Cadmius — Bostkirk

Winter was creeping in at the corners of his house, but what did it matter? Even without the prestige bonuses, Cadmius couldn't get cold. He could feel the cold, and he knew that it might be uncomfortable for others, but there was little point in heating his house just for himself. The cold didn't threaten him, but the boredom might.

He went to the gymnasium, where people pretended not to know he was an Oathbreaker. He sparred when he could, but there weren't that many people around who could challenge him, outside of active duty soldiers and wardens, the very people who avoided him most. He came home and bathed in cold water. He opened his trunks, stared at the contents for a time, trying to remember why he bought them or what he had planned to do, and closed them again. He cleaned weapons that weren't used. Fixed armor that didn't need fixing.

A few times, he nearly got work as an instructor, but Oathbreaker made him unemployable. He tried his hand at less reputable work: doorman at an establishment that served up drinks and late-night dancing for the moneyed crowd. For the first week, he thought he might like the work. His job was to nip any violence in the bud and protect employees from the kinds of customers who grew more entitled and less reasonable as they had more drinks. But the managers were selling divinia powder in the back room, and Cadmius lost his job when wardens raided the place. He got his pat on the back for calling the authorities and went home to his empty house.

Was he staying true to his principles? Or was he sabotaging himself? Or was his uncertainty thanks to Undeserved Mercy? According to his class, the title encouraged "self-flagellation and introspection".

There was no inquest into the attack. Not a public one, anyway. The church didn't want the attention. But there was a hearing over Taylor's legal status, with Keeva Augberg as the plaintiff, hoping to rope the golden gallifrey by forcibly adopting the boy. She sat in the civil courtroom, smug and sure.

Then the Dwergbank lawyer showed up in her thousand-dori suit and turned a simple civil proceeding into a war zone. Surprisingly, Dwergbank called Cadmius as a witness to establish that the boy's current problems were thanks to Keeva Augberg. If anybody were going to adopt him, it shouldn't be the woman who intentionally caused him trouble under false pretenses.

But the boy didn't need to be adopted, and that was the other purpose of the hearing. He earned copious amounts of money and was a ranked member of the bank. He had the foresight to hire lawyers. Much was made of the fact he could fight off third-tier paladins, with Cadmius on the stand to confirm the subject in question was well-equipped to defend himself.

So, the plaintiff tried a different tack.

"Mr. Cadmius. With the level of destructive power he has at his fingertips, what would happen if Taylor lost his temper and went on a rampage? Couldn't he hurt a lot of innocent people? Isn't it true that Taylor is a very dangerous young man who needs adult guidance? Shouldn't someone take him in hand until he's older?"

"You just described most of the IEF." The small audience laughed, but Cadmius wasn't joking. Most people, even grown, experienced people, didn't have their own sense of right and wrong. In any given minute, their so-called morals depended on who was watching. Military command structure existed for a lot of reasons, but a big one was keeping a rein on large numbers of young, trained killers. People mellowed as they aged. They got wiser. Some faster than others.

"This is not a laughing matter, Mr. Cadmius."

"I'm not the one laughing. Look." He showed the courtroom his class screen and made the whole thing public for everyone to see. A level 59 fighter with nothing special going for him. "See this title, just above Oathbreaker?"

At that point, the plaintiff tried to excuse him, but the Dwergbank lawyer obtained permission for him to continue. Typical lawyers, only wanting the testimony that was good for them.

"This is Undeserved Mercy. It's rare enough that I had to look up the preconditions. He had the right to kill me and chose not to. He didn't forget. He wasn't afraid. He didn't fail. He had the power, will, and right to kill me, but he made the decision to spare my life; Even though it meant leaving all his things behind. He's not the kind of person you have to be worried about."

Cadmius stayed for the whole fight and watched the Dwergbank lawyers extract fistfuls of gold from the Augbergs. The court fined them for filing a false report, made them pay for Taylor's lawyers, and paid compensation for pain and suffering. In a stroke of creative brilliance, the lawyer convinced the judge to pile more fees onto the Augbergs for every day the boy was missing. Keeva was responsible for driving him underground and would pay for every day of his isolation.

Sure, the church's hand was likely at work behind the scenes. And maybe the governor got in the act, too. But it was satisfying to see the woman shrivel. Her posture remained perfect, but she grew more and more wrinkled with every fine handed out by the judge as if every piece of gold came out of her veins. In civil court, the burden of proof was low, and Keeva's enemies took full advantage. She had come to the hearing expecting no resistance. By the time she left the building, she was only half the woman she was when she walked in.

One righteous victory. It wasn't what he was used to. But it was something. And maybe it would help the kid, wherever he was.

Cadmius was standing in his living room, fresh out of the bath, holding a wretchedly cold cup of something that was supposed to be served hot. Winter breathed down his chimney. The trunks were open again, and he was thinking about chucking the damn things or leaving them in the street. For the hundredth time, he nudged the lids shut with his foot and wondered if he should bother putting on a shirt. That was the one consolation of his current condition. He could spend the whole day shirtless, and nobody complained.

That's when the oddest thing happened: Somebody knocked on his door. In a normal year, nobody knocked on his door. Ever. Just to be sure it was intentional and not, for example, a fishmonger who got an address wrong, he continued sipping from his cup of discontent while staring at the door. Eventually, the person on the other side knocked again. Louder this time.

When he opened his front door, shirtless with the cold cup in his hand, there was a woman on the other side. She wore trousers and a morning coat, a man's style tailored for a woman, with a stock tie and her hair twisted into a librarian's stern bun. Earmuffs protected her from the cold. A blocky case dangled from one hand.

"I'm Meltissa Jane, Curator."

"I remember you from the hearing. The guardian." He drank from his cup and pretended not to be offended by it. He should put something decent on the stove if he were having company. And a shirt.

Or not, from the way her eyes took their time looking him over.

"You haven't let yourself go. Good. This might not be a waste of time." She was thin-lipped and squinted judgmental eyes at him, but had a sharp look about her, like she was trying to solve a puzzle or spot the joke hidden inside a local ordinance.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Why are you here?"

"Taylor sent me. He needs your help."

He froze for a second. He could ask her to repeat it, but that wouldn't change anything except make him look dumb. Even if he were so inclined, the debt due was too great to ignore. If the boy were crazy enough to want his help, then Cadmius would help.

"Better come in then." He went to his bedroom to fetch a shirt and returned to find Meltissa making tea at his stove. She had shoved his pot as far away from her as it could go, to keep its unsavory vapors from her own, superior brew. Cadmius put a fire in the grate to push away some of the cold. Soon, they were settled for tea, using the trunks for tables.

"How is he?" He didn't know where else to begin, so he asked the most important question first.

"It's hard to tell when I can't lay eyes on him. He's always been secretive. He's been sending letters, and he sounds good."

"But he needs help."

"It's not what you think. He wants to know if you have Mana Sense, Monster Sense, or anything like it. He wants the particulars. How it works, restrictions, odd conditions, exceptions, everything. And he wants you to recall your emotions during the attack, and if you feel the same way about it now."

"If that's what he wants, then of course he can have it. But how does it help him?"

"You triggered his curse during a one-minute conversation while his mask was on. That's a record. I surmise he's working on some theory, and he thinks your perspective is crucial." She pulled a lap desk from her case, uncorked the inkpot, and prepared to write. She didn't rush him, but let him appreciate the tea and gather his thoughts.

"I have Monster Sense, with specializations for sensing mana beasts. I can sense weak monsters within a hundred yards, give or take. Third-tier monsters, I can usually see from a quarter mile away. But some are specialized for ambush and can hide just by lurking around a corner or behind an obstacle.

"I've thought about it a lot, and that's what he felt like. An evolved mana beast, based on a type specialized for ambush. Very rare. When they evolve to the point of being smart, they're impossible for most people to track and incredibly dangerous. We used to get them in Restoration once in a while, posing as people."

She asked him a lot of questions, very organized and detailed ones, about his skill and its limitations. By the time she had wrung every possible answer out of him, Cadmius had a better understanding of his own skill. The woman knew her business.

"You're a Scholar, aren't you?" Somehow, her class had never come up during the hearing.

"I'm a very hungry Scholar. I would ask if you have anything to eat, but you look like the kind of man who burns meat in a fireplace and calls it cooking."

"I'll have you know I use a stove. I'm not uncivilized."

"Indeed." There was a hint of a smile pressed between her lips to keep it from escaping. "I'm taking you to lunch."

"Why? Not saying no," he assured her. "But, why?"

"Because you're more inclined to say yes to my proposal if I bribe you with food, first."

She took him to a proper restaurant where she ordered him a salad to go with whatever else he wanted, and insisted he eat it. She talked about her work while they ate. Partly, she talked so much because he asked her questions to deflect attention from the stalled state of his own life. But he also liked hearing about it. She worked in Governor Syndony's inspection bureau, checking up on wayward legates. Her methods were very different from his own, but the chase felt familiar. She followed bits of evidence, often down one blind alley after another, until some kind of truth was reached and guilt could be proven. He missed that.

Paladins were most famous for hunting monsters. That's where the glory was. But they hunted men, too. When the IEF suspected they had a murderer in their ranks, a paladin was called in to investigate. When the rich and powerful were suspected of high crimes, governors could request a paladin. If a criminal gang flourished by bribing local officials, a paladin could root out the corruption.

The problem with paladins, as the saying went, is that they're paladins. Confident to a fault in their own righteousness, they pursued their inquiries without regard to alliances or political expediency. That was one reason they were borrowed from the church. Nobody else wanted one on staff full-time.

"I need a teammate," Meltissa said over coffee, "someone to support me in the field."

"What kind of support?"

"Moral, for one."

He laughed. "Are you sure you want moral support from an Oathbreaker? You might have the wrong man."

"I don't think so. It wasn't your oath you broke, was it? Tell me, where is your sense of justice? Do you still have it? Or was it just a class attribute?"

She waved at the server to refill her cup while he considered the question. It was ironic that she would ask him that question: He used to ask his trainees something similar, nearly every day. One didn't get to be righteous by having a Paladin class. One received the class if they were moral enough to carry it, and that rightness wasn't absolute. Paladins could, and did, fail. Cadmius was living proof of that.

Meltissa talked to him from behind her cup. "The man I saw at the hearing wanted to make things right, even if he had nothing to gain. Likewise, for the bouncer who lost his job, a good job by all accounts, when he reported his bosses for selling divinia."

"Divinia isn't wellingsnuff," he said, "it's pure poison. I had to call it in."

"See? Moral support." She looked satisfied with her proof. "Other people knew, but kept quiet because they were being paid. You had to go and do the right thing. And that's why I need you. Class or no class, you can't be bought by something as trivial as money."

"So, you want me to hover over you while you look at accounts?"

"Hardly. I need someone to help with legwork. And when things get serious, I may need support of a more percussive nature."

His heart beat a little faster. "You think you're on the trail of someone dangerous."

"I might be. There's something rotten at work in the southern townships. I intend to find out what, and I can't wait until spring. The governor has authorized pay for an armed deputy. You'll have a warrant card, can carry a sword, and get less money than you're worth. You get to ask people the kinds of questions that make them very uncomfortable. Maybe, we get to root out evil."

He liked the sound of that. It gave him a warm, glowy feeling. "And when would this new job begin?"

"This evening, on the overnight."

It was too good an offer to ignore. Under other circumstances, he would have been more suspicious. But Cadmius knew something about Taylor's character, had learned it the hard way, and had Undeserved Mercy to show for it. Here was the woman who had been his guardian and mentor, someone the kid still trusted enough to ask for help. That spoke volumes. He couldn't be certain she was right enough to work alongside, but it was all the surety he could hope for in advance.

And he so wanted to be right again. So very, very much.

Meltissa mistook his silence for hesitation. "That is, unless you have something better to do. A home renovation, perhaps? I've seen the way you live."

"I'm deciding what armor to take."

"You can think about it on the way to your place. I'll work while you pack."

Evening found them under the glass green sky of Qumurong Station's roof, as the final trains and fast carriages of the day took on passengers. Their journey hadn't been a straight line, but had ventured through the Inspection Bureau for his credentials and her messages, and then a used bookshop. Cadmius had procured a bestiary of southern Estfold, while Meltissa could only be content once she had seven new purchases. Thus fortified against boredom, they loaded themselves into a first-class compartment, narrow but private, where she unpacked books from her bottomless case and carefully arranged them in stacks to prop up her feet, to lean on, and to use as a pillow.

Although her facial expression didn't show much change, her body did. She was very happy in her nest of books.

"Cadmius, have you had any class activity since the fight?" She didn't need to specify which fight.

"The last event I logged was Oathbreaker. I haven't had a peep since." It wasn't that unusual for his class to be quiet for days at a time if he wasn't getting into fights. Most of his skills were maxed out for his level, and he couldn't cross into the fourth tier without a major questline. Nonetheless, not hearing anything from Knexenk for months was unusual. He assumed it was part of his punishment.

"It isn't just you. The entire Giving church has been quiet. Not a single quest, skill, or title. Priests, acolytes, paladins, healers, everyone. She's not talking to Church personnel at all. The combat logs roll on, but nobody gains any rewards. It seems there is more at play than just you and Taylor."

She handed him a message from an anonymous informant in the church. Cadmius recognized a Scholar's Legible Hand skill at work, making the text indistinguishable from thousands of other Scholars.

"It doesn't say anything about church-related quests held by outsiders. It's not our problem to solve, but I thought you might want to know."

"You're right," he agreed, handing the paper back to her. "It's His Holiness's problem. Our problem is whatever you say it is."

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