Chapter 82 (Interlude 11) - Dreadborne Harbinger (Patreon)

Jezeri stood outside Scion Copperhand’s campus residence, calm after committing to the decision she had made back in the park. Night had descended in full now, and she counted it a sign that the sky above her head was empty of clouds, allowing the stars she loved so much to sparkle above her. 

A brief look to either side of the road outside the scion’s residence and, seeing no one, confidently made her way over to the fence alongside the simple, unguarded gate. People, let alone scions, rarely paid attention to Sentinels beyond a cursory glance. They assumed that any Sentinel wandering around the campus was likely on official Academy business — likely securing it against potential threats. That assumption worked to Jezeri’s advantage as she looked the fence over, seeking a spot to pull herself up and over that would minimize the chance she would attract attention. This part was a bit frustrating, actually. She had the stats to just jump over, but doing so would likely attract too much attention.

Jezeri heard a dog bark in the distance, and she froze. All at once, the weight of the actions she was about to take pressed heavily against her. But, despite her position in the Sentinels, it was not guilt she felt — it was purpose. The star elf knew exactly why she was here, even if the idea of risking her status as a Sentinel for someone else would have seemed absurd to others.

Because, at some point over this past week, she had come to see Klarion as someone who mattered to her. And she still wasn’t sure when that had happened.

The dog ceased barking, and Jezeri moved swiftly, scaling the wall with practiced ease. Her fingers found purchase on the metal on the top, and within moments, she was perched atop it, surveying the grounds on the other side of the fence, making sure she hadn’t missed anything. The Copperhand residence, while quite a bit smaller than Blacksword Manor, was nonetheless lavish, with neatly trimmed hedges and a cobblestone path leading to the entrance. Lanterns glowed softly along the path, casting light across the manicured garden. 

No movement. Nothing out of place.

She dropped near silently to the ground, landing in a crouch. Her senses sharpened, attuned to every rustle of leaves and whisper of wind. The air smelled of jasmine and damp earth. Using old skills, she moved like a shadow, skirting the edges of the garden, avoiding the pools of light cast by the lanterns.

Reaching the side of the building, Jezeri pressed herself against the wall, her fingers tracing the edges of a narrow window. It was locked, but that was a minor inconvenience. Pulling out a slender tool that she hadn’t used in years from the pouch at her side, she deftly worked the mechanism. A soft click signaled her success. She thanked the System that skills lasted forever once learned.

Lifting the window gently, Jezeri slipped inside, landing lightly on polished marble floors. Once she verified there was no one else in the hall, she reached back to close the window in order to cover her tracks. That done, she focused on her surroundings, trying to think through which direction she should head in. The walls, painted in gaudy shades of gold and crimson, gleamed under the soft glow of candles. Much like in Blacksword Manor that she remembered, the Copperhand residence had decorative pieces covering every available surface, but where those belonging to House Blacksword reflected the history of the entire house, the ones she was now looking at were of a singular focus.

Marble busts of Scion Copperhand himself, detailed tapestries depicting him training for war or pursuing private studies, and even an obnoxiously large portrait of the man at the end of the hall she was walking down, his smug grin captured in painstaking detail.

Jezeri couldn’t help it. Her lip curled in disdain under the Sentinel mask she wore. The things she saw were garish and, worse, self-indulgent. Scion Copperhand had not designed his home to welcome guests or to provide comfort but simply to trumpet his own inflated sense of importance. You’d think he was an heir of the Empire the amount of times he had thrown his face up on the walls.

Banishing the scion’s questionable taste in decorations aside, Jezeri moved quickly but cautiously, her steps as silent as she could keep them as she navigated the halls. She softly opened each door she passed to check if it was the scion’s office. If there was evidence of his involvement in the assassination attempt on Klarion, it would be there.

She ghosted down another hallway, pushing her skill in stealth to the limit, her sharp eyes also scanning for servants. Given how early in the year it was, and that this was only a residence of a first-year, she did not think there would be anyone else in the house at this time of night but the scion and his bodyguard, but she had been surprised before. Thankfully, she noticed no one, so she was able to make good time.

The end of the hall opened into a lavish sitting room filled with even more gaudy decorations — velvet drapes, jeweled vases, and another portrait of Scion Copperhand, this time dressed in the armor of a Legion captain. As if he had ever seen battle. Jezeri suppressed a scoff, thinking about how the arrogant scion probably counted a military parade as combat experience.

Turning her attention away from the painting, she spotted a door flanked by ornate columns. It had a solid, authoritative look that suggested it led to an office or study. Hopefully, this was the room she was looking for.

She approached the door cautiously, scanning for signs of magical or mundane traps. Once again, it was not something she expected to find, but it was better to be too cautious than not cautious enough. 

Her fingers traced the edges of the doorframe, feeling for hidden runes or pressure plates. Nothing. She crouched low, checking the floor for any sign of subtle enchantments. Still nothing.

Satisfied with her examination, the star elf gripped the handle and slowly eased the door open. It didn’t creak, which she appreciated. She slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her.

The room was spacious but cluttered, with shelves lining the walls, crammed high with ledgers, scrolls, and books. A large desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with papers, writing implements, and even a gaudy quill set adorned with gold filigree. The sheen of it indicated either the scion cleaned it after each use or, more lightly, had it displayed as another decoration. She had guessed right. This was the scion’s office.

Jezeri’s eyes swept the room, cataloging every detail. The scent of aged parchment mingled with the faint tang of ink. A single lantern glowed on the desk, casting shadows across the walls. The scion must have forgotten to take it with him when he had turned in for the night, as there was no area of the room for him to hide in if he were still present.

Much like the window she had picked earlier, Jezeri hadn’t done something like this in a while, but she remembered the best approaches to finding information based on what Mistress Blacksword had taught her. As she moved swiftly over to the desk, she briefly thought how it was strange to think about her previous Mistress without any of the old emotions she had come to expect. Perhaps she had started to move on. Or perhaps she had simply moved her attention onto the current scion of House Blacksword.

Setting her musing aside, Jezeri methodically worked her way over the scattered piles of papers and documents cluttering the desk. Scrolls, parchments, and a single ledger detailing financial dealings from before his attendance to the Imperial Academy sat in disorganized chaos on over a third of the desk itself. She skimmed over lines of text, searching for anything that could link Scion Copperhand to the assassination attempt on Klarion. It was slow, meticulous work, but Jezeri thrived on precision. Years as a Sentinel had honed her instincts, even if they hadn’t given her greater practice with the skills she had picked up while a servant of House Blacksword. Her touch was gentle, careful not to leave traces of disturbance, and she made sure to return everything to exactly where she had found it.

No luck on the top of the desk, so she reached down and gently pulled open the first drawer. Inside was a neat stack of correspondence — letters from minor nobles seeking the favor of House Copperhand, additional mundane financial records, and a few invitations to social events when the scion left the campus for the summer break. Nothing incriminating.

The second drawer yielded much the same.

Jezeri’s patience remained steady. This was a game of persistence, and she was well-versed in that. Though she did wish she had some of those spells that true Imperial spies had at their beck and call. The class required to use them was rumored to be rare ranked at least, but a girl could dream.

Sliding open the third drawer, she found another collection of letters, these ones tied together with twine. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized the crest of House Brightcoin on several of them. Sliding the topmost letter free, she opened it up and scanned through its contents. The language was flowery and indirect, but the intent was clear enough to one who had been taught about such things: veiled discussions of “handling obstacles” and “ensuring favorable outcomes.” Unfortunately, while damning to her, Scion Copperhan’s correspondence with House Brightcoin wasn’t specific enough to tie him directly to the Klarion’s near-assassination.

Jezeri cursed under her breath and continued searching. Her fingers brushed against a faint ridge at the bottom of the drawer, immediately drawing her full attention. There you are.

She pressed down firmly, and a previously hidden compartment slid open. Inside was a single parchment, the ink still fresh. Jezeri’s fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the parchment closer to read. She scanned the document, all her focus turned to the words, and a cold fury gripped her chest. 

The list contained on the parchment was simple but damning: neat rows of names, each scion's house carefully noted beside them alongside a note that they were willing to act to see the removal of the Blacksword scion by any means necessary. Over two dozen houses were represented, from the illustrious Archducal House Brightcoin at the top to the lowly Baronet House Ironveil. The implication was clear—these scions had indicated their cooperation in a coordinated effort to kill Klarion Blacksword. 

There was no signature, but the handwriting was Copperhand’s—she recognized it from other documents scattered across the desk. Jezeri's lips curled into a grim smile. Now she had her proof. 

She slipped the parchment into her armor, her mind already turning to the best route to get to Blacksword Manor quickly. As she turned to leave the office, a faint noise reached her ears—the soft shuffle of footsteps outside the office door. Her muscles tensed, instincts honed by years of training kicking in.

The handle began to turn.

Eyes on the door, she reacted too slowly when a flicker of movement in the shadows caught her attention.

Something brushed her side, and then a sudden crackle of energy hummed through the air, followed by a searing jolt that tore through her body. Jezeri convulsed, muscles betraying her as she crashed to the floor, her stun rod’s electric pulse knocking the breath from her lungs. Her vision blurred, and white-hot pain radiated through her limbs.

Cursing herself inwardly, Jezeri struggled to move, but her body refused to obey. She hadn’t even sensed the arrival of anyone else in the room.

Boots thumped across the carpeted floor, and a figure loomed over her—a young noble with a grim expression, holding the stun rod she had foolishly let him lift from her side. She recognized him. It was Scion Hector Draven, one of Copperhand’s sycophantic lackeys, though he was clearly unhappy with what he had just done.

More footsteps echoed through the room as Scion Copperhand and several other scions entered, their grating laughter at seeing Jezeri crumpled on the floor filling the office.

Chadwick stared down at Jezeri, his lips curled in a self-satisfied sneer. “Good work, Hector. Looks like we’ve caught ourselves a pretty rat.”

Jezeri ground her teeth, fury simmering beneath her pain.

Chadwick crouched down beside her, his breath foul as he spoke directly into her ear. “You’ve been a very naughty Sentinel, sneaking into my private office like this. I could report you, you know. Turn you over to your own kind for punishment.”

Jezeri glared up at him, struggling to get her muscles under control, and refused to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“But…” Chadwick’s voice turned oily, “I’ve been hearing interesting things from my friends. They say a certain Sentinel has been seen following the Blacksword from a distance for almost a week now.” His grin widened. “A Sentinel that bears a striking resemblance to you.”

He stood, pacing dramatically as several of the other scions snickered, though Jezeri was aware enough to note Hector was not among them. “That little bastard doesn’t belong at this Imperial Academy. He’s not a proper noble — too soft, too clueless, and from a House that is dying. If he had any sense, he would return that bunnykin to me and leave before someone kills him.”

He walked over to Hector and pulled the Sentinel’s stun rod from his grip. Striding over, the scion leaned casually against the edge of his opulent desk, a cruel smile now on his face as he twirled the stun rod in his hand. 

Her side was still numb from the impact of the stun rod, though she forced herself to sit upright, glaring at from where she had proped herself up against the wall. She nearly froze when the fool inadvertently turned off the stun function of the rod with his twirling of the weapon in his hand.

“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Chadwick said mockingly, now tapping the length of the rod against his palm. "I'll admit I expected… more from a Sentinel. Perhaps a lecture about the rules of the Academy? You lot usually stick to your lofty principles, but I wonder how much of that remains when things get... painful."

Jezeri said nothing, her mask-like expression more unyielding than ever despite the bruises already forming beneath her armor. She’d been trained to endure much worse than the posturing of some pompous scion with an inflated ego and violent tendencies. She focused on pushing the numbness away. All of her speed and strength was going to be needed to escape.

"Nothing to say?" Chadwick's eyes narrowed. "Fine. Let's talk about your little friend, then—the Blacksword mongrel. How exactly did he survive the Dungeon? That was supposed to be an easy fix to a stubborn problem, and yet here he is, still breathing." He sneered. "What did you do? Teach him some Sentinel tricks? Or maybe the Academy’s rules aren't so ironclad after all?"

Jezeri's silence remained resolute, her gaze unwavering. She knew better than to rise to his bait. Any slip could give him leverage, and Scion Copperhand was the type to pounce on weakness like a rabid wolf. Instead, she focused on recovering control of her muscles as quickly as she could.

Hector, now standing uneasily near the door, shifted uncomfortably. "Chadwick, this is going too far," he said, his voice strained. “Blood and ash, she's a Sentinel. We shouldn't even be doing this. You don't mess with the Sentinels."

Chadwick shot him a withering glare. "Grow a spine, Hector. She's not a Sentinel anymore—not really. She's just a trespasser now, caught red-handed. That makes her fair game."

Hector's lips thinned into a tight line. "This is wrong, and you know it. Just turn her over to the Sentinels. You need to let this go.”

"Let it go?" Chadwick echoed, laughing bitterly. "You're too soft. That attitude is why you'll never rise beyond a mere footnote in Imperial history, if that.”

"I'm not soft," Hector retorted, his fists clenched. "But I'm not a sadist either. I won't be part of this."

Jezeri watched as Hector turned toward the door, his steps firm despite the tension thickening the room. Chadwick made no move to stop him, waving dismissively as though Hector were an insignificant nuisance.

"Run along, Hector," Chadwick sneered, calling after the other scion. "Leave the real work to those of us with ambition. Don’t worry, our arrangement will still be honored.”

Hector did not respond, but he walked a bit more stiffly. The other scions made no move to stop Hector as he exited the office. Jezeri made a note that at least Hector knew when a line had been crossed. That being said, despite the pain, she was curious about the arrangement that had been mentioned.

As the door clicked shut behind Hector, Chadwick's expression darkened.  "Now then," he hissed, turning back to face her, "you're going to tell me everything you know about Klarion Blacksword—or I'm going to enjoy breaking you piece by piece."

Jezeri’s lips curled into a faint, defiant smile. The numbness had almost faded completely. “You don’t scare me, Scion Copperhand," she said quietly, her voice like steel. “I won’t say a word.”

“Fine,” he spat. He leaned closer, his voice dripping with sadistic pleasure. “I suppose I’ll just have to enjoy hitting you instead.”

Jezeri’s jaw clenched, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of begging or pleading. Pain was an old companion, one she had endured and survived countless times before. If Chadwick thought he could break her, he was sorely mistaken. She would just bind her time and wait for an opening to escape.

The first blow landed against her ribs, sending a shockwave of agony through her torso. She gritted her teeth, suppressing a cry. The second blow struck her hip, then another across her back. Each strike was precise, fueled by Chadwick’s twisted delight. Distantly, she noted the jeering of the others in the room and several calls to break her Sentinel mask with the stun rod. 

The thirteenth strike made her legs buckle. By the fifteenth, she was sprawled on the floor, breath ragged. She coughed, and she tasted blood. That was not good. Her limbs trembled, muscles aching from the abuse, but still, she refused to surrender.

Chadwick stood over her, laughing breathlessly. "Still conscious? Impressive. But not for long." He raised the stun rod once more, frustration darkening his expression when its disabling energy refused to spark yet again. "Useless thing. How does this damn rod even—"

Jezeri’s fingers twitched, adrenaline igniting one last reserve of strength. With a sudden burst of motion, she shot her arm forward, seizing the stun rod from his grip. The movement made pain blossom anew, but she welcomed it—it reminded her she was still alive and could still escape.

“Let me show you,” she rasped, voice hoarse but defiant.

Chadwick’s eyes widened in shock as she pressed the concealed switch along the rod’s grip, activating the stun function with a crackling surge of energy that he had accidently turned off earlier. Before he could take more than a half-step backward away from the Sentinel, the stun rod arced through the air, crackling blue as she slammed it into Chadwick's side with all the force she could muster. His body convulsed violently, and he collapsed to the floor in a spasming heap.

The scions near the door froze for a heartbeat, disbelief plastered across their faces. Jezeri didn't wait for them to recover. She called on a Sentinel ability buried deep in her training—a desperate maneuver called Guardian Dash.

Her body blurred with sudden, explosive speed as she barreled toward the cluster of scions blocking the doorway. Two were practically thrown into the walls as she came rushing through. One attempted to swing a weapon at her as she passed, but she was already beyond his reach, her momentum unstoppable. The door loomed ahead, closer, each step driven by sheer willpower.

Pain screamed through every nerve, but Jezeri clung to one clear image—the window she had entered through. The edges of her vision darkened as her injuries demanded surrender. Her thoughts blurred, but that single image remained bright and steady, guiding her toward freedom.