Rise of Winter, Week 5, Day 4

  “No!” Tiltham growled, digging her nails into the ground and scooping out mounds of slushy dirt. She used such force that her nails broke and, when she hit stone, her skin ripped. Tiltham was ripping stones out of the ground and throwing them behind her without a care. And she was ignoring the soft blue [System Notice] that was attempting to call her attention. The woman was so focused on the space where her ward had disappeared, reaching for any chance to get to Lady Fredericka.

  “Inez,” came a masculine voice and a firm hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t firm enough, though, because she shook it off with ease. The voice continued. “We need to use the emergency report. There’s nothing else to do.”

  Tiltham whipped her head to look at the other Void Knight. His name was Artur, and he was her second in command. The frenzy with which she was digging dulled somewhat, but still, Tiltham had to grind out a response.

  “She’s down there. Alone, with a single bag of provisions and a sealed dungeon. If we can’t get in now, we may never be able to get in.”

  Artur closed his eyes and released a slow breath. When he opened them, he had frustration written across his face. “We’re not strong enough to break a Divine Seal, and you know it. Not even you. We need to call for the Duke. He’s the only one who might be able to release it before Lady Fredericka gets injured.”

  Tiltham leaned back on her calves with a heavy sigh. She ran her muddy hand down her face, uncaring of the streaks it left behind, then shook her head as if clearing out her thoughts.

  “You’re right, Artur. I nearly lost my mind.”

  Tiltham plunged her arm into the bag on her hip and reached so deep that her shoulder disappeared. The bag itself held a spatial distortion enchantment, and the item Tiltham was looking for wasn’t meant to be casually used —so it was placed at a level that required one’s full attention to get to.

  She pulled out a simple black scroll tied with a silver ribbon. Tiltham also held a piece of white chalk.

  “This is going to go poorly,” Tiltham grumbled. Then she felt the cool rush of mana flood her veins. Her mana slid through her arm and flooded her palm, impressing itself upon the ribbon.

  Briefly, the scroll and ribbon glowed a soft white. As the light faded, the ribbon turned to ash, becoming one with the wind that blew through the clearing. The scroll unfurled itself, and Tiltham began writing.

  It was a painful thing to admit her failure to protect the Heir of Nemo. Inez Tiltham was, after all, second only in power to the Duke within Nemo. She was nearly as old, with nearly as much Divinity, and twice the battle experience.

  But even Tiltham, an old monster herself at four hundred years old and mid-Tier 5, was no match for a Goddess like Scylla. She was only a cumulative Level 234, and she specialized in pure offensive Skills. Everything she did required her to moderate her strength and measure her output. A single misstep could obliterate the very things she wished to protect.

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  Much like when that Clematis Serpent had attacked Tiltham and Lady Fredericka, she had to moderate herself —lest she leave a crater in her home and destroy her ward. Not to mention that no one is meant to know who, exactly, Inez Tiltham was. She was simply meant to be the Void Captain. Not one of the greatest assets Nemo possessed.

  Thus, she was meant to protect Lady Fredericka all the more. In the way only a monster could —through controlled hardships. Not this. Not a Goddess sending her off to die.

  Tiltham nearly cracked the chalk as she wrote, but even she would struggle to replace the alchemical creation, so she held back her frustration and wrote clearly, concisely, and gravely.

  Frederick,

  Drop all duties. Bring the curse breakers, the dungeon specialists, and any priests of Scylla you can find.

  The damned Goddess has taken issue with the Heir to Nemo and locked her within the dungeon. I am unable to break her out, or break in.

  I have failed in my greatest duty to Nemo. We have so little time. I am sorry.

  Inez

  Within the Moors of Hernel, a man stood with orange eyes and a long grey beard. He was in all black, and there was a dark expression on his face.

  In his hands was a black scroll that had manifested itself out of nothingness. He had read it a half-dozen times. At first, he was disbelieving. Surely, such a thing could not have happened—not so soon. It should be twenty years before another travesty was meant to hit. The Duke was sure of it. But then, then came the processing—the anger, the grief, the disappointment.

  “Damnit, Inez,” the Duke sighed. “What am I supposed to tell Bridian?”

  “Sir?” Came the voice of one of his aides, Hanlon. “What do we need to do?”

  The Duke looked up at the determined look on Hanlon’s face, and the way Jedni, his other aide, was shaking but remaining tall, and gave a sad smile.

  “Lads, we have much to do and little time to prepare.”

  Pulling a piece of chalk out of thin air, the Duke began writing mid-air. The lines remained despite their defiance of the natural order. He made a list.

  “Hanlon, go into the city and grab any Priests of Scylla you can find. Tell them by order of the Duke of Nemo they are to report to the Manor. Jedni, go find Bridian and Aster. Bring them here. I am going to be paying a visit to the Capital.”

  Both aides nodded gravely and left the Duke’s office. Neither was keen on witnessing his Skill.

  [Whispering Along the Weave]

  The thorns of his mana filled him, and between one breath and the next, the Duke of Nemo was in a sprawling room, with swords and axes and lances pointed at his throat.

  The Duke dropped to one knee, but his gaze never left the blonde-haired woman across from him, not even when gasps filled the court, and weapons nicked his skin.

  The pink crown atop her head glittered in the morning light, and her purple eyes were narrowed.

  Before she could speak, the Duke opened his mouth.

  “I beseech you, my Queen, I need your Dungeon Master. We have a grave matter that requires his expertise.”

  Queen Esther huffed a breath, and the weapons surrounding the Duke’s neck fell away.

  “Explain.”

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