Chương 45: Chapter 44: Heathens and Hunters and Madmen

That face… I've seen him before. At the Austig Manor. Goddess, that wasn't a ghost? They haven't killed us yet. They want to speak. They don't mean harm—for now, at least. They killed the cultists for a reason. They're not my enemies. Micheal lowered his revolver, pointing it at the floor. The elder hummed in approval.

"Good choice, Mr. Staten."

"Who are you people?" Micheal said. The elder reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a golden insignia. He walked over and placed the insignia on the nearby table.

"Do you know what that is?" It was made of pure gold, carved out into a two-headed crow with four wings. The words For Death and Justice were inscribed on the bottom. Micheal gulped, feeling a cold chill run down his spine.

"You're Hunters." We're going to die.

"Correct." The elder tucked the insignia back into his breast pocket.

"I… I suppose I have you to thank for dealing with these… these people," Micheal said.

"Of course." The elder cast an unreadable smile.

"We've been watching you, Mr. Staten. From the Baruchs, to the Austigs, then to the Gaudins." He circled around Micheal, tapping his cane every now and then.

"You did quite a good job for a private investigator. But you must understand, the Church doesn't take kindly to meddlers."

"I was only helping a Father. I did nothing that intruded on your affairs." Micheal glanced at Marco to his right. The boy was trembling in place, his face showing nothing but fear. Just one wrong move, and the Giantess could rip his head clean off like a toy. Fuck, how can I save him? They can kill me, but the boy—no. I'll beg for his life if I must.

"Unfortunately for you, Mr. Staten, you haven't just earned the Church's ire." The elder shoved the headless corpse with his cane.

"Who are they?" Micheal said.

"They are not people. They are Heathens. Worshippers of a God whose name I will not utter. The one that made your dear Eliza insane, the one that turned that little boy into a flesh starving beast. And the one who awakened those poor children in the cathedral. But I'm sure you would have figured that out yourself, given some time." The elder moved closer.

"It knows who you are now. What you've been doing. Where you live. And its followers will do anything it requests. Unlike us, Heathens are barbaric creatures. Many more will come for you, and they will not stop until you're dead."

"What… what's going to happen now?" Micheal said. The elder raised his cane, pressing the steel-tipped end against Micheal's throat, drawing a faint trail of blood.

"Our life would be much easier if we just killed the two of you and burned this house to the ground." The elder stared into Micheal's soul, those deep blue eyes unmasking his every secret.

"Please… spare the boy, at least…" Micheal closed his eyes and tilted his head upward. A cold laughter left the elder's chapped lips. Micheal felt the steel tip leave his neck, and he opened his eyes in confusion.

"There is no need for that, Mr. Staten. We are giving you a second chance. Leave the city, before the Heathens realize you're still alive."

"Th… thank you." Micheal heaved in relief. The elder stepped back and nodded at the Giantess. The Giantess shoved Marco onto the couch and walked over to the elder.

"Goodbye, Mr. Staten. You don't have much time left. I hope you're quick," the elder said. The Giantess tapped the elder's shoulder, and both of them vanished into thin air. Micheal drew in a deep breath and fell onto the sofa, his legs having turned to jelly.

"Fuck… they didn't kill us… they didn't kill us…" Micheal let out a trembling laugh.

"Just who were those people?" Marco said.

"They are Hunters. The fangs of the Church. They hunt down heathens, monsters, and all creatures of the night," Micheal said.

"Like the Inquisitors?" Marco raised his brows.

"No… no…" Micheal shook his head.

"The Inquisition protects. Hunters do not. They're free to do as they please as long as they achieve their goals. I've heard stories of all things abominable… they could have killed us if they wished. And we'd just be written off as collateral."

"But they let us go."

"We're just lucky, boy. The Lady must have some other plans for us." Micheal drew in a deep breath and rose back to his feet.

"Pack up, boy. Get your gun, and change into something else."

"Was that true what they said? About those heathens and that God?"

"They've no reason to lie to us boy. Get your gun and pack up. Now."

"Okay." Marco hurried into his chambers. Micheal groaned and went into his bedroom. The day just keeps getting better… fuck. We need to leave now! This talk of Gods and heathens is far beyond a detective like me! He pulled out an empty briefcase from underneath his bed and opened it. He opened up his drawer and donned a brown scarf and a curved black hat. He tossed two sets of clothes into the suitcase, and then pulled open his bedside drawer, revealing another big iron revolver and three cases full of bullets.

He tossed all four into the suitcase and locked it up tight as though his life depended on it. Then he dragged his wooden desk backward, revealing a small compartment in the wall hiding another suitcase. All my life savings are in there. Three thousand five hundred Leon, antique coins, monster hides, and the heart of a seventh-generation Phoenix. That's enough to buy a plot of land and a house in the countryside. Or a place just like this in the capital, with a little to spare.

Micheal grabbed the two suitcases and hurried back into the living room. Marco was already standing there, clad in a brown buttoned coat and a simple leather hat, holding a smaller briefcase.

"Where are we going? The gates don't open up till six in the morning," Marco said. Micheal flicked off the lights in the living room, then in his office area.

"We'll have to stay the night somewhere else. Then we make a run for it in the morning."

"I won't miss this place, that's for sure." Micheal chuckled softly.

"Me neither. We're never coming back boy." He opened up the front door and walked into the cold open streets of Lovel. Marco locked the front door and hurried over to Micheal's side. The two of them went down the side of the road and made their way to Aelon Avenue. The air had this wintry bite to it, and Micheal could have sworn something was watching them from the dark.

"Marco, if something happens, I want you to take this suitcase and run. Leave me."

"What's in there?"

"Everything you need, and everything you'll ever need." After a good few minutes, they reached Aelon Avenue. At least half a dozen hackney carriages were parked along the sidewalk. Micheal raised his hand and went over to the first one in line.

"Evening, friend. Could you take us to Angelburg Inn?" Micheal said. The coach furrowed his brows and glared at Micheal. To the right of his seat was a large hunting rifle, capable of shooting any man or beast dead in its tracks.

"Good evening, sir." Marco softened his voice and waved. The coach's expression relaxed, and he smiled.

"Alright, get in." Micheal opened the cabin doors and let Marco climb inside first. Then he followed shortly after, taking a breath of relief as he settled into the rough cushions. He clutched the second suitcase as if it were his newborn babe. Shit, if anyone were to figure out what I'm carrying, then those Heathens would be the last of my problems. The coach whistled, and the undead steeds sallied down the road. Micheal looked out of the glass window, instinctively reaching out for his revolver.

"What are you two doing out so late?" the coach said.

"We were visiting family. We didn't notice the time," Micheal replied. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"You best be careful. Vakundir ain't no haven. All sorts of cretins walk these streets at night," the coach said. Like Hunters and Heathens.

"I'll keep that in mind," Micheal said. The ride took them about fifteen minutes, and when Micheal smelled the scent of the river nearby, he knew they were near. Angelburg Inn stood three stories high right on the banks, overlooking the two Vakundir rivers. The coach pulled on the reins, stopping the carriage right by the front doors.

"Here we are." Micheal opened the doors and stepped outside, observing the streets from left to right. When he was sure no one else was there, he gestured for Marco to follow. Who knows what's watching us? Maybe that thing still has its eye on me. Goddess, this is all sorts of madness.

"That'll be five pence," the coach said. Micheal produced five silver coins from his pockets and tossed them over to the coach. The coach quickly whistled and drove off into the distance, vanishing in the light fog.

"Let's go, boy." Micheal pushed open the front doors and entered the old inn. A few souls were drinking away at the pub, some glancing at the two of them before quietly returning to their vice. Micheal went over to the counter, where a middle-aged man was wiping a shot glass dry with a piece of cloth.

"You got any rooms left?"

"Aye, we got one on the second floor. Four shillings a night." Micheal pulled out his wallet and placed four shillings on the counter.

"We'll take it." The middle-aged man lowered the shot glass and grabbed an old copper key from under the counter.

"Room 202. Y'all want some dinner with that?" Micheal handed the keys over to Marco.

"Can you take the food up to our rooms?"

"I don't see why not. We can get you some beef stew and some pudding for the two of you for a shilling."

"Alright." Micheal handed over an extra shilling. The man turned around and yelled into the kitchen.

"Two beef stews and two puddings for room 202!" Micheal and Marco went up to the second floor and down a short hall. Micheal stopped by room 202, unlocking it with a twist of the key. It was a quaint room, with one bed, a closet, a table with two chairs, and a window that peered over the two rivers. Micheal placed his briefcases in the corner of the room and sat on the side of the bed with a deep sigh. He glanced at his watch, and it was still eight in the night.

"Where are we going after this?" Marco sat down beside him.

"Maybe Turin, or Otsford. Somewhere far and safe. Away from this madness" Micheal rubbed the corners of his eyes.

"What about your employer? Don't you think he's in danger too?" Marco said. Someone knocked on the chamber door.

"Here's your food!" A raspy female voice called out. Micheal opened the door, greeting an old maidservant with a dry smile. She was holding up a tray with two bowls of beef stew and two small white puddings.

"Thanks." Micheal took the platter and closed the door. He placed the tray over the table and gestured Marco over to dinner.

"We don't have the luxury to be worrying about our employer, boy." Marco sat down and grabbed the spoon and fork, and gazed over the food with tired eyes.

"Come on, weren't you hungry? You'll need the energy."

"I'm scared, Micheal."

"You'll make it. You'll make it. It's our deal, right? You help me out, and I'll keep you safe."

"Yeah… it's our deal…" Marco murmured.

"Now eat before the food goes cold." And so they ate in their chambers, and they waited. Waited, and waited until the time was finally right. Either they leave the city soon, or they never will. Micheal glanced at his silver watch. It was already 5: 45 in the morning. He looked out of the window, spotting numerous figures shuffling across the dimly lit streets. Workers, likely. The sun wouldn't rise above the city walls till seven in the morning.

"Grab your things, boy. It's time." Micheal picked up the two briefcases. Marco murmured a prayer.

"Goddess help us." Then he grasped the smaller suitcase. Micheal walked out of the room and descended the creaking stairs to the first floor. The pub was already filled with workers, eating their fill of breakfast for the day. The sound of clinking glasses, the scratches of forks and spoons, and the faint murmur of hungover conversations echoed all around him. As much as he'd like to sit down for a morning meal, they had no time.

Just as he stepped forward, he stopped in place and felt a foreboding feeling swell in his chest. Sitting right by the front door was a tall man with slicked-back blond hair, his back facing Micheal. That can't be. Micheal's eyes wandered below, spotting the man's right foot leaning back against the chair's leg. There wasn't a single speck of dirt on the soles of his shoes. It was sparkling clean. It's him. Why is he here? Micheal stepped back and gestured at Marco to go to the backdoor.

The young boy nodded and quickly followed Micheal to the back of the pub.

"Where are you going, Mr. Detective? Our partnership isn't finished yet," Jaime's voice echoed in his ears. Marco's eyes widened in shock.

"Mr. Valentine." Micheal gulped and turned around, facing Jaime. The man had already stood up, and he wore a beige trench coat and a white buttoned shirt underneath.

"I haven't called for you yet. How did you find me?" Jaime's lips curled into a smile, but his eyes were as dead as a corpse.

"I've done some detective work myself in the past." What did he do? Spiritual tracking? Soul searching? Or did he plant a listening device on me?

"Let us speak business, Mr. Detective. Somewhere private, in your chambers," Jaime said.

"I'm in a hurry, I'm afraid. I have a meeting with an important client of mine," Micheal said.

"Turin's a quaint place, isn't it? Much warmer than Vakundir. It's a good choice," Jaime said. He knows. How does he know?

"I… I don't know what you're talking about." Micheal reached for the gun beneath his coat.

"We both know what I'm talking about. You plan on leaving." Jaime removed his hands from his pockets.

"Come now, let us talk like civilized men. There is no need for violence."

"Let's go, Micheal. Just leave him. He won't dare do anything here." Marco tugged on Micheal's arm. Micheal peered into Jaime's eyes and saw a deep emptiness that looked back at him. The way he dressed, the way he walked, even the way he spoke were lies upon lies built atop one another. His smile was like something else trying to mimic human expression. He's crazy. I have to kill him. Or he'll kill me first.

"Very well. Let's speak in my room." Micheal let go of his gun.

"What?" Marco said.

"Just trust me, boy," Micheal said.

"Good. I knew you were a civilized person," Jaime replied. Micheal went up the stairs, with Marco and Jaime trailing behind him. He's still made of flesh. He can still bleed. One well-placed bullet is all it takes. Micheal pushed open his chamber door and walked inside. Jaime whistled.

"A quaint little room you have here."

"It's decent, for its price." Micheal plopped the suitcases down on the bed, and he opened up the window, letting in the cold morning air. Marco stood beside him, his left hand clutching his suitcase, and the other coiled into a fist.

"Let's talk business—" Micheal yanked out his revolver and aimed at Jaime's forehead. As he squeezed the trigger, the cylinder suddenly flipped open, the pin holding it in place sliding out on its own. He felt time slow down as the cylinder fell to the ground with a loud clang. He pulled the trigger again and was met by a soft click. Micheal pointed his open palm and unleashed a remembrance blast.

"Marco!" Marco snapped his fingers. Sparks rose from his fist, and as it roared, it vanished into a trail of smoke like a candle wick in the wind. Jaime shook his head and clicked his tongue in disappointment.

"This isn't a good way to operate business, Mr. Detective." Micheal envisioned the night when the poison gas swept into the trenches, melting away the skin and flesh of his brothers and sisters. Yet there was nothing. Not the slightest flinch from the thing before him. He's not human. What the hell is he?

"Run!" Micheal yelled. Marco grabbed the smaller suitcase and leaped out of the window. Jaime flicked his fingers backward, yanking the boy into the room and slamming him into the wall. Marco screamed in agony, dropping both suitcases to the ground.

"I offered you my patience, and this is what you give me?" Jaime clenched his palm ever so slightly. Marco wheezed as dark purple marks appeared around his neck, like fingers choking him to death.

"I can't… I can't breathe…"

"We'll talk! Please, just put him down!" Micheal lowered his hands and begged.

"What did you discover about the Gaudins? Speak," Jaime said.

"They had a history of blasphemy like the others, and… and… they're dead," Micheal said.

"How?" Jaime replied, his expression unchanging.

"There were two awakened, not one. The eldest brother was left there, and he succumbed and killed his parents," Micheal said.

"Succumbed, you say…" Jaime frowned.

"It wasn't just them. The Baruch lass, the one I told you about. She also succumbed and met her end," Micheal murmured, his voice trembling lightly.

"What did you learn from the Hunters? And those that attacked you?" Jaime said. He knows about that too? How is that even possible?

"The one's that attacked me are heathens. They worship some kind of devil-god! It's the one responsible for your daughter's awakening." Micheal said.

"I am pleased with this." Jaime shoved his hands back into his pockets. Marco slid down the wall, wheezing and coughing as he struggled to breathe in air. Jaime grabbed his wallet and pulled out four one-hundred Leon bills.

"Just as we agreed on." He placed it on top of the drawer.

"You're… still paying me?" Micheal's face twisted in confusion.

"I am a man of my word. Get it. It's yours," Jaime said. Micheal glanced at the paper bills and felt a chill of realization.

"You've been… tracking me with that." Jaime's lips curled slightly upward.

"I knew you had a good eye. Runic magic. Not even a master rune carver would have detected my work. But it is still genuine Leon in the end. Don't let it go to waste."

"You're insane," Micheal said.

"I think otherwise. Now, let us speak about your future endeavors," Jaime said.

"Future endeavors? The Hunters know me! The heathens and their God know me!" Micheal said.

"I am aware." Jaime scoffed.

"Their presence is negligible." Just who… what is this thing? He's a rune master, and a powerful demihuman. Seventh generation? Maybe sixth? Lower? Why did he come to me of all people? I can't… deny something like him.

"What do you want me to do?" Micheal said.

"My final request. Investigate these cultists. Find out what God they're worshiping, and find their base of operations," Jaime said.

"They're going to kill me if they find out. They've already tried twice," Micheal said.

"I'm going to do much worse things to the boy if you don't." Jaime walked over to Marco and tilted his head ever so slightly upward.

"You can't even imagine what a rune master can do to such exotic and supple flesh. I'll know if you leave. I'll know if the boy tries to flee. The choice is clear, Mr. Detective. Take the one where you have a chance to live."

"I accept your terms. Just don't hurt him," Micheal said. Jaime released Marco's head and extended his hand outward.

"You made the right choice. May our partnership end on good terms." Micheal shook Jaime's hand and felt his throat become drier.