Chapter 59: Fangs in the Night (1/2)
“This is the Nightblades’ warehouse,” Manling Victor told his master from the back of his flaming horse, as a troop of minions encircled a stone house in broad daylight. “Where they stashed the stuff they smuggled into the country.”
“To think that I spared them the evil of taxes, and they repaid me by killing my food,” Vainqueur complained.
Their wizards and priests finished examining the house from the outside, in case the occupants had set a trap. The dragon smelled the air, the warehouse reeking of spice, grave dirt, and fresh blood; it reminded Vainqueur of a farmer’s slaughterhouse.
Corpseling Jules, as the most experienced necromancer in the country, told the group everything about vampires. “According to Lord Victor, they are alchemical vampires, created through blood elixirs rather than the Red Death plague. Which means that besides keeping their vulnerability to sunlight, they lack most of the standard vampire’s weaknesses, have higher stats, and possess special abilities such as turning into blood.”
“Lavere could walk under the sun, as did the one we fought in the Winter Kingdoms,” Manling Victor said. “We have to assume that they all can resist it.”
“Who?” Vainqueur asked, not remembering the name.
“The Nightblades’ leader.”
Oh. It didn’t matter. The queen of rats would give him no more trouble than any other of her kind. “Do vampires burn?” Vainqueur asked the important question.
“Oh, yes,” Corpseling Jules nodded. “I believe they even have a Fire vulnerability. They take triple damage from it.”
“Then, minion, why did you use so many words to describe a problem, when the solution is so obvious?”
“I am not worried about Your Majesty’s capacity for killing,” Manling Victor said. “We have enough priests to repel them, and I don’t think they’re stupid enough to pick a fight with you around. Unfortunately, they’re probably keeping Charlene as a hostage.”
“Our werewolves could not find her, even with her scent,” Corpseling Jules said. “Which implies magic.”
“No one eats my manling minions,” Vainqueur said. “Except for me, when I need emergency rations.”
“Your Majesty’s concern for my kind is heartwarming as ever,” Manling Victor said with his usual strange tone. “Perhaps he could remove the roof with the grace he is known for?”
Intelligence check…
Successful!
“Minion, there is something very strange about the way you worded your sentence.”
Manling Victor froze in place. “What about it?”
“You said a sentence, but somehow your tone implied that you believed the opposite,” Vainqueur explained. “But it is not a lie, because you are not truly disguising your intent and you would never deceive me. It was as if I were meant to divine the true meaning from your voice alone.”
His minion silently looked at his master, his face hidden behind his new helmet.
“But that cannot be since that would mean you find me clumsy, and you love me. You love me more than anything.”
His chief of staff spoke no answer in return, which made his master worry for him. “Minion?”
“Your Majesty can understand sarcasm now,” Manling Victor finally spoke up, his tone having turned emotionless and distant. “Your Majesty can understand sarcasm.”
“What is sarcasm, some kind of magic?” Vainqueur’s head perked up. “Can I learn it?”
“It’s… it’s a stress relief method manlings use when they feel tense.”
“Saying a statement while implying the opposite makes you happier?” Vainqueur frowned. “Minion, I am very worried about your mental health. You should work more.”
“Thanks, it really helps.”
“You did it again,” Vainqueur said. “Friend Victor, you should not feel tense. I will protect you and recover your outdated breeding partner.”
His minion simply looked away.
Vainqueur ripped the warehouse’s roof with his hand like he did with farmers’ barns when doing groceries. However, this time, he didn’t find any cattle worth eating inside, nor even a foe to kill.
In fact, he found nothing but empty crates. “The vermin have left already!”
The Kobold Rangers broke the door in response, kobolds swarming the warehouse.
“Your Majesty, Lord Victor!” Red Ranger quickly hurried out of the warehouse with a paper in his claws. “I found this in a crate!”
“[Detect Magic Trap],” Corpseling Jules cast on the paper. “It is safe.”
Vainqueur’s Grand Vizier grabbed the scroll and read it. “Great. This is just great.”
“Minion, you should see a healer,” Vainqueur said. “Or breed. Mammals feel happier after breeding, do they not?”
His minion sighed. “Later, Your Majesty. They have Charlene and want to meet me at a location outside of the city’s limits, at night, for an exchange. I can bring two bodyguards.”
“Oh, good,” Vainqueur said. “I and my army makes two.”
“They heavily insisted against Your Majesty coming. If they see you within a mile of the location, they’ll cancel the deal.”
“You said exchange?” Corpseling Jules noted. “Who do they want?”
“What,” Manling Victor replied. “They want Mot’s map.”
“Strange.” The necromancer joined his fingers. “Why not the Bottle? Do they know you sent it back to Barsino?”
“I can only see one reason why they would want the map,” Manling Victor replied without elaborating.
“It does not matter, I will not give the map to the servants of Furibon, who is evil and must be destroyed,” Vainqueur replied. “Like the last name on the list.”
“Your Majesty, Furibon is not behind every plot against you,” Manling Victor said nonsense and doubled down. “In fact, he said he had learned the lesson and let bygones be bygones.”
“And you believed him, minion?” Vainqueur growled, the pain of losing his hoard once still sharp in his heart. “Have you forgotten the atrocities the Goldslayer committed while he roamed the world? Someone willing to cross that line will cross any other, from lie to deceit!”
“Chief, this is obviously a trap!” Red Ranger protested. “They want to isolate His Majesty’s most valuable minion and eat him!”
“My empire shall not give in to the demands of lichlovers and manling cattle thieves!” Vainqueur roared, his minions letting out a war cry in response.
Manling Victor sighed. “I have a plan.”
“And BLEEP!”
His shout of misery echoed through the sand dunes, under the moonless night sky.
“Vic, what’s the matter?” As the highest level priest in the ‘Murmurian Army,’ Victor had selected Allison as his first bodyguard; she had traded her usual clothes for war, a flowery cloak, and a black wood staff. Thankfully, since V&V had steadily pushed further the borders of arable lands into the desert for the past months, her ability to move around had increased as well. “You’ve been cursing for hours.”
“He understands sarcasm now!” Victor snarled angrily from the back of his Nightmare Horse. He carried the rocket launcher in one hand, and the scythe with the other. Allison thought it made him look ridiculous, but he didn’t care. “I need a new stress relief method!”
“You could always murder demons and then cook them,” Allison deadpanned. “It worked wonders for Chocolatine.”
“You mean she was even worse before?!”
“Sir,” Jules, his other bodyguard, cleared his throat. “If you could please remain calm.”
“Yeah, you don’t need to shout, twoleg,” a third voice said.
Victor frowned, narrowing his eyes towards the source of the words.
Namely, the horse he was riding. “You can talk?”
“Uh, yeah, I can,” the horse, apparently a mare according to the voice, replied. “And from what I heard so far, I’m probably smarter than you.”
“Not impressed,” Victor snorted. “My previous mount could eat you.”