The Albus Citadel is the breadbasket of the empire. Without its trade and constant supply of salt, its borders and armies would unravel, dooming the citizens to a gruesome fate either at the hands of invaders or at the jaws of the ants.

  Many small villages surrounding the city would perish without the Archduke's magnanimity. But others rightfully point out it is not the Archduke’s kindness, but the benefits of the silk road which keep those small villages afloat. On the worst day in winter, when the winds howl and the snow becomes heavy as it falls upon the land, there would be hundreds of people on that road.

  On this night, with the gentle breeze blowing through the stalls and cupping each face that it passed, a calm serenity falling on its inhabitants, thousands of people packed the road stall to stall. And down the middle of the Silk Road, parting the crowd like a river passing by a rock, walked the Ant Killer.

  His straight back and piercing eyes made others nervous to be even within a few feet of his person. Everyday since he was appointed to the captain of the guard, he would walk down that road and make sure all who visited behaved while in his city, and that not one merchant or trader ripped off those visitors in turn.

  But he would smile when people moved out the way, most giving a half bow at the sight of purple on his chest. The smile lines had worn into his face, displaying his age and hiding what he had been fighting his whole life. Women would giggle at his every glance, and many children would stare from afar, wide eyed with awe. Some even pointed at the ant’s head on his chest, their fathers and mothers smacking their hands in a panic and apologizing like their life depended on it. He would always laugh at these displays, before he’d pat the children on the head and tell nervous parents there was nothing to apologize for.

  But today was unlike most days. Because today, in the middle of his daily rounds, one of his lieutenants shoved his way through the crowd, growling at any man who complained at his rough treatment of them.

  The lad was nothing extraordinary for a guard. Brown hair, brown eyes with muscled shoulders and a thin waist. The leather armour hanging around his waist had been worn in, and the grip on his sword never wavered despite his shoving. The open face of his helmet made Leon stop in his tracks though. Because the lieutenant was more desperate than he’d ever seen.

  “Sir!” He saluted as he came to a halt before him, the crowd eyeing the man's back as the traffic around them slowed.

  “Lewis, you're still new to your position so I’ll let you off with a warning. But if you disrespect the people like that ever again, you’ll be scrubbing toilets for the rest of your life. Am I clear?” Leon said as his smile died.

  Despite his desperate face, Leon wasn’t too worried. That was until he saw that his reprimand, which often left his men quivering in their boots, had no effect on the lad.

  “Crystal clear sir! But that’s not important right now. We found Edmund and Barret!”

  Leon dropped all pretense and started walking towards the ant bell at the end of the road, since the barracks were right next to it.

  “Where? Are they alright!?”

  Lewis had fallen into step beside him, eyes forward as was expected. But now he looked to the floor, his face nothing but heartbreak. “They’re bodies are back at the barracks, sir.”

  Leon closed his eyes at the news, like he couldn’t stomach the cruelty of it. But he could. What he battled was the old enemy hidden in his chest. The heat. The all consuming fire that spread through every vein in his body, the only tell of the violence he wished to enact being a small twitch of his finger as he came to a dead stop in the middle of the road. He opened his eyes to find a release for that heat, to find a new home for his sword so that he would no longer burn. But upon opening his eyes, all he found was Lewis, a lad who had apprenticed with the very boys whose lives grieved him.

  Not him. Remember Mary’s words. Calm. We will have our release soon.

  “Get back to the barracks. And you best fucking run,” he ordered, before he started sprinting at a jewelers stall on the side of the road.

  He leapt to its roof without breaking his stride, before kicking off and landing on the building which laid behind it. He leapt to the next roof, the tiles breaking as he landed. Bounding from rooftop to rooftop at speeds that would leave most men's eyes watering, the barracks came into view within moments. The dark was lit up around the ant bell, illuminating hand picked men to guard and watch over the city from that vantage point.

  They were not the strongest. Not the smartest, or quickest. But the ones with the best eyes, the best numbers next to their perception. They spotted him now, their shouts that he was approaching echoing down the stairs as he leapt from the last rooftop. He grabbed the decorative divot lining the city's wall half way up. With a habitual grunt he threw himself the rest of the way over the wall and landed before those handpicked men, each saluting despite their tear filled faces.

  He marched down the stairs, the sense of wrongness squashed beneath the familiarity of the men saluting him. This was normal, these steps were normal. But walking past the armoury wasn’t, because now he could smell it.

  The stench of corpses, the rot of forgotten dead men. He could hear raised voices coming from the common room, where the smell seemed strongest. The men were arguing, questioning each other and throwing around accusations of failure directed at their brothers rather than the people responsible. They spoke as if they themselves killed those boys. He knew the feeling well.

  And directing it at the people who did this was going to be a pleasure.

  He broke the common room door as he flung it open, the deafening thud silencing the room as he walked in. The younger men seemed to have almost broken out into a brawl, the older veterans silent grief lining the walls as they looked upon the two bodies, lying side by side on the table that sat in the middle of the room.

  They had been laid down with gentle care, their bodies covered in old salt and a large white sheet, now stained with black and green blotches. The men were arrayed around them in a circle, now saluting Leon as he walked toward that table, and ripped the covering off of them.

  The stench somehow grew worse, and fueled the heat in his chest to an unbearable degree. Now it was behind his eyes, thudding against his ribcage, leaking into his fingernails. The hand that held the heat shook as he looked upon his men, none daring to meet his gaze.

  “Maximus!” He called, his voice hollow as it called the name of his oldest, most trustworthy lieutenant. “What do we know?”

  A grey haired man stepped forward. “They were found stuffed in a hole in the back of an alley, sir, apparently the smell was bothering people two streets over. I scouted the area myself, and some of the children in the area said they were paid by a one armed girl not to speak of it for at least a week. They said… they said our boys questioned them a few days ago, asking about a massacre a few streets over.”

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  Leon walked to stand over one of the boys, studying the wounds on his body. His neck had been snapped, and he had been run through by a dull blade, the wound circular like a ship's oar had been punctured through his chest rather than a sword. The other’s skull had been caved in, the snarl of battle etched onto his face. He died quick.

  There would be no such mercy for his killers.

  “Why?” he whispered, his eyes never leaving them.

  Maximus shrugged. “They were young. Wanted some glory, probably thought some street thugs wouldn’t give them a problem. I had some of the boys investigate the massacre, and there were close to a dozen dead men, Leon. I thought it was Crastor and Konrad’s gangs having a go at each other again. But…” Maximus stopped talking, like he didn’t believe the words himself.

  “But!?” Leon snapped his eyes towards the grey haired man standing by the door. “I allow them to exist because they keep to themselves, but if their gang war took two of ours, we will take all of theirs! Tell me what you heard!”

  “...It was in the crumbles, Leon. You know the people there aren’t trustworthy. Everyone I asked had to either be threatened or outright beaten before they said a word, and everything they said was either stupid or insane.”

  Leon suppressed the urge to throw the table at the man. “What. Did. They. Say?”

  Maximus gestured at one of the men who was about to brawl. His armour was still out of place, which made Leon’s temper even worse.

  The young man took a half step back when Leon’s gaze fell on him. He swallowed before he started talking.

  “Some old lady said it was a prince, a beggar and a dead eyed witch. A few kids said it was a shirtless god. One of the tavern's drunks said it was some large man with fake eyes that walked around covered head to toe in red. No one's story was straight, so I think they were either threatened, bribed or there was a mana user involved, sir.”

  “You mean to tell me it could be a gang war, fucking sorcerers, or one of the gods themselves responsible for killing my men?”

  “No sir! Or… or… I think—” he mumbled, his eyes growing wider as Leon bared down on him.

  Leon turned away from the boy so that he didn’t smack him. “We know nothing! Is that it!? A dozen men drop dead, then two of your shield brothers die in the investigation and we know nothing? These boys died days ago. Days! And we only found out now?”

  He stopped speaking and took a deep breath. Blaming his men for his failures wasn’t what they deserved.

  “I want every man searching every street of the Crumbles for the next week! Lock down the city gates, none may enter or leave without my direct fucking say so! The first man who finds something will have his pay tripled! We will not rest until we have found the men responsible! We are going to throw them in the fucking food pits by the time we’re done! They will not get away with this, am I clear!?”

  “Yes sir!” The men roared together, the fire in their eyes reflecting back what Leon had fought all his life.

  “Bury our boys with full honours. I will notify the families personally. Maximus! Write up shifts for the men, and enlist some of the city folk. I don’t care if this gets out, get us as much man power as you can. I want every salt grain looked over! Now get to it!”

  The men got to work, picking up the table with the bodies and shuffling out the doorway. Leon turned to the window which overlooked the barrack’s entrance to watch the men sprint out onto the street like mad dogs of war. He wanted to go with them, to fight with them. But now was time for patience. Soon. He would get his release soon.

  But not now.

  Without warning, the window before him shattered, the glass flying into his face as a bolt whizzed past his ear, slamming into the door he had broken in his earlier rage. He didn’t blink at the shattered glass, just broke the rest and leaned out the window to get a better view of the street.

  He saw a figure in a hooded cloak glance back at him from a rooftop across the street. Then the figure was sprinting away, jumping onto the street below and disappearing from view. It had been less than a second, but the figure could move.

  But so could Leon.

  “Guards! To me! There’s an intruder! Stop him!” he roared, jumping out the window and landing on the street.

  The guards chased after the figure, but he was outrunning most of them. Leon’s dexterity wasn’t the best, so he started bounding north across the rooftops, hoping to cut off the figure’s retreat. Leon came to a stop at a red rooftop, the tiles breaking as he landed on them, before walking forward to peer at where the figure should be running past.

  But the figure was not there. His guards' voices rose a few streets over, ordering the figure to stop, and Leon bounded towards them. He made it onto a rooftop overlooking the alley all the guards were investigating in less time than it took to pick one's fingernails clean.

  “Where is he!?” Leon roared into the alley, ready to rip that little figure apart.

  It was Lewis who looked up at him now. “Gone sir! It looked like he ran into the wall and disappeared into the shadows! We’re still searching!”

  Lewis pointed at an innocuous wall at the end of the alley. The house it was a part of separated the alley from the silk road, its many occupants unaware of the danger a mere twenty meters away.

  “Go lock the city gate right fucking now! And get every spare squad we have to patrol the silk road! Make sure the people remain safe!”

  “Yes sir!”

  Lewis ran off, calling out to his brothers as he did so. Leon cracked his knuckles as he watched Lewis’s back disappear from view before turning around and jumping away again. He was heading to the barracks, hoping that Maximus was not idle in his absence.

  He jumped through the window he had torn out a moment earlier, arriving back to an almost empty common room. Maximus stood in the center of the room, with the figures bolt in his hands. There was a note attached. And it had made Maximus’s face grow pale.

  “Whats wrong? What news!?” Leon asked, running over to the man.

  Maximus handed him the note, before he sat down on a nearby chair. Leon read through the contents at a pace he didn’t know he was capable of. It bore descriptions of three individuals, two men and a woman, and made the outlandish claim that they wished to assassinate both himself and the Archduke.

  He looked from the descriptions and the desperate plea at the bottom of the page, back up to Maximus. He kept his face stoic at all times, but now let a smile spread across his lips as Maximus breathed out a heavy sigh.

  “Mana users,” he whispered.

  ~break~

  Ellis had slipped back into the dark house unnoticed, the fireplace long grown cold. He felt like he hadn’t slept for two days, but he ignored the temptation to curl up in a bed to sneak into the kitchen, and hang Ameena’s cloak right outside the tent she had pitched in the middle of the lounge. She had wanted privacy, which had suited Ellis’s needs just fine for this particular night.

  His footsteps made not a sound as he tiptoed away from the tent like it was hiding a Rass, trying not to disturb the slow breathing he heard from within. Ellis made it ten steps before a door opened right behind him.

  He whirled around and pointed his loaded crossbow right at Michael’s chest, who stood in the doorway to the secret room, the removed stairs making the big man lower his head as he walked through the doorway.

  He grazed the top of his hair against the doorframe because he was entirely focused on the bag held in his hand, and it seemed to have a vice grip on every bit of his attention. He was smiling down at it, like a proud father discovering something new about his favorite son.

  That smile died when he looked up. Ellis lowered the crossbow and whispered, “What are you doing up?”

  “What are you doing up, hey?”

  Ellis nodded to the water next to Ameena’s tent. “Getting something to drink. And Ameena said I have to take watch.”

  Michael took one last look at the bag, before tying it to his waist and plopping himself down on the wooden floor.

  He spoke in a loud, sleepy voice and then stopped moving altogether. “Fair enough. But I’ll stay up for a bit, so get some sleep. It’s gonna be a big day tomorrow.”