Reign of Villainy | Ch. 25 (Part 1)

The rope ladder led to a trapdoor in the ceiling; it was left conveniently shut by Pyre.

“Asshole,” Akemi muttered, forcing her way through it.

It was a struggle, but she got it open, flopping her body onto the cold floor of the rooftop chamber. It was a magnificently angular room—octagonal, with floor-to-ceiling windows. No light leaked in under the drape of night, but Akemi imagined it looked fantastic during the day.

Nocturne stood in the center, by a podium. He had Bwog’s map laid out on it. Pyre kneeled behind him silently. Akemi, not one to show any respect for authority unless she had a gun to her head, chose to stand.

This did not go unnoticed to Pyre.

“Get down,” she mouthed harshly.

“Yeah, no thanks,” Akemi answered audibly. Pyre gave her an utterly scandalized glare.

Nocturne interrupted their silent argument. “Rise, disciples, and examine the map.”

At Nocturne’s command, Pyre stood up. The two of them surrounded the podium. Pyre gave nearly a foot of space between herself and the wooden stand, while Akemi wriggled up close, getting as good of a look as she could manage. Nocturne didn’t seem to mind, but—by the look on her face—Pyre was finding Akemi’s antics increasingly difficult to tolerate.

“What does this map depict, disciples?” Nocturne asked.

Akemi recognized it immediately. It was a map of the Emberheart Plains, nearly identical to the map Kobe had given her. However, besides Grimguard at its center, and the general geography of the region, all of the place names were vastly different. Agnor’s Rest wasn’t even on the map. Nor was the temple of Kyndra she landed near originally.

“It’s the Emberheart Planes, sir,” Pyre answered obediently. “One thousand years ago.”

Ah. That explains it.

“Good. Now, Akemi, what does that say?”

Nocturne pressed his lithe fingertip to a small village just east of Grimguard.

“Glade of Sigils?” she said. It was written in a tidy, perfect script, but for some reason, she didn’t quite trust her eyes.

The way he asked the question—all teacherly—made her feel like it was some sort of test.

“I see. Good. Then I was correct.”

Akemi squinted. So it was a test. “Correct?”

He stepped away from the podium slightly to regard both of them. Akemi could only see his eyes, but they were still vastly expressive.

“About your origins,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You were able to read the map.”

Akemi stared at him.

“Are most people here not… literate?”

He paused for a moment, and Akemi thought he might just laugh. He didn’t.

“It’s not about the ability to read in general. It’s about what you’re reading. As you might recall from your initial skill set, all otherworlders possess the skill [All-Speaking Tongue]. It’s easy to underestimate that skill on the face of it. Plenty of otherworlders do, as they stay close to where they first emerge, and only use one or two common tongues. But what most don’t realize is that skill allows you to understand all languages. Those that are alive, and vastly more pertinent, those that are dead.”

Akemi’s eyes lit up. Knowing more languages than most wasn’t something that was totally unfamiliar to her. On Earth, she had been a hell of a polyglot already.

Her first language had been Swedish, of course, but Farsi and Japanese both came soon after. Farsi from her grandmother, who came from Tehran, and Japanese from her grandfather, who immigrated from Kyoto. He’d been the one to call her Akemi, after all.

English, well, she just happened to pick that one up from a serial Hannah Montana habit.

“You and Pyre are the only…  living … members of our guild who possess this skill,” Nocturne continued, with a strange emphasis on living. “So it is for that reason that I will be pairing you together for your first assignment. You will need to forge a camaraderie.”

Akemi and Pyre both complained simultaneously, and loudly.

Pyre leaned forward, speaking out of turn for the first time. “Together? Master Nocturne, I’m sorry, but this rookie has no idea what she’s doing. She’s completely indiscreet.”

Akemi laughed, “I actually don’t take orders. We can talk rewards, then details.”

After digesting what the other had said, they both turned their heads with equal offense.

“You don’t take orders? What do you think this guild is, a democracy?”

“Indiscreet? That’s brave coming from the girl who blew up a whole inn.”

“Silence.”

Pyre opened her mouth again, finger jabbing upwards, but Nocturne’s words zipped her lips shut. Nocturne turned towards Akemi first.

“I don’t give orders. I simply ask you to do things, and if you don’t do them, consequences may befall you,” he said. The calmness in his voice sent a chill down Akemi’s spine. “Unless you want to resign from the guild?”

Akemi swallowed. She had read the fineprint. The System had been very specific in its traitors will not be tolerated doctrine: resigning was as good as betrayal.

“No, I’m good. I—look, all I’m saying is, I want to hear what’s in it for me. I’m not keen on blindly following orders with no resolution in sight.”

“I told you she’s insane, master.”

Nocturne hummed.

“She is not insane,” he said. “She is honest. I can handle honesty, as long as you are weaponizing it against me, and not against our targets.”

He dug into the pocket of his robe, and unearthed a small reflective ball. It seemed to be made of pure gold; it shined like the sun, almost blindingly.

“This is a golden sphereon,” he informed them. “It’s worth a thousand silvers. That’s a yearly wage for some heroes. But for you two, should you succeed, this will be only a starting gambit.”

Dollar signs shot through Akemi’s eyeballs.

Money was powerful in any universe. She knew that well.

“As a guild master, every successful mission completed by our guild is funneled into my management system, and—not to bore you with the details—piles up as bricks of gold in our cellar. I can choose how and when to reward it to those who I deem… important, to the guild’s future.”

Then he turned to face one of the eight walls of the room. This one had a tall wooden closet. He opened the doors, revealing a set of dusty clothes, and an ornate golden box.

Opening the lid revealed a serpent. It was made of rock, cracked and immobile.

“The second prize is vastly more consequential.”

He picked it up, then dangled it in front of them. Pyre looked at it with thinly disguised awe.

“This is a lock of the Dark Lady’s hair,” he said. “If you retrieve what I expect you to retrieve, it will do the honor of biting you.”