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As if I woul—!

Excuse me?

Ghk—rgggh—

Eugh...

An ashen lance bursts forth from his body.

The man facing him thrusts his hands out, an attempt to allay the fear of his chest being run through.

His hands, the instant they touch that deep impurity, are warped and withered.

*hiss*...

From afar comes a wracked breath, spine-chilling.

It's me. 'Castshire's flowers bloom for spring.'

Close all comms. If I haven't initiated contact again in fifteen minutes, abandon this town immediately.

...May I have the strength not to drown in the flowers' scent.

In the height of midsummer, he exhales frigid mist.

He cannot cower. He cannot shrink. He must establish communications with the opposite side, in Victoria's name.

Where is it?

*hiss*... *huff*...

11, 29, 1. (Code word).

He must not look back. They must not catch sight of each other. He only hopes his adversary is fully aware to abide by the rules of this little game.

He can tether a beast, but not a Poltergeist.

Snowflakes whirls about, jet black sinking into the soil of Victoria.

A long, slender shadow stretches out from underfoot. He knows. It's right behind him.

How close? His heart pounds like thunder. Black breaths clamor at his back. All around him, dead silence.

*hiss*...

(Gaulish) I need an explanation.

93. (Code word).

(Gaulish) This operation has not received Royal assent. We will not pardon any breach of authority.

(Gaulish) The treasonists have all been executed. Over.

(Gaulish) Understood. We've never met before.

*huff*...

...He's gone.

Sir Trilby Asher, our surveillance picked up—

Your surveillance picked up <i>nothing.</i>

The fact he could enter and leave us alive, <i>that</i> declares where Victoria and Ursus stand. All this needs to be reported directly to the Duke.

Wesley Roett was cornered and took his own life. The mission is over.

Seems to me like the Armies and the Emperor aren't on the same page.

But any action we take could succeed in bringing about their conciliation.

They haven't settled on their plans yet, but their Empire... their fear, that will make their decision for them.

Tell me—has my work fallen among the firewood too? Are all Sarkaz's lives, save for being lit aflame, devoid of any meaning?

Then why do I still insist on recording? Why do I still insist on writing?

Because while my history of war recounts our destruction time and time again...

It is my wish to leave the song of every soldier, after the fighting is over, as they turn their gazes to yonder Kazdel.

To our seven. Three cars, fifteen-plus riders. They've been following us forever, but... they're staying wary.

Following, this entire time. Just following.

Why not tell W to hang a U-turn? Maybe they'll be happy to say hi. You could get some free Londinium souvenirs.

Souvenirs? Inside that giant ball of Arts they're hand-shaping?

I'm treasuring the last few close shaves just fine, thanks.

The way these mercs are working doesn't add up. Especially the way they're hunting us. No, not hunting... they're driving us off.

They want us away from Londinium.

Aww, our high-'n'-mighty General Manfred's sparing your life, isn't that sweet of him. You sure you two didn't swear a blood oath?

Wanna take his kind advice, scoot back to Kazdel and teach some slum kiddos how to read?

My point is, who let you out of the Military Commission's dungeon? You were going walkies outside of Londinium's walls by the time I picked you up.

My cell was left unguarded for a while. I thought it was a trap at first, but now I think I'm in something worse.

Sure, he can be roundabout with me, hinting for me to go resolve some pain in the ass affair... but I think I'd prefer him just killing me, then. That would've been easier.

Not to mention, we still aren't sure what 'pain in the ass' we're even solving.

Then don't bother with it.

W, can you speed up a little? It's time we said goodbye to this clingy convoy of send-offs.

Yeah, my second-hander here's not gonna stand up to much abuse. Good news, though—

We just hit a minefield.

Laid half an hour earlier by yours personally.

Now, butts in seats.

This looks to me like you're just fording Bomb River.

Haha! I left them the bigger share, I promise.

Stop the car once we circle that forest ahead. From there, we'll get off and proceed on foot. A vehicle's too large of a target, and they'd catch up sooner or later anyway.

Here's hoping you DO remember where you buried every mine, W.

Well, hooray for us. We're all in one piece.

How's that? I did remember.

Well, a couple went off, but... uhh, you know, what was the term? 'Tectonic movement' did it.

They haven't caught up. I think we've successfully thrown them off.

We need more information. Ideally, we rendezvous with Rhodes Island ASAP. Ascalon and the Doctor are on Windermere's warship right now.

There's a few things I'm... very uneasy about.

What did you see?

It's just intuition. The less I see any problem, the more uneasy I am.

You guys met this 'Doctor'. And now they're Rhodes Island's Doctor.

...I can't give you the full verdict yet, but there's no doubt that in a sense, the Doctor has 'weakened'.

And I don't mean that in any negative way. But maybe it's not a 'weak Doctor' we need so much right now.

Hmph. You sure? Who knows if some Rhodes op will remember some random thing that happened in Chernobog, and just like that, I get a knife planted in my back?

Are you really as skeptical as you'd like to tell us, W?

Hard to say. There's an old hag kind of keeping me at arm's length from their beloved 'Doctor'.

W.

You've spent plenty of time walking this battlefield. Any ideas?

Haha... I've just been prodded this way and that like some bug. Can't even organize a sensible military op, so all I do is sit in my front row seat and spectate the most magical city siege modern society has to offer...

...Ha. Hmph.

Chaos.

Sometimes I even have to wonder, at this point, is anyone actually conducting this battle?

The Royal Court's legions couldn't work together to save their lives. And who gives a shit about all the smallfry corps scuttling in from the four corners to try and live their dreams of Victorian vengeance?

But the ultimate mastermind here is Theresis. So this chaos has to have been planned down to the last detail.

He wasn't juggling some strategic lollapalooza. He just... set the stage.

—And now he's waiting.

As for what he's waiting for... I don't want to guess.

We can't just go braindumb and reach out to the Doctor or Dr. Kal'tsit, hoping they'll give us the orders. We suffered enough with Babel.

We need to seize the initiative. There's a... source of info that might be more open to us than ever, in our current position.

What position? The pathetic little creepy-crawlies?

Essentially. Sarkaz.

Right, and just on the off-chance—

Have either of you heard of... any method to kill a Lich?

The myriad souls lie prostrate.

Howling knocks on the door from beneath, tangible usurps the intangible.

Qui'sartuštaj bears witness.

The Black Crown imprisoned, the offender perpetually innocent.

Because kings are born before immortality.