Chương 159: The Blood Tear Order

I didn't trust any of the local officials to follow my orders or get things started. Instead, I sent squads throughout the city, putting out a call. We needed capable workers. The first priority was to build a wall around the city. The second was to dig a hole. I left Lute in charge of building the wall. He'd come with us—as one of Romance's riders—and I knew he was good at organizing people and getting jobs done, especially complex tasks. He could get started with the wall.

I took the rest of my soldiers with me out to the woods, along with a crowd of eager civilians, and above all, Cuthward. I needed him, because I planned to pick his brain about last night's assailants as we worked. There were about forty of us. We picked an area in the copse of trees, in the clearing beside the well, and began digging. One shovel for anyone who wanted to work. Of course, the other soldiers and I kept our armour on and our weapons nearby, so that when the gophers did turn up, we were ready.

The hole started as a tiny ditch, but it expanded through the morning. We may not have had an excavator or power tools, but we'd all increased our strength beyond what an average man was capable of. Yeah, most of Romance's men were still Irons, but a few had made it to Steel. They weren't useless, even if Anchor, Brawl, and I outperformed them with ease. Sage, instead of using a shovel, had Morph do an equally important job: removing roots and large rocks.

To remove roots, Morph blended his limbs with them, then ripped them out like he was dissecting a clump of licorice. When it came to rocks, he wrapped vine-y limbs around them, then wedged himself under and hauled them out.

"Is this your trap, then?" Cuthward asked halfway through the morning. We'd already dug about six feet down, and our hole was wide enough to fit two school buses across its diameter.

"A hole?"

"If what you told me yesterday is true, it'll work," I said.

"I— Yes, you will lure out most of the gophers." Cuthward leaned on his shovel, panting. Already, the ground was getting soggy, and it was climbing up around our boots, coating them in muck.

"It just isn't the most elegant solution."

"But it'll work," I countered with a grin.

"Which is far more important than it being elegant or not."

"As long as Tunmod doesn't sabotage you."

"I don't think anyone here is on his side," I replied. I hadn't told the civilians who joined us that I was the new thegn yet, but they knew there was one, based on what the Dupes had said when they went looking for workers. Everyone here was eager to work. We hadn't even needed to offer them payment yet (though I planned on paying them for their labour anyway).

"And we'll be done here by the time Tunmod can attack me again."

"Again?" Cuthward asked.

"Yeah. By the way, that's why you're here," I said.

"As much as I value your help in digging…" Cuthward rolled back one of his sleeves, revealing a thin arm—almost no muscle. With a sarcastic snort, he asked, "What? You don't value my strength?" After shaking his head, he said, "I know I'm not as spry as I once was, but I've lived here my entire life, and if you're truly making this place better, I want to take part."

"You can't measure yourself against a bunch of young Dupes, though," I replied.

"We appreciate any help we can get, but you can take a break."

"A merciful thegn, then," Cuthward told me, patting me on the back.

"Hopefully," I replied. I kept digging, heaving mud out to the edge of the hole with all my strength and speed.

"But no, seriously, what I need you for is to answer some questions."

"Ask away, if we're in safe company."

"Even if we're not, I won't let anyone harm you. I'll have guards outside your inn for the next few days, making sure nothing bad happens to you." I winced, realizing I was still getting distracted and dodging the question. Finally, I asked, "Alright, these 'bandits.' Are they really bandits?"

"They're…Tunmod's men. Of sorts."

"Of course." I sighed, dumping a shovelful of wet mud into a wheelbarrow. If we wanted to get it out of the hole now, we'd need to lift it out up a winding path around the edge of the hole.

"So they're like a private army?"

"Not quite. They're a branch of cultists from elsewhere. I couldn't say where. He allows them to exist, because they serve his goals too, and help him eliminate opponents. As long as they aren't too obvious about their activities, he's perfectly fine making deals with them." You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"These cultists wouldn't happen to have a blood aspect, would they?" I stopped digging and reached into my kit bag, then pulled out a tiny crimson sphere—one of the Presences I'd siphoned last night. Cuthward hung his head in disappointment.

"That was fast. Very fast."

"I did imply I was attacked. Surprised I lived?"

"Yes, but I am pleased you did." Cuthward took a deep breath, then hoisted up his shovel again and kept digging alongside me.

"I am surprised Tunmod sent them after you so quickly."

"These were all Path-walkers," I said.

"Considering they were Steels and Titaniums, they were average. But are they part of an Order?"

"Yes. The Blood Tear Order." Cuthward swallowed.

"They're a local Order of Path-walkers who Tunmod has driven people to forget about. When he took over, a different, righteous Order was in the process of cleaning them up. They were rounding up all the cultists and putting them on trial in the Domain-Moot." I hadn't studied the courts much, but I knew there were three levels. The lowest, the Hundred-Moot, were city-level courts for dealing with small crimes.

The Domain-Moots were middle-level, for worse crimes, presided over by the local heads of the Orders and powerful Path-walkers. Finally, there was the King-Moot, the high court, for matters of treason.

"Tunmod took over the Domain-Moot," Cuthward continued.

"He let all the cultists on trial go, and he reduced the sentences of anyone awaiting execution to imprisonment. Only a few years, at that. When they got out, they disappeared into the wilds, and suddenly, the bandit attacks increased. Theft, destruction, people go missing." I dropped another heavy shovel full of dirt in the wheelbarrow, then let a different Dupe cart it away.

"And what do these cultists do with the people they take?"

"Sacrifices, cannibalism, all manner of degradation and depravity. Nothing I'd dare speak aloud. Sometimes, it's to increase their power. They can harvest blood-aspect maegen from living men and integrate it into their own bodies. Other times, it's because they can and want to. I assume you have seen the patterns they carve in their flesh?"

"Yeah."

"It's for harvesting the vital energies of living beings. You don't want to be too close when that Art goes off."

"I've experienced it once," I said.

"Killed him before it could get too dangerous." Cuthward stared at me like I was insane.

"Something tells me this is all more connected than we think," I said. Another wheelbarrow approached, and I continued filling it.

"Should we be talking this openly?"

"It's too late now," I said.

"I'm public enemy number one."

"What an odd phrase," Cuthward said.

"I've never heard that before. But it doesn't make much sense. The public seems quite fond of you."

"I suppose it's not the public, then." I thrust my shovel into the ground with greater force.

"Alright, so let's think about this. What could Tunmod or the cultists gain from purposely letting people here catch sicknesses from the water? That's the only part of this that I can't wrap my head around. Corruption? Easy to explain. The festival even makes sense, from a selfish standpoint. But the wells boggle my mind."

"The older the target, the less vital energy you can gather from them after they're dead," Cuthward provided.

"I've wondered the same things as you. But consider this: if a body decays naturally and dies old, there isn't much residual energy to harvest. If you die when you are fifty or sixty, from a sickness, say…there's much more to steal."

"So Tunmod is making people die young so the cultists can harvest them…" I breathed. I rammed my shovel into the ground even harder, imagining the ground was Tunmod's skull. How could someone do this to their own land? To their own people? It was disgusting. But then again, Tunmod wasn't from around here. These weren't his people, no matter what he said. To him, this land was just another cow to be milked. What about me, though? You could say the same about me. Men have a choice.

I tightened my hands into fists around my shovel, and kept digging even faster than before. It didn't matter if I wasn't from around here. I could choose to improve this place if I wanted. ~ ~ ~ The sun was setting by the time we were done digging our hole. It was about thirty feet deep, and just as wide as before. Except now, the basin was steadily filling with water. Liquid seeped out the clay walls, flooding into the chamber, creating a massive pool.

Like before, in the regular well, the water glowed a faint shade of mint-green. Healthy green, not toxic—I didn't know how I could tell, but my body seemed to have natural mechanisms to determine the difference. Just like you knew you shouldn't eat certain colourful bugs. We lit torches and strung together a few logs, creating rafts, then set them out onto our artificial lake at the bottom of the well. I didn't know how full it would get (right now, it only went up to our knees, but it was getting deeper).

I just knew we'd do better against the gophers if we had something solid to stand on.

"Everyone, get ready," I called. We had plenty of Dupes, who I'd already organized into their squads, and local mortals, armed with their shovels and whatever spears we could spare from the local armoury.

"They're going to come from the side walls, and they'll be fast. But they won't expect a well this large." I narrowed my eyes, drawing on my ability to envision a scenario—with the help of my Art, of course. I'd used it earlier in the day as we were planning the well, and I imagined the trajectory of the gophers, with them moving at the speed they did.

"They'll launch out the sides and end up in the middle of the pond," I said.

"I need everyone to push your rafts back to the edge. We'll let our ranged attackers deal with the worst of it. Once our archers get overwhelmed, the gophers will move out to the edges. If you don't have a bow, your job is to keep the gophers off your squadmates. Prioritize your formations and safety over getting kills. I planted my spear into the logs of the raft I stood on, then lifted my crossbow into my hands.

"With any luck, we'll only be out here a few more hours. Then, you'll all have clean water to your hearts' content."