PART 13: THE SECOND OVERTURN

  Chapter 045

  VI – Justice Above Order

  The maidservants of Armiton, after escaping the Throne’s Elect, were ordered by the Housekeeper to scatter across the land of the rich and tend to the injured. With so few hands and such limited reach, they could only cover one region. Lefaulta ran in her own direction after the Housekeeper had straightened the panicked women. In fact, she had been temporarily released from her chains. After all, she was the only one who could reach the most people with her power.

  “Order has been lost in the making of a new one,” the Housekeeper said. “Make some use of those crippled hands while you have the chance. When a new order is around the corner, you may never have them free like this again. Go.”

  She went through abandoned streets and empty homes where even a golden flask had no one to hold it. Every bowl of food and every seat was left alone. Just as she took a sharp turn onto a new street, the sky cracked. She lifted her head and saw the floating land brewing with unsightly destruction. A piercing bolt of lightning tore through the clouds and struck the rocks above, and a massive piece of land came crumbling down.

  Lefaulta hurried for cover, slipping into a nearby home and burying herself in magic. Silence crept… then—

  BOOM!

  Dozens of boulders fell across the land. They split open buildings from sheds to fortified stone, crushed trees, pulverized balconies, and buried the streets in destruction. Her hand trembled against the ground. Tables and chairs rattled from their places. Glasses toppled and shattered on the floor. Lefaulta knew one had landed above her.

  When everything finally went quiet, she stepped back outside. She scanned the field, seeing heaps of broken planks and rocks scattered through the streets. Above, massive boulder heads were lodged inside buildings, casting deep shadows. She had no use in staring at the aftermath and had to move on. Shielding her mouth, she pushed forward through the dust-choked land.

  She scavenged the area, moving down long stretches of road, listening for anything—anyone. Then, just around a corner behind an iron fence, she heard a low cry.

  Running toward the sound, she found a mother with a fractured leg. In her arms was a little boy, a deep gash running down his back. Lefaulta wasted no time. She knelt before them and asked for the child.

  “Hand him over, or he will die.”

  The mother reluctantly passed the pale boy into her arms. “You know magic, don’t you?” she said, cold sweat streaking down her face.

  “Stay still,” Lefaulta warned. “I will get to you after him.”

  She stretched out her hand over the boy, her palm hovering above his shallow-breathing chest. A warm, white light burned from her skin.

  Rapid Healing ? Lv. 11

  The boy groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. Slowly, the wound began to seal, not perfectly, but just enough for calm. The gash knitted together until only a thin cut remained, which was far better than before. She eased his head onto her lap and turned to the woman.

  When both were patched up, Lefaulta helped them to their feet. The mother could barely use her healed leg. Though the bone had reattached, even a little pressure could undo the work. Lefaulta supported her as she carried her child, walking steadily across the land to escape the falling boulders and the magic raging above.

  After reaching the edge of the area, Lefaulta set them down and QS’d to other parts of the region. She helped move lost children, injured men, and the wounded out of towns, homes, and streets into temporary refuge camps along the border of RrodKa, where their land met the land of the poor.

  After many rescues, her breathing grew short, her legs burned, and sweat streamed down her face. It felt like her knees might give out at any moment. There was no water anywhere—only wine. But when she found a frail woman collapsed inside an inn, there was a full barrel of water near the bar. Her hands trembled at the thought of a cold drink. Still, as the woman winced on the floor and looked up at her with hopeless eyes, Lefaulta lifted her and carried her outside.

  “You’re tired,” the woman said, her face slick with cold sweat. “You should have had a drink.”

  Lefaulta took long strides, her eyes fixed on the unfurling torrents circling the floating land above. In her thoughts, there was only the next boulder waiting to fall. Her reply came a long minute too late.

  “A drink comes later,” she said, “but life is one chance.”

  The woman paused in wonder, her arm tightening around Lefaulta’s shoulder. “What is your name?” she asked quietly. “I’ve never seen you in the land of the rich.”

  Lefaulta half-grinned. “I will tell you another time. For now—”

  Whoosh…

  Shadows swept across the street. They shot from one end to the other. Lefaulta fell silent, and the woman gasped at the sudden movement. Lefaulta lifted her head. Above them, a handful of figures leapt from rooftop to rooftop, all moving in the same direction. Each wore armors with a hint of direction despite chaos across the land. She narrowed her eyes, recognizing the trim on their plates.

  “W–what?” the woman whispered, shaking. “Who are they?”

  Lefaulta brushed her back, replying calmly, “They’re men of the Night. What are they doing up there?”

  As the figures continued to leap past, Lefaulta knew something was unfolding. It wasn’t only the sky above that roared. On the very ground she stood on, another scene was brewing. She turned toward the direction the soldiers were converging. With her freedom so limited, she could only wonder… what is happening?

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  A few rows down, not far from her, Vynelor was tightly bound in Donnor’s thread of magic. He stopped struggling the moment dozens of shadowy figures gazed down from above. He whimpered, his posture drawn tight with fear. Donnor, on the other hand, remained still, eyes fixed on Ernol and his men.

  “Hand him over,” Ernol said, “or we do this the hard way.”

  Instead of obeying the madman, Donnor pulled the child closer. He shook the boy hard enough that his head wobbled, forcing him out of his sobbing, if only for a moment. In a stern voice, he said, “Will you behave?”

  Vynelor trembled, sniffling as mucus ran down his nose.

  Donnor shook him again. “Focus on me.”

  The child suddenly went still, frozen stiff. The words had struck him harder than Donnor expected. His eyes were wide, as if they had done the work on their own. Donnor continued, “I’ll explain everything later. You can tell me what happened, and I’ll help you find your dad. But you have to listen to me this one time. Understood?”

  Vynelor didn’t answer, tears slipping into his mouth.

  “Kid, I know you’re smart. You know what a bad guy and a good guy are. Who are the bad guys here?”

  The boy looked up and answered quietly, weakly, “Them.”

  “So who’s the good guy?”

  Vynelor turned back to Donnor, his eyes steadier than before. He forced slow breaths, trying to calm himself. Donnor saw the decision settle in him. That was his cue to lower the boy to the ground.

  “Are you handing him over?” Ernol called from above, watching as Donnor set the child down.

  But the moment Vynelor’s feet touched the ground, he slipped behind Donnor’s back. His hands clutched the man’s robe as he looked up with him at the line of soldiers.

  The air tightened. Wind swept across a field of sharp stares and silent fury. Thunder rolled through the clouds, explosions flashing like lightning across the skyland. Ernol’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword. Donnor squared his shoulders, facing them all while the child hid beneath him, holding back his tears.

  “Tell me your name,” Donnor whispered. “I’m Donnor. You’ll remember me for a while.”

  The boy cleared his throat. “V… Vynelor.”

  “Vynelor, do you know how to use magic?”

  He hesitated. Looking up at Donnor, the man’s expression never shifted, still fixed on the oppressors, and stealing every second he could to speak to the child.

  “Yes…”

  “Good. Get ready to fight.”

  Vynelor trembled at his words. He looked at the line of men, gripping Donnor’s fabric tighter.

  “Listen to me. We only get out of this if you do exactly what I say. Hold on to me and close your eyes. I’ll tell you when to open them.”

  With nervous obedience, Vynelor closed them. Donnor shifted his focus to the men above, his gaze locking onto the crazed man scratching at his head.

  “Forget handing over the child,” he said at last. “Ernol, please go to sleep. You’re not feeling well. Let me invite you to a wonderful feast when all of this is over. It’s on the house.”

  Ernol grumbled, tapping his sword against the edge of the rooftop. “Children scare me. Why are slaves so obsessed with a child who can save them? Don’t you think that storm from long ago stirred such an awakening? Donnor, I remember you from the council seats.”

  Donnor’s gaze wavered.

  Ernol went on. “Do you know why I slammed my hand? At first, I wanted to reject the decree, just like you had thought. But then my system… it crashed. Crashed… Yes, indeed it has. When it felt like I was being torn open by that confession, that’s when I pledged myself to the decree. You see, I heard stories of a being that must never come into this world.”

  There it was again, that phrase Donnor knew too well.

  “That system event spoke straight into my fear…” Ernol clawed at his head. He sighed sharply, crouched, then stood again in a crooked, restless motion. “Donnor, why are the prophecies still screaming after ten years? Ten years! The slaves never stop. And you…”

  He stared straight at him. “You agreed to the slaughter. Yet here you are, keeping a slave for yourself. Why swear allegiance if you now want to be a good guy?”

  “The decree is long gone,” Donnor said. “Every child of Ladrack’s blood under a year old was killed. This one belongs to no one.”

  “Donnor!” Ernol roared, making some of his men flinch. “You make me impatient. Oh, you really do. Don’t act righteous when your hands are soaked in a generation’s blood. Are you truly for justice? If you failed then, why pretend now?”

  Donnor clenched his teeth, unable to answer.

  Ernol pressed on. “Order comes before justice in this land. In the name of Strength, RrodKa submits to power, not… fairness. Are you defying our founder? Answer me.”

  The long dialogue made Vynelor grip the cloak tighter. His eyes were shut, tears running down. He heard every word coming from the man’s mouth. Nothing was understood, but the tone and weight felt crushing. His hands shook and, just under his skin, his magic seeped to the man’s cloak, causing it to burn.

  Donnor promptly placed a hand over the child’s, instantly calming Vynelor. He raised his head with a sniff, seeing the man facing above without an ounce of fear. Somehow, the look on Donnor’s face was all that he needed. And just then, the boy’s hands grew still.

  Rocks and slabs of stone came crashing down as another eruption tore through the sky. Men dove aside to avoid being crushed. A torso-sized boulder shot past Ernol and smashed into a building, spraying glass and wood over Donnor and Vynelor. When the dust settled, the two men still stood where they were.

  “I will never forgive myself for what happened to those children,” Donnor said. “But there’s a difference between allegiance and repentance. You’ve gone so far chasing justice that you’ve lost it entirely, spiraling into a madness you can’t control. The blood is on my hands. If I die, at least I tried to change. But you will carry it to your grave.”

  The land went dead quiet. A distant roar echoed, the battle of the sky continuing to tremble the earth. Ernol narrowed his eyes, the noise of chaos darkening his expression—kept silent and unmoving. But a gentle wind flew past and caressed Donnor’s face, head held high and sharp.

  And then—

  Quick Speed ? Lv. 12

  —soldier burst from an alleyway, charging Donnor with sword raised.

  Donnor felt the shift of wind and spun. He snatched Vynelor with one arm and pulled him aside. As the blade sliced through the air where he had been, his TM threads caught the attacker’s wrist and hurled him into the wall of bricks.

  Another soldier flanked him and threw a dagger.

  Donnor dodged with QS, the blade clanging into a distant pillar. The field stilled again—one man groaning on the ground, another standing back, sword drawn.

  Donnor lifted his head toward the rooftops.

  Ernol bared his teeth in a grin. His eyes twitched, his arms burning with magic. He slapped the blade into his palm. One by one, his men mirrored him, weapons raised and glowing.

  “Die, Donnor,” Ernol said softly.

  And then they leapt, all at once, ready to steal lives from below.