Fudge Esq
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V2 Chapter 78: Aftermath of Success
🕑 Added 2025-02-26 00:01:03 +0000 UTCThe city was in ruins.
The battle against the Hydra, which had begun at the western gate, had spread like wildfire. A third of Elyndor lay in devastation, reduced to rubble by the creature’s wrath—its acidic flames having seared through stone and steel alike.
Everywhere I looked, death greeted me. Corpses in armor, their lifeblood still tinged with the remnants of mana. Civilians, men and women, their bodies crushed beneath debris or burned beyond recognition. Even the bodies of children littered battle grounds, their lives snuffed out before they could flee.
The city stank of war—of sweat and blood, of iron and copper, and of smoldering ruin. That metallic tang of fresh death would soon give way to the foul stench of decay and rotting flesh. As always happened after war in a city, death was a sickness that would inevitably seep into the city’s very foundations.
Dame Annalise, Duke Granger, and others left to rally what remained of Elyndor’s forces, and to put whatever order they could muster back into place. But Marchioness Eliza, King Zer’Nack, and Duke Goldenhearts remained.
Or, at least, the bastard Duke tried to keep pace with our group, but his clogged cores quickly betrayed him. Stripped of energy and mana, he lagged behind, each step a losing battle against his own limitations.
Eliza led us toward the city center, away from the blood-drenched aftermath and toward the Duke’s Spires. It surprised me that she hadn’t stayed behind to help secure the city, but I suspected it was due to the fact she had no intention of leaving the King alone—not after everything. And, more importantly, she had already agreed to lead me to the healer’s hall. My Domain’s hold over Nasq would only preserve him for so long before death claimed him.
As we flew, it was the city's silence that struck me most.
An army, triumphant and victorious, would normally have filled the battle grounds with cheers, with the exhaled cries of soldiers celebrating survival. But this wasn’t a battlefield. Not truly. It had been the home of many innocents. And it had barely been a battle. For those beneath the gold or third realm, this had been nothing more than a slaughter. There was no honor in the massacre of innocents. In some ways the city's inability to stop the Hydra before it killed hundreds, if not thousands of people, would be seen as an inexcusable failure of leadership.
At the speed we traveled, the grim aftermath passed in fleeting glimpses. Gore-strewn streets. Crumbled homes. Shops torn apart. The dead and the dying scattered like discarded dolls, many lost and even more unknown, hidden within the darkness of the night. Shadows squirmed and flickered under the scant moonlight within the blood filled streets—survivors, perhaps, searching for lost loved ones.
And yet, despite it all, despite the unnecessary amount of death and destruction I'd brought to Elyndor, my plan had succeeded.
I had slain the Hydra, nearly singlehandedly. I had saved the King, the city, and what remained of its people. I was a hero. And though the silence of mourning weighed heavy, I knew that soon the nobles would seize the opportunity to elevate me to that status, desperate to craft a symbol of hope. And I knew the people would embrace me as their savior.
They always did.
Nida clung to my arms as I carried her, her silent tears streaming against my chin and cheek, tracing cool paths down my neck. Nasq hovered at my side, his breath shallow, his life teetering on the precipice of oblivion, held aloft only by the unyielding grip of my Domain.
The transition from devastation to the untouched core of Elyndor was jarring. Though the dead no longer lined the streets, I could still see hints of battle’s scars even there. The pristine glass buildings were scorched black and melted in places, plumes of smoke still rising from their marred surfaces.
But here, there was noise.
Nobles and their attendants spilled from their homes, rushing toward the Marchioness and the King as we landed. Others were already on the streets and tending to the few wounded who had been caught in the destruction’s fringes.
“The healer’s hall is there,” Marchioness Eliza said, gesturing ahead. The building she indicated stood in stark contrast to the surrounding opulence. Squat, sturdy, and practical, its brick-red exterior bore none of the city’s expected grandeur. Its windows were neither large nor luxurious, sized just enough to let in light and for a mortal to possibly escape through it in an emergency.
Only the bright white and green lights shining through its windows betrayed the miracles worked within.
Without hesitation, we closed the distance. Eliza all but tore the doors from their hinges as we entered.
The inside, to my surprise, defied the hall's exterior expectations.
Moonlight streamed through arched windows, blending with flickering candlelight and bright, luminous orbs of green and white lights. The golden-green glow bathed the polished stone floors, casting soft shadows that danced with the movement of healers. It hardly even seemed like night within the walls of the healer center.
The air, a stark contrast to the stench of decay I’d just left—and which no doubt still clung to me in blobs of flesh and dried blood—carried the crisp scent of fresh linen mingled with the faint floral aroma of crushed herbs. Healers in soft, cream-colored robes moved among others clad in green and white, their movements brisk yet gentle as they tended to the wounded. The only sign that a war had just ravaged these lands, that thousands had been slaughtered, was the grim set of their expressions. Lips pressed into tight lines of concentration and worry, their weary eyes bore deep black circles—betraying what their soft words and gentle touches did not.
Near the entrance, a young apprentice rushed past, arms overflowing with fresh bandages. She couldn’t have been more than eight years old. Her small frame trembled with exhaustion, her flushed face slick with sweat, but her eyes burned with determination.
More child apprentices scurried by, directed by a stout man seated at a desk near the doorway. He looked scarcely better than the children—his eyes sunken, his skin sallow with fatigue. I was surprised he was managing to remain awake, much less alert. He glanced up as we entered, his expression a mask of exhaustion. At the sight of the King and Marchioness Eliza his eyes widened, yet he still did not rise.
I briefly wondered if he physically couldn’t.
“Caleb, is Demetri here?” the Marchioness asked.
The old man, Caleb, grunted and gave the noble lady a slow, soft nod. “Aye. Third floor. He’s resting.”
“Fetch him,” she ordered.
Caleb hesitated, likely about to offer some excuse on Demetri’s behalf—an individual judging by Eliza's demeanor was likely some kind of master healer—but I cut him off before he had the chance. With a flick of my wrist, I pulled Nasq’s nearly lifeless form into the room. His body hovered in the entrance, frozen in time by my Domain.
Caleb’s mouth fell open. His eyes bulged at the sight of Nasq—burnt to the core, his flesh stripped away. “W-w-what—?”
“Healer. Now,” I commanded, my voice carrying an authority that dwarfed Marchioness Eliza’s. “If he dies, you die.” The snarl that tore from my throat sent the man scrambling to his feet, his knee slamming into the underside of the desk as he bolted upright. A few healers cast brief, curious glances our way, but most remained focused on their dying patients.
A heavy hand settled on my shoulder.
“Enough people have died today, Lady Lilliana,” said King Zer’Nack of the great false core realm. “No more threats. No more blood.”
False core realm or not, the man was right.
I glared at Caleb, who cowered beneath my gaze, but stepped back and let the King and Marchioness handle it. My fingers twitched. My heart pounded. Even when Caleb sent an apprentice to fetch the master healer, the roar of blood in my ears didn’t subside.
The rage inside my cackled, wanting, no, needing to break out and hurt something. But the King was right. No matter who I hurt or how much I hurt them, that wasn’t going to solve Nasq’s situation. Not anymore. I could have prevented it if I’d only sacrificed Benedict first.
Regret for my weakness weighed heavy, but there was nothing to do but seek aid from those with the powers to heal. Mine were only meant to destroy.
Neither necromancy or soul weaver energy would do more than force an existence similar to Nasq to inhabit his body. I could only hope the healers could save Nasq's true self.
Nida remained silent throughout the exchange. When I glanced at her, her eyes were locked on Nasq’s still form. I decided not to say anything, leaving the girl to her unspoken thoughts.
A minute later, a group of healers clad in deep viridian robes descended the staircase, led by a man who looked to be in his early fifties. Streaks of silver threaded his dark hair and beard, and though he moved with urgency, there was no panic in his stride.
His emerald-green eyes swept over us with stern assessing gaze, his movements calculated as he moved to Nasq like a great storm. Without hesitation, he barked orders to his healers, who immediately surrounded Nasq. My Domain was replaced by a surge of many different magics as layers of healing spells wove together, knitting burned flesh, mending muscle, and seemingly stabilizing his fragile life. He was lifted onto a floating cot, three mages on either side chanting arcane words I didn’t bother deciphering.
“Go with them,” I told Nida, nudging her forward. “Make sure he’s okay.”
She turned to me, cheeks wet and eyes glistening. “Will you not come?”
I shook my head and held up trembling hands. I wasn’t sure if she understood that they trembled from barely maintained rage at everyone and myself, or if she thought it was from fear and grief, but she nodded all the same.
I noticed the King and Marchioness eying my newly formed arm, but they said nothing and seemed to decide it was better left unmentioned. At least for the moment.
“I will ensure they heal him properly and completely,” Nida growled, giving me a sharp Lysorian salute. “If they cut corners, I’ll rip their heads off.”
I managed a small, humorless smile before ushering her forward again. “Then go, before you lose sight of them.”
The group of green healers were already rounding the corner and, with my instructions, Nida had no reason to hesitate anymore. She didn’t wave or turn back as she sprinted down the white stone hallway to catch up with her near-death fellow paragon.
The instant Nida was out of ear shot, King Zer’Nack turned to Eliza and sighed. “I believe we must speak,” he said. “There is much I need to understand about this young lady that has clearly been kept from me.”
The Marchioness, to her credit, only nodded.
“Convene the city council and find Duke Goldenhearts,” the King ordered. At first, I thought he was speaking to Eliza, but then I felt a pulse of heart energy. Darkness pooled at his feet, then rose, coalescing into four shadowed figures like things from a child's nightmares.
They were not particularly rich in heart energy, but it was very clear they wielded it with a deadly precision.
Silver realm assassins, I figured, eying the individuals who even I hadn’t been able to sense. Of course Dame Annalise wouldn’t have allowed him to leave without protection. Why did I think he wouldn’t have hidden guards?
Exhaustion was beginning to cloud my mind and dull my senses. I should have noticed them before. Regardless, I should have accounted for them.
The King turned back to me and gestured for the Marchioness to step closer. “Elyndor—and the duchy as a whole—requires a ruler. In times like these, stability is paramount and the people need a hero. Lady Lilliana has shown a great ability and desire the protect this city, and if I’m not mistaken, she was already named heir by the previous duke.” He glanced at Eliza, waiting for confirmation.
She hesitated, then slowly nodded.
“Why, then, has she not been granted official status?” King Zer'Nack asked, though the expression he wore said he already knew the reason.
“The council decided to allow the people to elect their new duke,” Eliza replied, “with the council overseeing which Alistar descendant—”
King Zer’Nack's frown deepened and he waved a dismissive hand. “Ridiculous. Am I not King? Since when have my Dukes or Duchesses been chosen by common peasants? Even you, Marchioness, were granted your title by my will.” He grunted. “Regardless, once word spreads that Lady Lilliana defeated the monster that destroyed and killed half the city, I doubt anyone will contest her rule.” He tapped his chin, considering. “I will decree it in writing tonight." He faced me. "Under my authority as King of Lysoria, I hereby grant you the position and title of Duchess of the Alistary Duchy, Duchess Lilliana…” he paused again, this time with a raised eyebrow. “How would you like me to finish, oh hero of Lysoria?”
It took a moment for my exhausted mind to process what he was asking. Then, realization struck.
I bowed, deeper than I had to anyone in Graedon. “If it pleases Your Majesty, I will take the name Alistar. I have no desire to see this land be called the Silverwater Duchy. My... relatives do not deserve that honor.”
He grunted, satisfied. “Then so be it, Lady Lilliana Alistar. We will hold a public coronation at a later date, of course. But as of now, the transfer of title is made."
"Your Majesty, there is something else I must discuss with you," I said, stepping forward.
A pulse of energy surged in response, a silent warning from the King’s guards. I halted immediately. Clearly, they were still on edge and I had no desire to destroy whatever goodwill I'd earned with this King. Not yet, in any case.
"Speak."
"I believe the Pandorian Empire and the corrupted factions within the Holy Kingdom are interfering with our Kingdom at large," I said bluntly. "I interrogated a Cael Marquess who had dealings with both on behalf of his Kingdom. He admitted that there are no small number of traitors within Lysoria’s borders—though he only knew of those within Sealrite."
From the floor, a figure emerged—shrouded in darkness, towering over us all. His sheer size made me wonder how he had ever been an assassin.
When he spoke, his voice was like grinding stone, as though long unused. "What happened to those traitors in Sealrite?"
I glanced at the King. He gave a slight nod, granting me permission to answer.
"Dead or captured. We've been working to uncover the full extent of the corruption. I intended to bring it to your attention sooner, Your Majesty, but events in Elyndor have been... time-consuming." I cleared my throat and continued, " However, if I am to take control of the Alistar Duchy, I request Your Majesty’s permission to purge the traitorous scum and spies within my jurisdiction."
My fingers twitched. Exhaustion gnawed at me—physically, mentally—but the rage boiling in my chest still demanded release.
"You have it," the King said. "But only after the western gate is restored to some semblance of order."
I offered him a half-bow. When I lifted my head, however, I caught the King frowning, chewing his lower lip as he studied me. There was something in his expression—uncertainty, or perhaps unease.
Is he uncomfortable with my bow? I wondered.
"We must go, my King," the enormous shadowed man said, punctuating his words with a deep bow. "If the lady speaks true, the repercussions may reach far beyond the fall of a single city."
"Indeed." The King exhaled, his decision made. "I must confer with my advisors and generals. Marchioness Eliza, Duchess Alistar," he said, acknowledging my new title and surname. "I trust you and your allies can restore order without me? I will leave Dame Annalise under your command for the time being to assist with your... purge."
Eliza and I bowed again. But before I could straighten, the King and his shadow guards melted into the darkness, vanishing faster than a blink.
Comments
EsZeus
Nice
Jah Army
Most excellent. Thank you.
