[TLQ-B2] 22. Blue Bear Soul (Patreon)

XXII

Blue Bear Soul

Malakai had wondered how the imp was going to open a gate this heavy and large, but the instant the beast placed its hand on the door, light flared beneath its palm and flowed through a network of lines etched into the doorframe.

The double doors swung outwards.

“Fort Nazdroth has many weapons,” Dret hummed.

A higher pitch had entered his voice like he’d just received good news.

“What kind?” Malakai ordered his undead into formation around him.

After showing he could open the door without issue, Malakai believed Dret’s story of being the castle housekeeper. However, the imp still looked more like a demon than any of the four-legged bloodhounds Malakai had seen until now.

Judging based on appearance alone was discriminatory, but Malakai valued his life. It didn’t help that he didn’t know what the bound spirits of necromancers were capable of. Could it cast magic? The possibility existed.

He followed Dret into the hall. ‘I cannot tell how powerful it is.’

Undead an demons had a signature he’d started to recognise as their overall power level. It was the reason he shivered whenever he stared at Wraith for too long—the gap in their strength was just that big. But looking at Dret…there was nothing. He may as well have been looking at a wall.

The imp pointed to a series of shut entrances in the left wall. “Storage. Piles of magical gear.”

Malakai stopped himself from immediately heading for one of the exits. They had mages in their party, yes, but he doubted any single piece of equipment would let them sway the battle in their favour.

“I need artillery,” he said. “Catapults, ballistas, weapons of that nature.”

He had no idea how he was going to get one of them down even if the castle did have them, but he’d cross that bridge when he got there.

Dret grinned and waggled his finger. “We have those, too. In the backyard.” He continued to hop through the hall until he reached halfway.

“You saw the bridge, yes?” Dret said.

“The lack of one.”

Dret snickered. “The Castle Lord needs to activate the bridge. Only then can you move the weapons.”

…made sense.

A small room was waiting through the entrance. The ceiling was far up, and there was but a single object in the chamber: a column around Malakai’s height. The trunk of the pillar split into four teeth, which clamped around a crystal orb with purple mist swirling inside.

Dret pointed a spindly finger. “Key of the castle.”

To which Malakai frowned. “Key?”

“Yes, key,” the imp repeated. “You need to activate it and become castle Lord.”

…

Malakai blinked. Dret repeatedly jerked his finger at the orb.

‘I should become castle lord?’

“Is such an action reversable?” he asked.

The imp tilted its head.

“Can I give the lordship to the Empress when she returns?” Malakai clarified.

“Ah, yes, yes. If she touches the orb. Very simple.”

If this was true, this was the worst ‘key’ Malakai had ever seen. Anyone could just waltz in and claim ownership of the Fort?

Dret must’ve read his confusion. “The orb is protected. Magic. Only a true servant or descendant of the Empress can activate.”

That…made more sense. Malakai supposed a necromancer would have nothing to fear of their undead servant. Descendants were more traitorous, but that came with the territory.

Still, he was hesitant to place his hand on an artefact he didn’t understand in the slightest.

“You cannot activate the bridge yourself?”

Now, Dret’s face went passive like he was listening to an idiot speak. He pointed at himself—“Housekeeper”—then at Malakai, “Castle Lord.”

Malakai bit his lip. You wouldn’t expect a housekeeper to be able to open a gate. He considered all the particulars of the situation one more.

‘I could try using one of the undead.’ Having them place their hand on the orb didn’t achieve anything but make Dret stare at him like he was dumb again.

Which was why Malakai eventually stepped up. It was risky…but they really needed those weapons. And if he was being honest, what was the worst that could happen?

So he thought as he put his palm on the key.

It was everything Dret could do to stop himself from bursting into maniacal laughter. To think he’d gotten lucky after all these years! A neophyte necromancer entering the castle on their own, and one dumb enough to follow his directions!

His eyes grew bigger as the idiot lowered his hand towards the core. In his mind, a vision of his first master, one he’d kept close to his heart, reared. He could still taste the dreadful aura hanging around them as if they were here.

Summoning an imp was simple. Their kind was used to forging contracts with the other races, so their service was easily acquired.

‘Sweep the floors, and at the end of your term, I’ll grant you a wealth of power.’

Such a simple task! Who cared if he needed to sweep some floors if at the end of it he could become a ruler…

But Dret had been stupid. Impatient. He’d been summoned right after crawling out of his mother’s clutch. And it was his lack of experience that made him forget to demand a timer be placed in the contract.

And so here he’d been. Bound to traverse the halls by himself and sweep every room despite the castle being deserted. How many years had he been stuck? He lost track after the first century.

But he didn’t need to count. The deep-rooted rage he experienced burned hotter with each year that passed, and each year he promised vengeance on whoever would inherit the seat of the witch that bound him.

The long wait was finally over.

The boy, as dumb as Dret had been himself, touched the orb. Dret waited until the crystal flashed and confirmed the man had activated it. Then he collapsed into a pool of shadows. Dret had not lied—the orb truly was the key of the castle. It was the exact reason his plan would work, for activating it would temporarily expose the soul of the user. How else was it supposed to verify the lineage of the one trying to claim it?

That one moment was all Dret needed.

A swipe entered his peripheral. The undead wearing a cloak—who Dret had been the most wary of. However, though Dret was not a combatant, he was still a century old imp. ‘Too slow!’ He ducked underneath the claws, seeped into the idiot’s shadow, and shot up his sole into his leg.

Malakai jerked. “What the—”

“—hey, you—”

Now that he was inside, Dret could no longer hold his laugh.

He cackled and wormed his way towards the centre of the man’s body. ‘Don’t worry! It’ll all be over in a second!’

The man’s core, a bright blue sphere in his stomach, flared in the darkness of his innards.

Dret dove inside.

Dret opened his eyes. His gaze whirled towards his hands and confirmed his arms were that of the man. ‘It worked!’ He’d feared he’d mess it up since it’d been so long, but he shouldn’t have doubted his skills.

His lips stretched. Now, he only need to bind this poor fool’s soul…

A strong, alien smell around him made him trail off. He blinked and regarded his surroundings. The lighting had turned from an icy blue into the warm light of a bonfire. Above him, the ceiling had shrunk and hovered a mere foot overhead. A central pillar kept the roof from collapsing and acted as a cornerstone for the flaps of the tent.

What in the Dread Empress’ name—

A bell rang out behind him and whirled. The predatory gaze of a hairy, four-footed creature stared back at him. Dret’s Shock was so great his mind didn’t register that the creatures were mere drawings on a robe until the bell rang a second time.

The hunched form of an elderly woman ripped a tooth from a bone necklace. Her eyes were closed. Lines of green paint marked her face. She cast the tooth into the brazier, and two younger women rang bells crafted from animal skulls.

Rings chimed all around him, which was when Dret realised he was surrounded. He tried to leap away on instinct and scraped his arms against the ropes binding him to the central column.

‘Huh? When did I—’

The sound of the bells once more jumbled the inside of his skull, and his stomach hurled into a pit.

“You mongrels! What is this!” Dret screamed to clear his mind. “Release me!”

Only he did not scream. The bundle in his mouth absorbed all vibrations, didn’t even let his voice turn into a mutter.

The room chanted, led by the cloaked elderly woman.

‘Free me at once—’

Fanning flames struck the back of his neck.

‘Or you’ll—’

The bells struck.

‘My wrath…’ His voice petered out in his mind. And then, all at once, the vibrations of his thoughts stopped.

A silence unfolded through the room like a carpet. Without being able to see behind him, Dret saw the elderly woman up end the brazier into a cup. Instead of ash and soot, a black liquid poured into the holder. Once she finished, the elder handed the cup to another girl, who’d been waiting on the sidelines. This one wore a hood and veil to shield their face. However, from within the gaps, the keen observer could still catch a hint of their appearance.

Had Dret possessed control of a single faculty of his mind, he would’ve burned her into his mind, lest he forget her a single speck of her features. She was that perfect.

As it stood, he merely watched, wide-eyed, as the woman came to stand before him and dipped her fingers in the black substance stirring within the cup.

The moment she applied the first stroke to his face, his world went dark.