Konrad's rushed plan was crumbling, but he was far from defeated.
Beaten, sure, and in lots of pain—all that coming from a single child—but still alive.
Thanks to Otto's greed, he would stay that way if it were up to the man, but he had to be careful. It was only a small comfort—he couldn't depend on it too much.
His vast mana reserves didn't matter.
And even if he had Stella with him, she was a wildcard with her cover blown.
Deepening madness etched her face.
The most he expected from her was to serve as a distraction.
That was something, too. Without one, he couldn't even cast a spell. He was quick, but Brigida was faster. And even if all she could cast were lightnings—ouch, she was good at it.
At least, Konrad had one secret weapon—knowledge.
A trick he had learned mere days ago from Maple on their long march back from the salt mine raid. His desire for a safety net and his curiosity now paid him huge dividends.
He learned the ability to see the battlefield.
Way beyond what was possible from his perspective.
Konrad didn't have scales like the dragoness, but the trick she used to guide his men in the mines was too good to pass up. Thanks to her teaching, he replicated it with adamantite.
With most of the elite now armed with the rare metal, he could tie spells to almost everyone.
All that in secret. Not even his men knew about it, and from the Inquisitor's monologues—he didn't have a clue, either. This required the smallest amount of mana to keep up.
Lucky, because Otto didn't seem to perceive this connection.
One rune in his adamantite armor, one in Welf's greatsword, and in the blade Vargas demanded from them—
They did the tracking for him as they broke out from the inn.
He calculated what their best move could be, trying to guide them to safety, but that part backfired. Otto detected his mana.
Not the purpose, that much was obvious from his reaction, but it didn't matter.
He ordered the child to strike Konrad down every time he tried to make contact.
And oh boy, Brigida didn't hold back. Scared she might have been, but also strong as hell.
Her attacks? Without that new adamantite armor, she would've electrocuted him to death by now. Twice over. He wanted to thank Welf for the sleepless nights and great work, but again—
He learned the hard way not to try to contact them anymore.
Watching them was fine, but after the third attempt, he gave up on guidance and hoped for the best. He had to be content that his friends were still alive, despite the quiet outside.
They were on their way to him, meeting little resistance, and that was comforting enough.
Still, he was curious how much more power that little girl could wield.
And how much more of her strikes could he survive?
He needed time for the men to finish their circle, but—
He didn't want to spend that testing his limits.
"So about that signature," the Inquisitor reminded him. "You can sign it, and you'd only have to deal with the transmutation artifacts. Or the child can convince you a little further."
She sure was convincing. Konrad couldn't see a flaw in her arguments, and still—
"Can we discuss the details without this shock therapy?" he groaned.
His tone must have been too sarcastic for the Inquisitor, because the next strike sounded like a no. The thunder was glass-shattering, and even Stella tried to protect her ears in vain.
The ex-executioner was paler than usual and looked like she was at the end of her rope.
It's not like Konrad trusted her now, but her behavior made it obvious that she didn't betray him. Not on purpose anyway. He pitied her—what was her deal? And everyone else's?
What kind of grasp did the Inquisitor have on his subordinates?
Former or not, they were both trembling, obeying, even if against their will.
"Nothing to discuss, boy," Otto boomed, waving the parchment between his short fingers. "No respite. Her powers should be motivating enough to make you sign these papers."
How? Why?
He didn't have magic, even Konrad could feel it, but his voice, his authority—
It sent one to the edge of insanity, the other reluctant to strike him down, but doing it anyway.
And why did that paper matter? It wasn't like a magical contract that would bind him.
The bracelets did and the captivity.
"Fuck's sake," Konrad moaned, his muscles locking up from the electric shock. He regretted the swearword, given his opponent was a child, but still— "How do I sign it if I can't even stand?"
The Inquisitor smirked.
Well, Konrad called it a smirk. Those granite-carved facial features didn't change that much.
Not in a range he had expected from a human anyway.
"Let me bring it to you," the man offered, his tone almost friendly now.
Konrad pushed himself up to his knee, the best he could do at the moment.
His hands trembled as he took a quill the man offered, eyeing the ink with suspicion.
He could've poured it over the parchment, but it was easy to tell it would've been painful.
"Shouldn't using her count as a heresy anyway?" he mumbled, reading the document to buy a few more seconds. Nothing special about the words, no magic in the ink. Dry, legal crap.
Otto scoffed, sounding almost offended. "I decide on what's heresy and what isn't."
"Right, sorry," Konrad muttered, risking another lightning strike. Lucky for him, it never arrived. "If it's beneficial to you, it's fine. Everything else is a matter of religion, of course."
It was odd. His previous sarcastic line drew a lightning-fast response, but now—
As he glanced up, Stella drew his eyes again, his hand freezing mid-air.
Otto had mana sight—he reminded himself. He chose his servants because of their potential.
Every one of them.
Even if the androgynous blonde didn't break her bracelet earlier—
Konrad struggled with his mana before, too.
The spirits chose her to do something, as they have done with his brother and that child.
And given how the Inquisitor eyed his former servant—
They widened—and now Konrad felt it, too.
A sudden, almost explosive change. Something flipped in the executioner.
Her long, blonde hair came to life on its own. Strands slithered in the air like snakes, as if she woke up as Medusa, and Otto Ostfeld turned pale.
"Now of all times?" he asked, taking a step back, the parchment forgotten. "After all those years?"
"What's going on?" Konrad welcomed the distraction, but it worried him, too.
Stella's clear, grey eyes almost glowed, a cold light emanating from them.
She lost it—it was clear as day, but was it a good or a bad sign? Nobody bothered to answer him.
Brigida gulped, too, no longer holding her tiny palms towards him.
It was his chance. Whatever was about to go down, the Inquisitor was no longer paying him attention. Using the quiet before the storm, he inched his way towards the exit—
And Vargas kicked down the office door at the same time.
Welf was with him, taking a split second to assess the situation with his sword in hand, and—
"Everyone, down," he yelled, as a sharp light engulfed everything.