Master of the Loop

Chapter 16

  Temptations

The trio sat in silence for a while as Prince Valen digested information that the Baron shared. Though the wording was heavy and a bit too self-forgiving, motives were laid out bare. Sylas stared at the man behind the bars, wondering why he disclosed his involvement all-so-freely. Perchance, he didn't see another way out and saw this as means of trying to bargain for his fate—likely transpose some of the blame and share some of the information for a few benefits.

Though Sylas didn’t truly know Prince Valen, especially as a Prince, he suspected that the young boy wasn’t keen on forgiving those who’ve nearly killed hundreds of people, potentially even more in the long run. But, considering Valen’s own relationship with the Queen, it was expected for him to pause.

“I agree, Baron,” Valen said, breaking the silence. “You have been mistreated. But so have I, and so have hundreds of others. Yet, not one of us willingly sold our soul over to ghouls of all things.”

“I am not asking for forgiveness, Your Highness,” the Baron quickly stated. “I understand my actions to be unforgivable. I—”

“Who approached you?” Sylas suddenly interrupted the Baron with the question that had been on his mind ever since he learned of the Baron’s circumstances. It was highly unlikely that Baron found his own way to ‘ally’ with the Ghouls; someone, and someone who was well aware of his circumstances, probably reached out.

“…”

“Answer the question!” Valen ordered when he saw the chatty Baron clamp down, his head lowered.

“I can’t, Your Highness,” Cyrs replied through gritted teeth. “All communication was either through the ravens or talismans.”

“A name?” Valen probed.

“They only called themselves a ‘helping hand’.”

“When was the first time they contacted you?”

“Two days after my family and I settled in the castle.”

“How?”

“I found a talisman on my bed,” the Baron said. “The inscriptions told me it was a communicative talisman—as you know, they are worth beyond worth. I… I was curious.”

“What did they promise you?” Sylas asked again. Unlike Valen, he wasn't charged with emotion; all in all, he had little attachment not only to this Kingdom but the world itself. What he was most curious about was the story, the mystery behind it all.

“Gold,” the Baron replied. “Eighty-pound pieces every quarter. An extra ten barrels when it was done. Also a safe passage out of the Kingdom to a destination of my choice.”

“…” while Sylas had absolutely no idea what those quantities of gold represented, Valen did—it was precisely because he did that his face turned into one of abject horror. Eighty-pound pieces of gold every quarter… that was almost ten times Valen’s accumulated wealth throughout his lifetime, spent and hoarded. In fact, Valen suspected that not even the entire Kingdom’s Treasury would be able to hold up to that deal for a prolonged period of time.

“Mistreatment notwithstanding,” the Baron cackled self-loathingly. “You can see, Your Highness, how my impure heart was taken.”

“Is that a lot of money?” the moment he said it, Sylas realized it was a stupid question. Luckily, he had his mantle of a prophet that allowed him to ask stupid questions about ‘mortal matters’.

“Yes,” Valen nodded, taking a deep breath and recovering somewhat. “Enormous amount, truly. Truth be told, even I would be tempted, and I can’t say I have ever known a soul—your greatness notwithstanding, naturally—who would not be tempted. In just one year, that’s enough gold to buy an Earl’s estate, servants and all.”

“Precisely,” the Baron said. “I knew I should have said no… but my fears, my bitterness, my greed… they devoured me.”

“Did you procure the combustive talisman?” Valen asked, returning to the topic at hand.

“No,” Cyrs smiled bitterly. “Of course not, Your Highness. Talismans of such value are so rare they may as well be a myth for someone of my standing. Just like the initial communicative talisman, it was delivered directly into my room—alongside the supportive talismans and the activation one—with direct instructions on what to do. I embedded all the talismans myself, following the instructions and the blueprint to the letter, over the course of months. Eventually, I got sent the exact date of the invasion, which just so happened to coincide with my annual trek around the county. And so, I hired one of the Guard Captains and told him what to do before departing.”

“…” The dude’s surprisingly forthcoming, Sylas realized something at that moment—the Baron was worthless to them dead. There was no way he could convince Valen to spare him in this run and, so, he wasn’t even going to bother. However, with the new information, he could just go over Valen’s head and directly for the Baron again, trying to play the two at the same time.

The main reason why Sylas wanted Baron alive was simple: the man was smart. In fact, he was much smarter and shrewder than the Prince. And, on his way to put the young boy on the throne, Sylas would need a lot of men and women like Baron Cyrs. Furthermore, if they lock him down now—and specifically project the form of forgiveness—a man like him would hold that close.

Despite his stoic demeanor, Sylas did notice the regret in the man’s eyes. He made a decision while spurned and burned, and while his heart was akindle. Whoever extended the offer knew what they were doing and latched onto the man when he was at his weakest. Once entrenched with the devil, however, most people find it impossible to leave.

“To summarize,” Sylas said out loud, wanting to confirm some of his suspicions further. “Whoever ‘hired’ you, so to say, is filthy rich, insidious, and wants to turn this Kingdom into ash?”

“Yes,” Valen nodded, affirming it. “Not to mention… they are likely wrapped in bedeviled magic. After all, they have means of controlling the Ghouls—however brief and basic that control may be, we saw what it is capable of. I can’t even begin to imagine how.”

“I have saved one of the communicative talismans, Your Highness,” Baron Cyrs said suddenly. “If you inspect it, outside the general outline indicating its use, you shall see complexities that my eyes, personally, have never seen before. I tried reading the number of inscriptions, but after a few hundred… it seemed pointless.”

“H-hundreds…?” Valen mumbled in shock. “That’s… only… only Four-circle Mages are capable of inscribing hundreds of lines! How is that possible?!”

“…” Baron himself seemed even more shocked than Valen, while Sylas just continued standing there, appearing unfazed. His utter ignorance toward the matter served, however, to further elevate him in both the boy’s and the Baron’s eyes—clearly and naturally, Four-circle Mages meant nothing to the grand Prophet! Well, in a way, they truly didn’t.

“I understand they appear unimpressive to you,” Valen turned toward Sylas and said. “But, to us… it’s… it’s life-altering. After all, Ethernia Kingdom only has a single Four-circle Mage—my Father, the King himself.” Hoh? A wild idea immediately popped into Sylas’ head—what if it was the King? Unlike Valen and the Baron and probably most if not all others, Sylas had neither love nor hate for the distant King of this Kingdom. As such, there wasn’t an inherent filter preventing him from accusing the most powerful man in the Kingdom of betraying the very same Kingdom and allying with ‘devils’, essentially. Naturally, however, he wouldn’t say that out loud.

“If it is someone capable of matching up the King…” the Baron mumbled in a terrified tone, realizing he had betrayed someone he likely shouldn’t have betrayed, even for the Prince.

“It’s probably one of the other two Four-circle Mages,” Valen said, sucking in a cold breath. “I don’t think it is Great Vvyera, so that leaves…”

“Belten.” Baron finished the sentence. Being suffocated by the impossibly heavy atmosphere, Sylas decided to break it—these two men were spiraling, and as much as he enjoyed observing fully-fledged adults losing their shit, he had some work still.

“Let me ask you: how long do the talismans last?” while on the surface he was trying to be educational, the sort of an 'old man guiding you' role, in reality, Sylas was genuinely asking since he had no clue.

“How… how long they last?” Valen repeated in a daze. “Uh… centuries? A lot long? If they are preserved… ah!” Valen suddenly understood what Sylas meant, the respect for the Prophet growing yet again. “You are saying… somebody, perchance, simply unearthed a cache of talismans?”

“Though I do not mingle with the mortal matters,” ‘mortal matters’ became one of Sylas’ favorite sayings, and he was desperately trying to make it into a catchphrase. “I imagine that Four-circle Mages have little time or desire to try and destroy a castle nobody truly cares for anyway. To me, this all seems more like the work of someone powerless who got their hands on some powerful tools… and they are testing them.” How much of what he just said did Sylas actually believe? Precisely nothing. In fact, he was hardcore-convinced it was one of the three Mages, but they were unlikely to be working alone.

In reality, nobody just stumbles upon an ancient cache of super-rare and powerful tools and thinks ‘I shall use ghouls to invade a castle’. Furthermore, there was the issue of gold—what, did they, simultaneously, also uncover a literal gold mine next to that cache? No, of course not. None of this, however, mattered at the moment. Time would restart and the Prince and the Baron would forever forget this little interaction of theirs.

In fact, if all went according to Sylas’ vaguely-forming, overarching plan, the two would actually never discuss the invasion past the shallow ‘oh, there was an invasion, by the way’. Though coordinating people wasn’t exactly his specialty, he was now a Prophet—and Prophets, if numerous books back on Earth were to be trusted—were explicitly good at precisely that. Shit, I can’t let it get into my head… I might become one of those cult heads…

“That, while still concerning, is far more bearable,” Valen said, a joyful smile creeping onto his face.

“Hm,” Sylas nodded. “Well, I need to go and… uh, right, I need to go and pray and commune and stuff.”

“Good luck!” Valen respectfully bowed toward Sylas’ rapidly receding figure as it climbed out of the dungeons and back into the castle. Naturally, he wasn't going to 'pray' or to 'commune'. He was going to try and meet God directly but be respectfully denied in the process.