Sorcerer's Shadow - Chapter 71: Not Anymore

She nodded as if it was perfectly logical that such a request involved an attempt to bisect me. I suppose it does make sense to me too. It might have even seemed reasonable had they not chosen to intrude upon my home. Perhaps this doesn’t resonate with you, or it might even seem irrational, but I’ve been a part of the Vorgan for several years, and in our culture, you simply don’t do that.

“Will you?” she asked.

“Stay out of his affairs? Not anymore,” I declared.

She chuckled slightly. Her eyes were a light shade of brown. “You sound like a Dragon.”

“I would challenge you to a duel, but that would just validate your assumption, so I’ll decline.”

“Smart move,” she said.

I kept my anger in check because it’s more potent that way, more usable. It was a chilling rage, and I knew it would fuel me for quite a while — long enough to hunt down this Cernan and give him a taste of his own medicine.

But not now. Now I need to stay calm and recuperate. I drew a deep breath and let my gaze drift. The ceiling was made of some very dark hardwood, contrasting with my own textured plaster one — a keen observer picks up on these details almost instantly. There were other subtle hints that had made me feel out of place when I first regained consciousness — like the sheer size of the room, which could have accommodated my entire flat, and the quality of the furniture — the three chairs, a desk, a table, and a couch — each of these pieces of furniture probably cost more than my fee for a hit job.

I asked, “What do you know about this weapon that Cernan has stolen?”

“Why ask?”

“It seems to be the root of all this trouble; either the weapon itself, the act of stealing it, or…”

She paused, awaiting my continuation. “Yes? Or?”

“Or some entirely different factor that I’m entirely unaware of. I always have to account for that possibility.”

She observed me silently. “Well, it appears you’re out of immediate danger, and I have more pressing tasks than being questioned by a Vorgan, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“Farewell to you, too.”

She shot me a look and drifted out of the room. I cautiously sat up, noticing the pain that came with the action, and started to search for my clothes.

“On the small table at the end of the bed, Boss. You’ll need a new shirt, and your pants have some blood spots.”

“Got it. Fancy a shopping trip?”

“Planning to buy me something?”

“Like what?”

“Catnip.”

“Catnip? Does catnip affect you? When did you— ?”

“Probably not. But I don’t plan on eating it myself.”

“Then why—?”

“As bait,” Opal responded.

“Very amusing, Opal. Maybe I’ll buy you a pair of opposable thumbs instead.”

“Heh.”

I was beginning to lose track of the number of teleportations to and from Nocturne Castle over the past few days. But after another journey, I headed to South Avandryl, the Terrans’ district, where I replenished my wardrobe and had a meal. I tried to visit my grandfather, but he wasn’t home. I then returned to my neighborhood, found a magic supply shop still open, and initially opted for a mild painkiller before deciding on a stronger one. I also bought an enchanted dagger because the magic on mine was wearing thin and one never knows when an urgent need for a spell may arise. The storekeeper boasted about the powerful enchantments on the blade, how they’d impressed three individuals I’d never heard of, until I silenced him and purchased the item for half his initial asking price.

Then I went back to my place, took the painkiller, and began tidying up the mess in my flat. While there were no bodies, blood stains were present. I detest blood stains in my home, especially when some of the blood is my own. My rage flared up once again. I covered the stains with a rug, uprighted some furniture that I didn’t recall being tipped over, and might have done a bit more before the painkiller took effect and, it seems, I made it to bed before dozing off.

Just another day.

I woke up feeling sore, grumpy, and in desperate need of Brevan. If I ever become incredibly wealthy, I’m going to hire a servant solely to deliver Brevan to me every morning.

I managed to get up, prepare coffee, and brew a decent pot of Brevan, into which I added some cow’s milk and the remainder of the honey.

I reminded myself to order more ice, despite its high cost. I should really learn to make my own; spells for heating and cooling are supposedly quite straightforward.

I was fully dressed and mustering the strength to step out when someone knocked on my door. Two incidents in two days seemed too much of a coincidence, so I didn’t fret; or rather, I reassured myself that there was no cause for concern as I grabbed a dagger and opened the door.

The visitor was a stranger to me, but her attire bore the colors of the House of the Dragon. If it hadn’t been for the emblem of Drevolan on her shoulder, and the stiffness that slowed my reflexes, I might have attacked. She asked, “You are—?”

“Baronet Viktor Dravos, House of the Vorgan.”

“Then this is for you,” she responded, offering me a small bag that jingled. “Please touch this ring.”

I touched the ring, accepted the bag, and shut the door as she retreated. I’d forgotten about the money Drevolan owed me. I counted it and was pleasantly surprised.

A thought crossed my mind about indulging in a cabriolet ride to the office, but I would be noticed and people might get suspicious. I considered taking more painkillers, but even a small amount would make me lightheaded, and that’s far from ideal in my line of work; I had to maintain the same brave face I’d shown Thaleia the previous day.

Damn it.

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