Double-Blind: A Modern LITRPG

Chapter 298

In a way, it was a relief to see cracks in Julian's visage. The way his fingers drummed nervously against his leg. The little stress lines around his mouth that betrayed worry, despite considerable effort to stay aloof. Beyond conveying that he wasn't exactly thrilled to be talking to me like this, it was more evidence to the fact he was exactly what he presented himself as.

What was less of a relief was that I'd so recently spoken to him without the mask. The mask would alter the sound and pitch of my voice, but Myrddin and Matt had similar speaking patterns, a precedent I'd established before realizing how many problems that was going to cause.

Julian was perceptive. I needed to amplify the differences that did exist, or the connection would be plain as day.

Leaning into that, I tried to push past him. "Out of the way, dickhead."

Instead of trying to stop me, Julian reached out a hand. "We've never met. I'm Julian. Prince of the Parcae Court."

"And I'm in a hurry."

"Better get to the point then." His voice was firm but calm. "There's a kid outside slowly choking to death. Me and some others have been trying to cut him down, but it's hard to get leverage on a ladder and the rope is shockingly resilient."

"Didn't you get the memo? The court wants nothing to do with me, they made it perfectly clear. Didn't want to add more shady associations to the already sketchy origin when they're about to make a public debut." I hit him with the facts, letting them speak for themselves. "New boss, same as the old boss."

Again, the rogue was in no real danger. Audrey would send a warning if he was. I'd planned to leave him hanging there like a living gibbet until my business was concluded, then dismiss the summon and wash my hands of it.

If nothing else, the accusation that the court seemed more worried about their public appearance seemed to get under his skin. "Some members felt that way, yes. Not all." His eyes slid to the side. "And I also get why you're being such a hardass." Julian breathed out slowly, cocking his head. "It's been hunting season around here lately, I get it."

I leaned forward and growled. "Move."

"In a minute." He stared me down. "The wild animal schtick might be keeping you alive, but beyond that it's not doing you any favors. Think about appearances. A lot of people who got what's coming to them aren't copping to their part in it. Some, even a few with considerable pull, are claiming you attacked them unprovoked. Add in the fact that the Order's rules don't seem to apply to you, and one of these days you'll catch more trouble than you can handle."

"I'm shaking."

trumpeted a warning as Julian's shoulder and arm twitched.

A sucker punch? Really?

The exchange was lightning fast. I shifted slightly, dodging the would-be attack before realizing it wasn't there at all. He'd never moved. But both and had triggered.

I activated , sudden resistance halting the typically smooth-as-glass movement—Despite my speed, he'd caught my arm, stopping me from withdrawing a crossbow from my inventory. This time, he actually moved, reaching back towards his inventory.

Returning in kind, I lashed out and kicked it away, following up with a flurry of blows aimed at his unarmored face and neck, each deflected at the last second, one after another.

The response was pure calculated defense, which with experience, meant a serious attack was coming. I disengaged and instinctively lowered my center of gravity, ready to absorb or avoid. Only to realize Julian was doing the same.

Kai's shrill voice broke the standoff as he shouted from behind the counter he was half-cowering behind. "No fighting in the smithery!"

"Sorry ma'am." Julian said, suddenly chagrinned.

"I'm a boy!" Kai snapped at Julian, irate.

"He started it," I said begrudgingly.

"Did I?" Julian asked, the slightest hint of a smirk plying at his mouth.

"Sure felt that way." I watched him for any indication of deception and found none. Annoyed and unsure what exactly happened, but not wanting to escalate, I dulled Myrddin's edge. "Look, let's be real. I don't care what happens to the kid. What I care about is the impression it gives if I go out there post scuffle and let him down. It'll look like I'm running away with my tail between my legs."

Julian absorbed that, nodding slowly. "People like me around here. They don't always listen, but sometimes they do. Play ball and I can maybe quench the heat a little. Get them to refocus elsewhere. And if they don't listen, and I catch wind of some kind of bad coming your way, I'll warn you. Plus, it'll give the impression you're capable of listening to reason if you toe the line a bit. Humanize you."

"Not sure that helps me."

"At the very least, it makes you look less like an existential threat that needs to be put down," Julian pointed out.

It was strange, despite being a terrible liar, he was a great negotiator. Before Julian, I'd argue that was impossible. Negotiating always required some level of deceit. Yet along the same lines of giving an ancient eldritch hive-mind enough doubt that it actually hesitated, he'd picked up quickly that I was more concerned with appearances than actually being an asshole, and immediately switched tact, absorbing that knowledge into his strategy. He was also seemingly immune to being shrugged off, a strategy I'd spent most of my life perfecting.

And I had to admit, he wasn't wrong. The mercy of my previous course of action—letting the kid hang as a cartel-style warning until I left and releasing him—would be lost on most people. But not everyone. There were too many witnesses for them all to be stupid. At least a few of them would connect the dots.

As much as I hated it, this played better.

"Do you care if I publicly threaten you?" I checked.

"Not at all."

"Fine."

/////

That didn't mean I was going to be nice about it.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

There was a thud and a whimpered cry as the rogue dropped a solid six feet and hit the ground on paralyzed legs, immediately toppling. Julian, as expected, was there to catch him, protecting his head from a potential concussion. Even as the prince winced from the harsh landing, he offered a smile. "Thanks for the assist."

A current of whispers went through the gathered crowd. I forced myself not to look at them, focusing on Julian instead. I raised my voice slightly, making sure the onlookers could hear. "Just keep your end of the bargain. If you don't, it'll be you dangling next."

To his credit, he paled a bit and inclined his head. "Message received."

I was mostly ignored as several people pushed by to help Julian with the downed rogue. He'd get a boost in popularity from this, which was fine, as it also sent the message that Myrddin could be reasoned with.

I took one last look at Julian, happily chatting away with several Users helping him carry the petrified rogue and disappeared into the crowd, ignoring a sense of growing unease as I approached my next destination. Vernon's lair.

Applying as much active concentration as possible, I followed the back wall, searching for the telltale indentations and outlines of the hidden door.

"Dark wizard!" A high-pitched voice chittered, rousing me from my search. A small capuchin that I was almost certain hadn't been there before rested in a sitting crouch, reaching back to pluck something out of the dark tuft of hair that crowned its head, stuffing whatever it was into its mouth and biting down with a crunch. "It is the dark wizard, yes?" He asked, suddenly unsure.

"It's me. Afternoon Jeeves." I bent down and studied him. "Coat's looking better."

Jeeves was one of Vernon's more successful experiments. The mind of a dying kobold, transplanted into the damaged corpse of a monkey. Part of what made him a success, in my eyes, at least, was that while the monkey was technically undead, he seemed to be growing more lively over time, rather than falling apart like the norm. His previously patchy, mussed fur had grown longer from the last time I'd seen him, covering much of the scar tissue of pre-death injuries.

"Groomed it myself," he proclaimed proudly, then glanced away distractedly, listening to something I couldn't hear. "Master Vernon will see you now."

"Thanks Jeeves." I patted the monkey on the head, then left through the now visible double-doors.

When I'd first met Kinsley's father, his lair had been near-identical to a hospital wing, complete with sterile tile, bright fluorescent lights, and surprisingly modern medical equipment. Pretty much the opposite of what I'd expected to find, but according to Vernon, a necromancer's lair was a reflection of who they were.

It hadn't changed much since then, but the key differences were hard to ignore.

Large bubbling suspension tubes lined one side of the room, the liquid that suspended various corpses and writhing forms an odd light blue. Some of the creatures were intubated, some simply floated, perfectly suspended in the center.

The other side of the lair was lined with reinforced wall and heavy-duty containment doors, connected by alternating panes of security glass.

Vernon rushed past me in a surgeon's smock, sleeves and neoprene gloves soaked with blood held upwards and away from him, gaze hard and assiduous. "Where the hell were you? Been sending messages for days."

"Busy," I answered, struggling internally with whether it was worth asking what left him in that state or simply ignore it. "But I'm here now. What's the problem?"

Vernon scoffed. There was a sudden spray of water on metal and he aggressively scrubbed his hands beneath a downpour of water from an industrial sink. "Who said there's a problem? If anything, this should be a pleasant surprise."

"So pleasant you're covered in more blood than Carrie's prom?"

"Unrelated," Vernon stated begrudgingly. When I didn't respond, he rolled his eyes. "An abomination couldn't assimilate the organs I chose. Of course if a necromancer was allowed to properly anesthetize subjects and still use their fucking abilities, it wouldn't have even been a problem, but I can't, and it was."

I steered the conversation away from whatever failure had frustrated him. "Jeeves is still holding up well. Great communication, strong sense of self. Seems to be regenerating rather than rotting, and hasn't dropped any limbs."

"It's all him, really." Vernon's edginess subsided somewhat. "Something of a blessing the original kobold had an intelligent, flexible mind long before he endured the misfortune of ending up on my table." He smiled for a moment as he removed his gloves, until he sniffed at his hands and grimaced, pumped out more soap and thrusting them back under the downpour of water. "It's like he intrinsically understands that while my methods and abilities are... unpleasant, I'm trying to extend his life. Most of them don't. Uh." He pinched the bridge of his nose with wet fingers, grimacing again at the smell. "What were we talking about?"

"When was the last time you slept?" I asked, fully aware of the hypocrisy.

Not hearing me at all, Vernon snapped his fingers. "Right, the simulacrum." He seemed to retreat from the excitement, fixing me with a cool stare. "We're close to our original goal. Very close. It's imminent."

"How imminent?" I asked cautiously.

"Unless my most recent acquisition was a red herring—and that's never happened up to this point—it should be next level. I'm already more than halfway there." Vernon said, with the confidence and detachment of a professional. He held onto that detachment as he continued. "Forgive me. There's more I'd like to show you. Real, tangible progress. But given that our goal is in sight and our alliance is coming to an end taking my leverage with it, I'd like to speak to her."

"Kinsley?" I stalled, knowing the answer was obvious.

"Yes."

I chewed my lip. "The original condition of telling you she was alive, was that you'd wait until after you were done here to get in contact."

"I want to speak to my daughter, god dammit!" Vernon roared, and his lair came alive. The monstrous abominations in the suspension tanks squirmed violently, throwing up a storm of bubbles that obscured their movements. Several inhuman silhouettes pressed up against the frosted security glass on the other side, constant low-pitched moans becoming more audible. The overhead lights dimmed as a dark wreath of shadows descended from the corners of the ceiling down the walls and approached me, tendrils reaching.

fired reflexively, and I battled through a barrier of sky-high intellect to send Vernon waves of calm, images of him reunited with Kinsley tagged with patience and serenity. After a moment, the creatures in the tanks stopped writhing, and the silhouettes pressing against the security glass wandered away. Vernon buried his face in a hand. "I'm sorry. It feels like I've been strung along for ages. But that isn't your fault. You've been a man of your word so far. Hell, you're the only reason I even know she's alive. I just... really need to talk to her."

"I'm on your side, Vernon." I hugged him. It didn't come naturally. If anything, it was stilted and awkward. But it's what Kinsley would have wanted me to do, and I did. "With the way things stand now, arranging that would be difficult. I'm not saying I couldn't make it happen, if it's pressing." I released him. "Is it pressing?"

"No." Vernon took a step back and wiped his eyes. "There's just some things I need to say to her. Things she really needs to hear. But the timing doesn't really matter, so long as she hears them."

I heard him. Both what he was saying out loud, and the quiet part. Realistically, we could have arranged a meeting weeks ago. Listed it as a requirement of the alliance, but in the end, Kinsley refused. Because, as this most recent outburst had shown, while Vernon had gotten far more adept at appearing stable, he really wasn't. When this first started, he'd awakened, looked over the grim macabre nature of the necromancer tree, and swore never to touch it. The only reason he'd finally stooped to it was that the Order allowed him to believe that his daughter was dead and dangled the concept of true resurrection in front of him like a twisted carrot.

Eventually, I found him on the other side of a crossbow, but by then, it was too late. He'd crossed the Rubicon. Killed dozens with the order's help, harvested their cores, all with the intention of reaching the height of a necromancer's power to bring back a daughter that was still alive.

Mostly innocents.

The abject cruelty of the manipulation was part of a very long list of reasons I could never see myself working with, or for that matter, sharing a world with Aaron long term.

Sooner or later, however the chips fell, Aaron had to go.

The sterling result of that cruelty was the same reason Kinsley wanted to delay speaking to Vernon until we were in a controlled situation and could ensure his safety. Because she was certain his real intentions had nothing to do with reuniting or reconnecting with her.

More accurately, he wanted to say goodbye.

"Let's—" He sniffed. "Let's put a pin in that, and I'll show you what I've got going."

Wordlessly, a hand on his back for support, I followed him into what appeared to be an operating room.

One look at the pale, feminine face of the person on the table ripped my breath away.

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