Sneak peek at Amazon-exclusive chapter for Volume 2 of ELLC

Author's note: This one takes place immediately after the chapter 'Chaos 6' of the online version. It's the point where Boxxy and Fizzy were given their divine task to slay the lich with the promise of Hero-ism on the line. Keep in mind this is still a draft and is subject to change.

Interlude - A Matter of Faith

Edward Allen, Royal Spymaster to the Lodrak Empire, was currently standing in a wide-open courtyard at the back of the imperial palace, and was sternly looking towards a griffin’s butt. It wasn’t so much that he was looking at the thing especially, but more the case of it was impossible not to notice that titanic rump, given his current field of vision. What he was actually focused on was the enormous steel cargo container strapped to the beast’s back, immediately above said behind. More specifically, he was looking at the space where the doors to the giant metal box had been ripped off their hinges, and the two empty cages that were further inside it.

“So. Someone care to explain what happened here?” he asked to the subordinates gathered around him.

“Reporting that the prisoner has escaped,” stated the black-haired beauty immediately next to him.

“Brilliant observation, Zone,” groaned Edward while putting his right palm over his face. “I am so lucky to have such an attentive aide that it almost hurts.”

The woman’s face remained as expressionless as ever, though a light blush did appear on her cheeks. She very rarely got praised, so she couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit happy at those encouraging words.

“Uh, Zone? That wasn’t a compliment,” stated the handsome-looking man next to her. “He was-”

“Forget it, Bandit,” interrupted Edward. “You know she’s immune to sarcasm. Or common sense for that matter.”

“Well, forgive an old dog for holding out hope at least one of our merry little band might be normal.”

“I could probably fix her if you let me,” suggested a hooded man who had just arrived at the scene. “Just need a few weeks alone with her and I promise I can make Zone here into the perfect servant.”

“Reporting that operative Hook is in immediate threat of decapitation via roundhouse kick.”

“Oh, scary, scary!” he said in a mocking tone. “As if brutish methods like that would ever work on me.”

“Requesting that operative Hook update his codename to operative Hooded Baldie.”

“Pffft! Hahaha!”

Bandit, who was currently trying to sneak in a shot of liquor from his hip flask, ended up spitting it out in a fit of laughter.

“Hooded Baldie!” he repeated. “That fits Hook completely! Ahahaha! Aha… Ah, fuck, I just spilled my Volcanic Vodka.”

The clear alcoholic drink in question was extremely difficult to come by around these parts. One would realistically be hard pressed to find it even within its birthplace - the Horkensaft Kingdom to the northeast. That land of dwarves and gnomes was known for creating and producing all kinds of exotic booze, but Volcanic Vodka was special. It was one of the few gnomish-made liquors, though it was an acquired taste rather than delicacy, which made it even harder to find. 

Getting the stuff all the way to the Empire added yet another layer of difficulty, as direct travel between the two countries required one to pass over the treacherous Oculus Sea. It was a massive body of water that dwelled at the heart of the continent, named after the civilization once sank into it millenia ago, along with a considerable part of the continent’s landmass. A mysterious and ominous place like that place like that naturally had all sorts of hazards around it, from extreme weather conditions and incomprehensible currents to deadly sea creatures.

Suffice it to say, if Bandit wanted to get more of his drink, he’d have to do it himself. That was hardly a problem, though. The dashing black-haired man was responsible for providing logistical support to the Gilded Hand, Edward’s personal spy ring. Some would call his activities ‘smuggling’ or ‘trafficking,’ but ‘logistical support’ sounded much better on paperwork. He was good at it too, maybe even the best. It was often said within the organization that if Bandit couldn’t get something, then nobody could. Therefore, going straight to the Kingdom and back just to fuel his appreciation for good alcohol was entirely within his capabilities.

“This is my last batch, too,” he grumbled as he put away his flask. “Gonna have to stock up the next time I have a mission over in pipsqueak territory.”

Unfortunately, his responsibilities kept him from taking such flights of fancy.

“If you three are done horsing around, then I suggest you do your blasted jobs,” insisted Edward. “Bandit, stop getting shit-faced and go put your worthless griffins away.”

“Hey now, there’s no need for that,” complained the man in question. “Fluffles and Puff did nothing wrong.”

“Ugh,” groaned Hook. “What sort of Monster Tamer gives cutesy names like those to flying war machines?”

“The kind that will bash your damn head in if you-”

“Hook. Stop antagonizing Bandit and contact Question,” commanded the Spymaster. “Fill him in and tell him to wrap things up on his end post-haste, I’ll need his keen mind to track down our escaped prisoner.”

“… Yes, sir.”

“Zone, go draw up a map of our route over the Sawblade Mountains, we need to organize a search right away.”

The seemingly rowdy agents began diligently carrying out the Spymaster’s instructions. Even if they bickered and argued over trivial things, the Gilded Hand was an tightly knit outfit. It was Edward’s inner circle, and one didn’t get to be a part of it without proving their loyalty and ability a dozen times over. Granted, they were by no means the biggest powerhouses in the Empire when it came to combat, but their influence and political power not only within the royal court but also the underworld made them a force to be reckoned with.

The two griffins were shortly relieved of their loads via a specially designed pulley system and Bandit led them back to their roosts. The woman called Zone quietly and dispassionately compiled the information her boss requested while the ‘hooded baldie’ contacted their missing colleague with his formidable mind magic. He would’ve preferred to use his abilities to rip the secrets out of the mind of Edward’s captive, but that clearly wasn’t an option anymore. It was a shame, as he was looking forward to it too.

He’d never heard a mimic scream before.

“Uh, sir? Question says he’s already got an idea what happened to our suspect,” reported Hook. “He says it’s your fault it got away.”

“Of course he does. Well, he might have a point this time around. Come with me, I’m going to inspect the container, and I need you and your psychotic brain to try and pick up any residual thoughts.”

“I think you meant to say ‘Psionic’ there, sir.”

“I know what I said. Now move it.”

“… Yes, sir.”

The two men then went inside and began inspecting the partially wrecked metal box, which was currently lying on solid ground. There were three points of interest here - the broken hinges, the gnome’s mangled cage and the wide open mobile jail cell where Boxxy was supposed to be. The first of those didn’t seem all that important, as those doors weren’t designed to be opened up mid-flight. It seemed entirely plausible that the violent air current would put too much stress on the metal joints and snap them off, especially since that was something of a weak point in the container’s construction.

The real question here was how did the locks come undone. Hook failed to pick up any abnormalities around the massive crate’s entrance, but Edward spotted some peculiar marks along the floor and walls. It would appear some sort of highly corrosive acid was used to eat away at them, but there was no residue of the liquid whatsoever. The Spymaster was a Level 59 Occult Alchemist, so he was sure this was not the work of an alchemical compound, but rather something created entirely through magic.

Next up was the cage where Cornie Fizzlesprocket was supposed to be. It had been ripped up violently, from the outside, almost as if something had literally tried to chew it up. This was where Hook’s Psychometry Skill kicked in, an ability that allowed the Psionic to perceive the ‘feelings’ that the object was subjected to. It had some limitations, of course, but the cage was still ‘warm’ so he had no trouble ‘reading’ its recent history.

“What do you have for me?” asked Edward.

Hook took his hand off of the mangled remains of Fizzy’s prison and stood up while patting away the grime from his knees.

“A stream of fear, loathing and misery,” he replied. “The most vivid images I got from this were a set of gigantic teeth crushing the bars, followed by a small pink-haired woman being dragged into them. It cuts off abruptly after that.”

“Ah. So it would appear one of our missing persons has been eaten. A shame.”

Edward never intended to let that gnome to run free - that would be too much a security risk. He was intending to have his man Hook rip the sensitive information from her noggin, and then put her to work designing and producing weaponry for the Empire. There were other ways of doing that, of course, but this was a rare chance to use a master Artificer without the Horkensaft Kingdom’s knowledge or permission. Those shorties kept a tight lid on their mechanical wonders, and refused any requests from the Lodrak Empire to share those secrets with anyone. Even though the two nations were officially on friendly terms at the moment, the Kingdom wasn’t stupid enough to lend even more strength to a military powerhouse like the human Empire.

All things considered, Edward saw Cornie’s apparent death as just a minor footnote, a missed opportunity to do ‘some good.’ In short - a shame.

“You sure about that, sir?” asked Hook. “Typically violent death leaves a more… noticeable mark on an object.”

“She was gobbled up by a malicious moron of a monster who had been starving for days. One who wouldn’t even be in our custody if she didn’t ‘betray’ it. Frankly I’d have already written her off as dead even without your Psychometry if it wasn’t for the possibility of outside assistance.”

“You think someone broke the prisoner out, sir? In flight? At that altitude?”

Magic could be used to make people fly. Hook himself knew such a Spell, one that was aptly named ‘Flight.’ However, there was a limit to the speed and height that one could reach through such methods, and griffins could surpass those easily. Yet Edward seemed to suggest someone had not only intercepted them in-transit, but also broke the prisoner out without the griffin’s instincts picking up on such a dangerous individual.

It was by no means impossible, but it was highly unlikely to say the least.

“The evidence seems to suggest it. See here.”

Edward led his subordinate to the back of the container, where the monster’s cage remained.

“The control box was shorted out with magically conjured acid,” he pointed out.

“Hmm, I seem to remember something about that,” said Hook thoughtfully. “Didn’t the report on its capture say some of the guards it killed just before being captured were covered in horrible acid burns?”

“Exactly. Despite being a mimic, our ‘friend’ can somehow spit caustic fluid. That was why I had it bound with mana-draining shackles to begin with. It’s impossible for it to conjure caustic fluid out of thin air on zero MP.”

“But… it still did?”

“That’s what someone wants us to think. See here, the cage is unlocked. Unlocked. Not mangled or forced open, and there’s no scratches of it being tampered with. I dare say someone used a key to let it escape. The acid is just there to cover their own involvement.”

“How do you know it didn’t slip out of its restrains somehow?”

“Are those eyes of yours for decoration? Look at your feet!”

Hook did as Edward suggested and immediately realized what his superior officer was talking about. The floor was covered in a foul-looking gunk with an odd orange-brown coloration. This was what happened to the viscous yellow blood of mimics once it was allowed to dry up. There were also bits of dead flesh and a few metal bolts in it, which had been stuck to the floor by the grotesque residue.

“Someone carved out its restraints?” asked Hook.

“Certainly looks that way,” confirmed Edward. “Which is why I want you to confirm what you can with your Psychometry.”

“Right. I best get to it, then.”

The Psionic stepped up to the cage and gripped two of the bars with his hands. He closed his eyes and ‘listened.’ Monsters were more difficult to read than people since their minds worked differently, so he was expecting to have to dig deep. Yet almost immediately he was assaulted with visions. Images of pure white knives digging into flesh flashed beneath his eyelids, nightmare-inducing screams of agony rang in his ears and a profound sense of stabbing pain seemed to wash over his head.

“Fuuuck!” he screamed as he recoiled. “Holy shit, that took me by surprise!”

“What? What did?”

“This cage is tainted by suffering. It’s so overbearing that I can hardly feel anything else.”

“So someone really did just cut away its restraints?”

“Seems like it, sir. It’s hard to imagine any living being capable of inflicting this much pain upon itself. If I were to offer my professional opinion on the matter, whoever did this was one sick piece of work.”

Hook’s words carried quite a bit of weight, as he was the leading expert on ‘special interrogation techniques’ within the Gilded Hand.

“Takes one to know one, I suppose,” mumbled Edward.

Which was a fancy way of saying he was an irredeemable sadistic bastard who enjoyed torturing people for funsies. His mental methods were far more effective at extracting information, but there were virtues to his more physical practices as well. Admittedly breaking people through pain and suffering was rather barbaric, but the Spymaster knew from experience that it was an effective way of making them subservient and obedient. It was also something he could always fall back on as a last resort, as not everyone could be coerced through bribery, trickery, or holding loved ones hostage.

In fact, Cornie Fizzlesprocket was one such person. If everything went as planned, then she would have been ‘educated’ by Hook to make sure she didn’t get any bright ideas while carrying out Edward’s wishes. She definitely seemed the sheltered and naive type that could be controlled easily through fear and torture, though that was something of a moot point at the moment.

“Hook, get in touch with Question. Tell him everything we’ve learned and to begin working on tracking down our mystery jailbreaker. After that, inform Mist to start looking into dungeon core extraction methods.”

“Yes, sir. What about the emperor? He’s going to want to know how our progress on investigating the Calamity is going.”

“So?”

“So… what do I tell him?”

Edward had initially instructed Hook via telepathic communication to keep the truth behind Boxxy’s identity as the extremely likely perpetrator under wraps. The monster they were bringing back was supposedly a ‘strong lead’ and nothing more.

“That’s simple, we’ll just tell him the truth,” said Edward. “An elite agent from the Ishigar Republic broke their pet mass-murderer out of our custody to cover their tracks with the aid of their spies within the Empire.”

Such a statement would surely be more than enough to not only convince the hot-headed buffoon to declare war on the elven nation, but also give the Spymaster more authority and freedom. All in the name of national security, of course.

“Uh, sir?” called out Hook. “I don’t mean to question your methods or whatnot, but half of what you just said sounded made up.”

The spymaster’s closest compatriots were in on his warmongering plans. They all knew just as well as he did that this ‘Boxxy T. Morningwood’ had no ties to the Republic whatsoever. At least not prior to the Calamity of Monotal. Someone important had clearly taken interest in the thing for them to dare snatch it away from Edward’s clutches like that, but as of right now they had no evidence of who that was.

“And?” asked the spymaster.

“And… how is that telling the emperor the truth?”

“Come now, Hook. You should know better than to ask that by now,” he said while tapping him lightly on the side the head. “The truth isn’t a matter of factual accuracy. It’s a matter of belief. And that gullible moron? He’ll believe anything that ‘dear old uncle Ed’ tells him.”