that. Even though I could’ve purified them more with purgatory, it would take more time to do it in perfection. However, time was the variant we didn’t have much of.

So, I went with the crushing power of purgatory, providing it into the device. Within a couple of minutes the purification was done, not handsomely, but it would suffice in this situation.

Lord Penrod watched me carefully while the other elderly person left when I was busy dealing with the purifier.

“Lord Penron, if you don’t mind,” I said, showing the fuel tank on my back, near my waist. “Give me a hand here.”

The elderly knight nodded and was about to refill the fuel tank when the door of the chamber opened again.

“We have a problem,” the other elderly person came in. “Young squire, the other squire you brought. He’s nowhere to be seen.”