“I... I, and my companions, are agents of the King of Lyndor,” Yvonne began, her voice hoarse. “We were ordered by His Majesty himself to locate and apprehend two individuals, a man named Duncan and a woman named Brynhildr, and bring them back to him, dead or alive. We’ve been tracking them for several months. We followed their trail across the continent, until it finally led us to Daelin. That’s where we learned they had become adventurers.”

  Orloth said nothing. He just stood there, motionless, watching the captive, and letting the silence squeeze the rest out of her.

  “So we registered with the Adventurer’s Guild in Iskora and assumed new identities,” the Lyndorian spy went on. “That way, we could tail them without raising suspicion. When they entered this dungeon, we followed, waiting for an opening. The plan was simple: wait until Brynhildr got distracted by the monsters, then grab Duncan and make a run for it.”

  “That’s much better,” Orloth said, his tone rich with self-satisfaction. “See, Yvonne? It’s that easy. We could’ve skipped all the uncomfortable parts if you’d just been honest from the beginning.”

  The woman didn’t reply. Her head hung low, strands of sweat-soaked hair clinging to her pale cheeks.

  “Now, tell me,” the Acolyte continued. “Why does the King of Lyndor want them?”

  “Brynhildr... was once a royal knight,” Yvonne said. “A high-ranking, well-respected one, who had been serving the Crown for over twenty years. But when the King ordered Duncan’s arrest, instead of obeying the order, she fought off the other knights and fled with him. She’s been branded a traitor, and she is to be killed on sight for her treason.”

  “And the man?”

  “I don’t know...” She squirmed under Orloth’s gaze. “I honestly don’t know. The King considers him a threat, but I was never told the reason. I didn’t want to hear it anyway. I believe it’s the kind of secret that could get me killed just for finding out what it is.”

  So far, so good, Viktor thought. She was telling what he had already deduced, but hearing it confirmed was satisfying nonetheless. It meant he was on the right track. Now, it was time to dig deeper, to pry out the parts that truly mattered.

  “You were ordered to capture them both,” Orloth said. “Yet you only tried to take the man. Why?”

  “Because the woman is dangerous,” Yvonne replied. “We’re not the only ones the King sent. There are others, and one group caught up to them near Iskora. There... there was a violent confrontation, and they were slaughtered to the last man.” She swallowed hard. “So we didn’t dare to face her head-on. And the man is the King’s main concern anyway, while the woman is merely an obstacle. That’s why we planned to capture him only and bring him back to Lyndor. Better to return with something rather than nothing at all.”

  “Tell me about that group. How exactly did they die?”

  “They were led by a man named Harold. I don’t know much about them, except that they were more combat-oriented than we were. They were not just spies; they were trained to kill. So if they were massacred like that, then we would never have stood a chance.” Yvonne drew a shaky breath. “By the time we got there, it was over. All that was left were their corpses. Pieces of corpses, to be exact. It was... gruesome. Even worse than what happened to Jory and Erik.” Then she added, “They were the two members of my party killed by your golden-clad undead, by the way.”

  Orloth chuckled. “So you’re telling me this woman, this Brynhildr, is more dangerous than Lord Khenemhotep? Now that is a claim.” He leaned forward. “Convince me. Tell me everything you know about her.”

  “She came from the North. Brefjord, if I’m remembering it right. She was already a warrior before she ever set foot in Lyndor. Twenty years ago, she arrived in our kingdom, working as a mercenary. It didn’t take long before people started talking about her. Well, she was skilled, yes, but it was how she fought that made her stand out. She was fearless. No, reckless. In every battle, every skirmish, she was always at the front. She led the charge, throwing herself into dozens of men, taking wounds that should’ve crippled her, yet always coming out standing. The king, the previous king I mean, noticed her and knighted her on the spot. She rose quickly after that. First a common knight, then a captain, a royal knight, and finally one of the King’s Guards.”

  “Interesting,” Orloth said. “Does she have any Reliquary?”

  “Yes, but only after she was already a royal knight. She was issued two, from the Crown’s royal vault. A sword and a suit of armor. The armor granted her exceptional resistance to damage of all kinds. You could stab her face with a sword, crush her skull with a war hammer, or scorch her with a fireball, and she still wouldn’t die. As for the sword... it thirsts for blood. As long as it’s fed, it heals her, regenerates her. The combination of both artifacts makes her practically invincible. Once, she was skewered by a ballista shot, and she slaughtered the crew who fired it—while the fucking bolt was still through her chest.” Yvonne paused for breath. “After getting those Reliquaries, she became even more fearless. She became a force of nature, a one-woman army. She plunged into enemy lines and hacked away until none remained. Every battle ended with her standing atop a mountain of corpses, drenched in blood from head to toe. And so, she became known as the Butcheress of Lyndor.”

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  That doesn’t sound too bad, Viktor thought. Pretty manageable, in fact. Brynhildr was hard to kill, yes, but there were a lot of ways to deal with that kind of opponent. He could trap her, then either whittle her down by attrition or just ignore her completely and go straight for Dagnar. But...

  “That doesn’t add up,” Orloth said. “Those two Reliquaries only grant her defensive power. Offensively, she’s little more than a human with a sword. It doesn’t explain how she reduced trained assassins to minced meat. Unless, of course, she got creative with the dead bodies after they were already killed. Messy? Sure. Disturbing? Maybe. Dangerous? No.”

  Yes, that was exactly what Viktor was thinking about.

  “Also,” the Acolyte continued. “That Harold should’ve known what she had on her, and he should’ve planned around it. If he and his men had just walked up to her and gotten themselves killed, they were no assassins. They were fools.”

  “No,” Yvonne said, shaking her head. “I don’t think that she mutilated the corpses afterward. Judging by the scene, they got... blown up. That’s how they were killed.”

  Maybe, Viktor thought, maybe Brynhildr is not the one who had done the killing. It was Dagnar. The man had his Thaumaturgy, after all, so he was definitely capable of such a feat. Also, the Lyndorian spies didn’t know about his secret, about his hidden power. Their entire plan depended on grabbing him and making a quick escape, so obviously, they never once considered that he might be the real threat. Had Harold had the same mindset, his group would likely have been caught off guard and wiped out as a result.

  This piece of information was certainly useful. Now he knew Dagnar might possess a powerful offensive ability. The question was, what was it exactly? To that, he had no answer. Thaumaturgy was simply too versatile. It was the power to craft powers, so Dagnar’s ability could be literally anything; the possibilities were endless. Still, there was one other detail he needed to confirm, so he sent his question to Celeste.

  After a few seconds, Orloth asked, “Yvonne, you didn’t have to capture the man alive, so why risk getting so close to the woman you’re so terrified of, just to get him? Why not pick him off from a safe distance? Poison his food? Arrange an accident? Drop a boulder on him or something?

  “That wouldn’t have worked.” The woman gave a dry chuckle. “There’s... one more thing. In our kingdom, there is a Reliquary. Lyndor’s most powerful artifact, actually. A golden apple that grants wishes...”

  Oh, that one. Viktor knew it well. Another pretty and useless piece in his former collection. That apple did grant wishes, yes, and technically, it could fulfill anything. But, there was a big but. It always demanded the user to do something in return first, something proportional to what they had wished for. A trivial request might require a minor task, but if one asked for the impossible, then he should be prepared to do something equally impossible. Worse still, after each wish, the damn thing needed time to rest. The more extreme the wish, the longer it slept. He never found it worthwhile, so in the end, it was just another shiny toy for him to display.

  “So,” Orloth asked, “Brynhildr made a wish?”

  “Yes. Three years ago, after the end of a long and brutal campaign, the king granted her a reward.”

  “And what did she wish for?”

  “She wished that any physical harm inflicted on Duncan would be transferred to her instead,” Yvonne replied. “And the apple demanded that she stay close to him. The transference ceases if they are more than twenty steps apart.”

  Ugh.

  The wish by itself was nothing, but due to Brynhildr’s near-invincibility, the man had become untouchable as well. So that was why she never left his side. Thankfully, Viktor had chosen to be cautious and hadn’t made a hasty move against them. Had he struck without this knowledge, it would have been a disaster. They would have escaped the dungeon, fled Daelin, and never come back.

  Still, it was manageable. The plan was simple: trap the woman, split them up, and kill the man. All that remained was finding out Dagnar’s mysterious offensive ability.

  Also, what the Reliquary had asked Brynhildr to do felt suspiciously easy. Just stay close, and his injuries pass to her. That was it? Had the Reliquary also deemed the wish useless, or was there another condition Yvonne was unaware of?

  Anyway, it seemed that was all she had on the warrior woman and her nephew. Perhaps it was time to move on to other matters.

  “You said your group didn’t specialize in combat,” Orloth said. “But you seem well-prepared nonetheless. Your potions, for example, were quite potent. Where did you get them?”

  “They were brewed by the Druidesses. Normally, it’s not something an outsider can get their hands on easily, but Lyndor has a longstanding pact with their Circle, so the Crown receives a batch of their elixirs every month. For friendship, they say.”

  “The Druidesses?”

  Yvonne gave a tired nod. “They’re mages. Originally, they came from the Emerald Order, but they split off centuries ago and formed their own organization. They don’t cast magic like their predecessors anymore. Instead, now they infuse it into their potions.”

  Interesting, Viktor mused. If he remembered correctly, the Brotherhood of the Verdant Shade, the group Lucian belonged to, had also splintered from the Emerald Order. It looked like the once-monolithic Order had fractured again and again over the past three hundred years, giving rise to many different factions. This was something worth further investigation. Perhaps he could bring it up with Lucian the next time he met the boy.

  “Other than those potions,” Orloth asked, the dark, featureless depths of his eyes bearing down on Yvonne, “do you have anything else? A Reliquary, perhaps?”

  Let’s see how she answers that question, Viktor thought. She didn’t bring her artifact here, so she might try to lie about it, thinking that she could hide it from her captors, thinking that she was clever.

  But what he got was a simple confession. “I have one,” she said with a resigned voice. “But it’s not here. It’s not a weapon, but a tool for surveillance. A set, consisting of an inkpot and—”

  “Where is it?”

  “I left it at our safehouse in town.”

  Honest now, huh?

  That Reliquary was what he was interested in. It was a useful item in general, yes, but more importantly, Yvonne had already planted a drop inside Brynhildr’s room, so he could use it to spy on the warrior woman.

  Now the question was: would he have to go fetch it himself, or was there another way?