NOVEL WEB Chapter 12: Omen of Death
Chapter 12: Omen of Death
“You’re free to go. Her Majesty deemed you worthy to stand by her side again. You should be thankful,” the guard snarled before unlocking the door of Kanami’s cell.
The metal bars creaked slightly, waking up the sleeping ninja. “Just give me a minute…” she mumbled, struggling to get up from her slumber.
It was early in the morning, a few days after she was thrown here after she failed to retrieve the water from Ryuuji. As she opened her eyes, blinded by the sudden surge of sunlight, she noticed that the ex-captain of the knights was standing beside the guard, smiling at her.
“Good morning, Kanami,” he greeted her softly. “I have a hard time imagining you slept well on that bed.”
Jason stared at the pile of straw on the ground she was sleeping on, some sheets barely covering it all. She groaned and got up from it groggily, her face hidden by her long, disheveled hair.
“Leave us be, now,” Jason ordered to the guard, who, after giving one final glance at Kanami begrudgingly walked away.
Kanami scratched her arm, tossing the strand of straws stuck to her clothes, “Finally… I almost lost patience and broke free the other day,” she yawned.
“I’m glad you didn’t cause a mess by doing it,” Jason bowed. “I’m sorry for all the trouble. Morgann has been… quite agitated recently.”
With her eyes darkened by the circles under them, Kanami scowled at him. Jason observed, "You didn't sleep well, I see. Did you feel anxious?”
“It’s none of your business,” she grumbled. “Still, tell me how he is.”
"Viktor says he can walk now," he said, removing and wiping his hazy glasses. "To be honest, it's surprising how quickly he recovered."
Relief washed over her upon hearing this news. A faint smile cornered her lips. “Good. At least it wasn’t a complete disaster,” she sneered. “Though I’ve heard that the population is restless. Not that I care. It’s for you guys that it’s going to get difficult.”
Jason chuckled as he placed his glasses back on his face. “You’re right. And don’t worry, I don’t expect a spawn of Araël like you to care much about us.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m going back to my house. I need a warm bath.” And without another word, she turned to leave.
Jason watched her go, the echo of her footsteps fading down the corridor. A sigh escaped his lips as he was reminded of Wrimbo. Why was it that she reminded him so much of his “son”? He watched the young man mature into a full-fledged knight under his command, before turning into a being of incarnated wrath.
That’s right, he was scared. Scared to fail her as he did for him. Scared to create another monster that would only stop once he realized its mistake.
Clenching his fists, and tightening his jaw, he inhaled deeply. “If only you were there, Morgann and the king wouldn’t be…”
He couldn’t finish that sentence. Of course, with “ifs” we could remake the world, but that wasn’t what happened. The bright and shining blue star of Sora was gone, isolating Morgann
further and further as her father grew sicker.
And aside from being here, there was nothing he could do. Ultimately, he was dealing with other issues. He had more than enough work to do with his wife and two girls at home. He was only back inside the castle because, above all, his concerns were for their future.
Kanami was just one more concern he was unable to let go of. He tried desperately to distance himself from her, saying that he had no right to tell her what to do. He knew what pain Wrimbo went through, he knew that it was something far from easy to overcome. The curse of Araël, a hex of isolation and slow-burning hatred for mankind.
With mixed feelings, he stepped away from the cell. Memories of disembodied corpses flashed through his mind.
He exhaled deeply, his heart heavy.
Jason Borone shall take back the seat of captain, if fate ordered it.
With her long brown hair floating, Morgann climbed gingerly up to the top of the castle, the most secure floor in Sora, carrying a tray full of fruits and biscuits.
Morgann knocked firmly, the sound echoing through the quiet corridor. She waited, but no reply came from within. Undeterred, she knocked again, harder this time, but still—silence. The knights exchanged a glance but said nothing.
Sighing, she hesitated for a moment before turning the ornate doorknob. The room was quiet, only rocked by the singing of birds from the open window. The light flickered from the rise and fall of the curtains that were fluttering from the sudden draft.
In this room, there was only one bed.
Morgann stepped inside, her footsteps barely making a sound against the thick rug. She set the tray down on a small wooden table near the bed, her throat tied in a knot.
In this room, there was a man she loved more than anything.
The king, her dear father.
He lay still, his frail body swallowed by the grand bed. He was sleeping, probably from fatigue, though anyone could’ve thought he was dead upon seeing his pale face, his graying unkempt beard, and his skeletal hands. This was the ghost of the man he once was, withering away with every ticking of the clock.
Even so, his chest still rose and fell with each breath as he fought against the curse.
Her eyes softened as she gazed a him, sensing tears coming up that she fought hard. The clutching in her chest couldn’t stop these days, even at night, even when around others, that oppressive feeling never left her.
“When was the last time the princess smiled?” she heard some knights whisper behind her back.
It was clear that the inhabitants of the castle were worried. The king was going to die soon, and according to the council, his daughter was nowhere near capable of handling the responsibilities of the crown. On top of that, the people in the streets were slowly realizing that something was wrong, and rumors had spread that the empire was going to launch an assault soon on the country.
“What… What should I do…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, each word choking on the thick knot in her throat.
She couldn’t hold back her tears anymore. They began to fall, silent and steady, like insignificant droplets in the vast sea of her sorrow. Each tear felt heavy, laden with fear, hopelessness, and the loneliness that had crept into her heart as she watched her father fade away.
Her shoulders trembled as she wiped her cheeks, though the tears wouldn’t stop. Her breath hitched, the knot in her throat tightening with every sob she struggled to suppress.
“Hugh…Don’t leave me…” she whimpered, her eyes flooded with tears.
“Why… Why must everyone leave me?” she cried, her fingers clenched tightly around the blanket at the edge of the bed.
She felt so lonely and desperate that she couldn’t even talk to Maria anymore.
She discarded her only bodyguard.
The people of the council are afraid and dismiss her like some sort of pawn ready to be thrown out the window as if her father’s death was already set in stone.
There was no hope anymore. No friends. No escape. Just the slow, agonizing descent into a future she felt powerless to change.
She lowered her head, resting it against the edge of the bed, her tears soaking the sheets. Why?
If only Wrimbo was still alive. If only that otherworlder Desmond hadn’t betrayed everyone, then everything would be okay. He was always there to protect her, but now… He was gone.
If only Luka hadn’t screwed up. Her father would still be alive at least. It was HIS fault after all.
Then why? Why was she unable to hate anything besides herself? Why couldn’t she let that rage out and aim it at everyone who deserved it?
Her heart sank deeper into despair. She wanted to hare, to blame someone, anyone—but all she could feel was this gnawing emptiness, this crushing guilt.
That it was her incompetence, that brought her misfortune. It was she who failed to find out that Desmond planned to kill them, even though she knew he was suspicious. It was she who failed to find the one that cursed her father.
Her body shook with quiet sobs, and for a moment, time stood still until something cold yet reassuring touched her.
A light hand patted her head, its fingers softly stroking her hair. It was a touch so gentle, so unexpected, she didn’t flinch.
“Don’t… cry…” a hoarse voice whispered. “It’s okay…”
The voice was weak, rasped but unmistakable. Morgann’s heart leaped as her teary eyes widened in disbelief. Slowly, she lifted her head to face the source of the voice.
Her father, the king, had stirred from his slumber. His frail hand rested gently on her head, offering comfort despite his own fragile state. His sunken eyes, pale and tired, gazed at her with a soft, fatherly warmth.
“It’s not… your fault… Nor anyone’s…” he whispered, each word a struggle, but filled with a tenderness
Mogann’s lips quivered as she grabbed his hand gently. “No, I…”
Her father’s weak smile flickered as he tried to muster up a laugh. “Don’t… You’re strong…”
His voice trailed off as his eyes fluttered shut again, his hand growing limp in hers.
“No,” she whispered, her heart clenching. “No, stay with me. Please…”
But his breathing had already deepened, slipping back into the uneasy rhythm of sleep.
She sat there for a long time, her father’s hand still in hers, her heart torn between relief and despair.
She wasn’t ready.
He was lying.
She wasn’t strong. She never was. She only relied on others to fulfill her wishes.
And all she wished for, was to see everyone happy.
Outside the police post of the high city, the thick, iron-banded door swung open, creaking as two figures stepped into the cold evening air. The woman in front, Yelena, pulled a slender kiseru pipe from her coat, lighting it with practiced ease. She exhaled slowly, the tendrils of smoke curling into the dimly lit street as she sighed.
“What a waste of time…”
Even after having spent two days here, questioning the locals and chasing rumors, they had no information whatsoever on the demon they were hunting. On top of that, they were now in the sights of the crown, who made sure to express their disapproval of the demon hunters’s methods
Yelena’s companion, Hazuki, even made a worse impression after he accidentally revealed that he was the father of a person close to the princess.
“You could’ve least pretended to be interested in her,” Yelena chuckled, disappointed in her partner as she blew another puff of smoke into the cool air.
Hazuki grunted, adjusting the weight of the nodachi slung across his back. “I have no daughter,” he muttered, the words final as if even mentioning it was an affront to his name.
“Right, right…” Yelena shook her head, amused by his stubbornness. Though she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for whoever he had left behind.
Of course, that little remark hadn’t gone unnoticed by Archibald Sora. The noble had taken particular offense at Hazuki’s indifférence, his calm yet tired demeanor cracked into something harsher. It was as if it was personal for him.
This guy clearly has an interest in her, Yelena mused, the thought bringing a flicker of amusement to her lips. Stoic, proud Archibald showing the fires of love—it was almost funny. Almost.
She blew another puff of smoke into the cool air, watching it dissolve into the night. “So, what are we going to do now, captain?” she asked, casting a sideways glance at Hazuki.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, “That demon is especially sneaky. It’ll take more than what we’ve got to lure it out into the open.”
Yelena let out a low hum in agreement. That demon was out of the ordinary. There was no sign of intriguing murders, no sign of strange disappearance or even strange phenomenon.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you mind reminding me who gave us the information in the first place?”
Hazuki paused for a moment, his fingers tapping his chin. “The initial tip came from a merchant near Jeaba, that town near the desert,” he said, his voice steady. “But we had confirmation in SourLake and other villages around here that a succubus was in Sora.”
“A lot of men felt weak after having intercourse with a certain woman,” he continued. “Their memories were hazy and they couldn’t get out of bed to work the next morning.”
Yelena raised her kiseru to her lips again, her mind refreshed with the details. A succubus was always hard to catch but this one was particularly careful. Succubi were known to blend in the population and feed without leaving obvious signs of their presence. Even so, most of the time they made a mistake, killing accidentally or intentionally one of their partners, giving them enough clues to find them.
“She’s playing it smart,” Yelena said, her tone contemplative. “Not enough to raise the alarms, but enough to sustain herself without attracting too much attention,”
Hazuki grunted in agreement. “Exactly. But we can’t let demon scum stay unpunished, or else there will be victims.”
“I think I might have an idea,” Yelena said, her red ruby lips forming a smirk. “A succubus still needs attention to seduce her partners,” she explained. “Most of them are unaware, but what if she could attract a lot of attention?”
The swordsman raised an eyebrow, catching onto her line of thought. “You think the itinerant dancer is the succubus?”
“That’s why we went there this morning, right?” Yelena replied, her eyes glinting with amusement. “To verify our suspicions.”
Hazuki nodded in silence, recalling the atmosphere of the tavern. There was no trace or even scent of a demon there, but perhaps she was right.
“So, you’re suggesting we lay a trap,” Hazuki said, his voice low. “Make her believe she’s caught another victim?”
“No, no,” Yelena shook her head. “A trap would be pointless. I have a better idea, let me handle it.”
Hazuki’s brow furrowed. “You have a better idea?”
Yelena’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “I’m going to draw her out, on my own terms…” she chuckled darkly. “You go and handle the demon we heard of back in Ryuuji. It will be a waste of time for you to stay here.”
Hazuki eyed her suspiciously. “And leave you here to face her alone?”
Yelena clicked her tongue in annoyance, her playful smirk turning into a scowl. “I don’t need babysitting. I’m a lord of the Tower, remember?” She exhaled a puff of smoke with dramatic flair. “Besides, this succubus might seduce you, and we can't have that, can we?”
Hazuki grunted, unamused. “You take me too lightly.”
Yelena rolled her eyes. “Please. She thrives on weakness, and I’ve seen you around women. You’re deceiving no one.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Go deal with the problem in Ryuuji. I’ve got this.”
The swordsman's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. “Demons are dangerous, Yelena. One misstep, and—”
“—and I’ll be fine,” she cut in sharply, her tone growing serious. “This isn’t my first time doing this alone. Besides, I don’t see a single mage capable of killing me here.”
Yelena smirked at Hazuki’s hesitation. She knew he didn’t like the idea, but that only made it more amusing to her.
“You worry too much, captain,” she said, her voice velvet-smooth. “You should save that for your swordsmanship. I can handle a succubus.”
Hazuki sighed, admitting defeat. “Fine, but I don’t like it.”
Yelena’s lips curled into a slow, victorious smile. “You never do,” she replied, flicking the ashes from her pipe onto the ground. “Now go, and try to enjoy your night for once.”
Without another word, Hazuki turned his back, his geta clacking rhythmically against the paved road as he walked away.
She watched him go, her expression softening for a moment. “You’re a good man,” she murmured to herself. That single sentence caught her breath as she tried to resist a chuckle.
“Pfft… Who am I kidding, you’re a horrible person,” she chuckled, unable to resist her laughter any longer. “Ah… What an idiot.”
Yelena’s laughter faded into the night, leaving only the quiet rustle of the wind. She tapped the end of her kiseru, watching the last remnants of ash fall to the ground before tucking the pipe into her sleeve.
With Hazuki gone, the game was hers to play.
The streets of Sora were unusually still, almost as if the town itself held its breath in anticipation of what was to come.
“To think this country is afraid of a little empire like Fyr…” she said, trying to stifle a sardonic laugh.
The mage then sighed, her lips curving into a twisted smile. “If only you knew the game was rigged, my dear kin.”
She started moving through the narrow streets with light steps. She wasn’t in a hurry, she had all the time she needed.
To put her plan to fruition.
“Well, at least he didn’t fail,” the Emperor sighed, lazily picking at his ear. Kenshin had just returned to him announcing his failure with a laugh, when suddenly his magical mirror shone to receive a transmission. The Emperor barely reacted, his expression one of mild annoyance, when suddenly the magical mirror beside him began to glow, signaling an incoming transmission.
“That’s correct, Emperor. The water was not retrieved, all thanks to my retainer,” the voice of an old man crackled from the other end of the mirror, dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm.
Andreas Edensveel raised his eyebrow, his hand pausing mid-motion. “Is that so?” He muttered. “So you expect a reward, huh?” he asked, his voice laced with annoyance.
“Of course,” the old man replied, his voice calm but edged with a hint of smugness. “But as we discussed, the situation may already be in motion, so—”
“I don’t care about your political bullshit,” Andreas interrupted coldly, his patience wearing thin. “What do you want?”
The man on the other end of the transmission chuckled darkly, undeterred. “I want access to the Tower’s finest mages—your best, as my personal assistants.”
“These dumbasses? Okay, no problem.”
“Wait, my lord!” Aurelia snapped, stepping forward, her knuckles white as she gripped her staff. “You can’t do that! Most of them would never listen to—”
“Shut up!” the Emperor slammed his fist on the desk he was leaning his legs on. “My decision is final. I’m their lord, they do what I say.”
Aurelia stiffened, her jaw clenched in frustration but held her tongue.
“Thank you very much, Emperor,” the voice from the mirror purred, clearly pleased.
Andreas leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable. “So, when you become king, I lift the threat on the kingdom. That’s the deal, right?”
“Yes, that is the plan.”
Andreas tilted his head, his gaze shifting to Aurelia, who stood silently by his side. “Aurelia, when do we arrive near Sora?”
“In about five months, my lord,” she bowed, her face paling as she knew what was coming.
The Emperor slammed his fist down onto the desk again, causing papers to flutter to the ground. “Five months? That’s too long! Make it shorter!”
Aurelia’s expression wavered as she quivered nervously. “My lord, I understand your frustration but we must cross the desert with our army and—”
“I don’t care!! Make them go faster!” Andreas shot back.
“B-But they are tired, my lord!” Aurelia stammered, her hands trembling around her staff. “We’ve fought wars back-to-back against various rebellions recently, and the men are exhausted! Going faster might kill them!”
Andreas paused, tapping his chin as he considered the situation for precisely two seconds. “Give them enough food then, they’re not eating enough.”
“Your Majesty,” Aurelia sighed, trembling even more. “We are out of food.”
“We are?”
“Yes,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Emperor’s expression twisted in pure rage. “Out of food? How could you let this happen? You’re supposed to be managing our supplies!”
Aurelia covered her head instinctively. “But I’m already managing the troops, their salaries, the inventory of the weapons, the—”
“It’s not an excuse!”
“I shall leave you for now, Emperor,” the old man’s voice chimed in suddenly, interjecting with a sense of finality as he shut off the communication with the mirror.
“Please, my lord, have mercy…” Aurelia whimpered, looking at him with pleading eyes.
“Fine,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Make it three months then.”
“...That’s still—”
“Would you dare?” he cut her off.
Aurelia felt a shiver run down her spine. She quickly bowed her head, swallowing her words. “I will, my lord.”
“Good,” Andreas replied, satisfied with himself. “Another good day of work.”
Oh dragons gods, have mercy on me… Aurelia pleaded.
This would be the most stressful months of her life.
Finally getting back to her house, Kanami sighed in relief as she closed the sliding door behind her. The familiar scent of her sanctuary enveloped her nostrils, almost making her forget the cold, damp air of the cell where she had been rotting for the past few days.
Her anger hadn’t dissipated yet, and her fatigue came crashing down on her. She wanted that hot bath, and she was going to get it.
Taking off the bandages on her feet, she padded softly across the tatami floor to the bathing area. It was a small place that was arranged by the old owner—Sato Ryuuji—her master. Everything was neatly arranged to remind the one living here of the hot springs of the mountains of Ryuuji. The water was surrounded by rocks and leaves, and a magical orb was pulsating right beneath the surface to heat it, sending up wisps of steam that mingled with the earthy scent of the room.
Kanami knelt beside the bath, trailing her fingers through the warm water. With a content sigh, she plunged herself into the bath, letting the warmth of the water embrace her. The tension in her muscles melted away, replaced by a soothing calm as droplets of condensation dripped from the ceiling, plopping softly into the water.
Just like that, her anger had dissipated into nothingness.
However, her anxiety wasn’t totally gone. She reminisced the words of Jason just after she left the cell. He called her “spawn of Araël”.
The red eyes of the beast came to her mind. If that’s what they truly wanted, she could just give in, and become what they fear so much.
Why should she keep fighting against it? After all, if no one truly wanted her she could just let go and destroy everything. It was that simple.
“Ah…” a shiver ran down her spine. It was still too terrifying. She just couldn’t do it, not ever. Giving in to the dragon would mean losing her sense of self, akin to dying. She wasn’t afraid of that however, she was afraid of doing it. The act of simply giving up was already too much for her.
After all, HE never gave up. Wrimbo—the shining star of hope for Sora, the knight and hero of the inner Tamia…
Born like her, shunned by everyone because of this damned curse, he became recognized by everyone and loved unconditionally by the people here.
Or at least, that was the bright side of the story.
Kanami clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she felt the familiar stirrings of jealousy and inferiority.
“I will never be able to be him,” she stated, her voice hollow, as if trying to convince herself. It was true: if he had been there instead of her, Luka wouldn’t have been hurt.
He was strong, unyielding, always ready to fight against all odds. She yearned to shine as brightly as he did, to be cherished in the same way.
At least that’s what she told herself when she arrived here. She had heard of his tale back in Ryuuji, once the dragon god Kaal was gone from the desert. Tales of a man that doomed us all. But that’s not what her master told her.
On the porch of her home in Ryuuji, he had always said not to care about being strong.
“You will never be like him.” His voice was calm, yet the words cut deep, as if to remind her of her limitations. Wrimbo was too far away, a distant star in a sky she couldn’t hope to reach. While she was struggling to survive, he was forming bonds and friendships. While she was abused and beaten by her first lover, he found a brilliant love with Ilys.
“You’re not part of the plan, anyway,” her master told her, still showing a complicit smile. What plan? Why was Wrimbo so special she couldn’t even hear it? She was the same, born with the same cursed blood as him, so why?
Of course, he had died before he could offer a proper answer, leaving her with more questions than she could bear.
Now, she had found someone—Luka a man from another world who seemed to care little about her curse. A friend who breathed life into her hollow heart, igniting a spark of hope that maybe, things could change.
But even that was still not enough.
The doubts couldn’t get away from her head. What if he turned out like the rest? What if he abandoned her, just like everyone else? Was she even worthy of his attention, his friendship?
Was he even sincere?
Kanami wrapped a towel around herself tightly as she left the bath. With hollow eyes, her mind went blank. The warmth of the water had dissipated, and even the cold air of the exterior didn’t reach her.
She felt nothing by feeling too much.
Running a hand through her damp hair to ground herself, she uttered something that came from deep within. “Why can’t I just be normal?”
Normal, even that she couldn’t comprehend. Stepping into the living room, she scanned around mindlessly. She couldn’t think anymore, the numbness had reached her entirely, up to her mind.
Her eyes locked onto an unopened letter on the table. The envelope was unremarkable, yet, it held a weight she couldn’t understand. Her name was as if drawn in elegant handwriting across the front, the ink glimmering faintly under the dim light.
Kanami picked it up, feeling the textured paper between her fingers. It felt smooth, unlike the low-quality paper she was used to. For a moment, she hesitated. Who could’ve sent a letter to me?
With a deep breath, her mind started feeling alive again as she tore the envelope open and unfolded the letter inside.
That’s when Kanami remembered.
She couldn’t read.
“...”
A small smirk cornered her lips. The letters were a jumble of shapes and curves that taunted her, reminding her of what she had missed, every lesson she never learned in her life.
Her hand started shaking. She couldn’t tell if it was a bad message or a good one. All she could tell was that it was beautifully handwritten. Knowing how to recognize a line didn’t necessarily mean you could read, but she could at least guess who wrote it. Back when she saved Luka, she knew what was written in the letter when she gave it to Morgann. And every time she had to deliver a message, someone else was writing it for her.
Her shaking became uncontrollable until she lost it. In a fit of rage, she threw the paper on the ground and stomped down on it, the sound echoing in the house.
“You dumb bitch!” she shouted and repeated as she stomped on it again and again. She felt the sting of tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, unable to contain herself any longer. The facade she was so used to show crumbled in a cocktail of emotions she couldn’t stop.
As she crushed the paper, tears streamed down her face, her sobs breaking free in a series of gasps. “Why? Why?” she cried, the question echoing in her mind.
She felt robbed of her life. Robbed of the joy normal people had, robbed of a place where she could belong.
And she almost lost the only flicker of hope she had because of her carelessness.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she sat down. The tears couldn’t stop.
For now, she allowed herself to feel, to grieve.
In this quiet room, alone in the woods, far from everything.
She was just an observer.
Faking living a life.