B3 Chapter 417: Argent Clash, Finale

The wind carried a heavy note of finality as it cut across the ruined scars of their battleground. Surrounded by craters, shattered trees, and blackened, smoking grass, Kaius looked down at the feeble remnant of a man beneath him.

The old criminal still breathed, if weakly. He looked pathetic with his limbs missing and his armour torn and shattered. They had crushed him and his team.

Their interrogation — if it could be called such a thing, with Old Yon’s cooperation — had lasted for the better part of an hour, focused on Morton, his role and superiors, and the general structure of the Onyx. Kaius was astounded at how much they’d learned.

At how bitter and spiteful Old Yon had to be to offer the information so freely, knowing that it wouldn’t stop them from killing him. Truly, his actions were a testament to the cruelty held in his heart.

He knew he was done, but the criminal refused to go alone.

The largest surprise had been that there was a semi-centralised structure to the temple, which went against what Kaius had thought: that they were nothing more than a loose network of individual agents and cells ordered into a rough hierarchy.

No, there were those with the authority to give orders and call shots — Fangs, Old Yon called them.

There was more above them; the old man had been sure of it. Kaius remained suspicious of that — with the power these supposed Fangs had, he would need to find out for himself.

Regardless, the Fangs kept in contact, met regularly, and had physical temples scattered across the land. Unfortunately, for all Old Yon’s eagerness to sell out Morton and the Fang above him, Wilting Rose, he did not know which temple the Fang was attached to.

Hells, he barely even knew they existed. The best he’d been able to tell them was that he knew one was somewhere in Wight’s End. There was one problem: according to Yon, you needed more than riches and influence to become a Fang. You needed more than being Gold.

Every Fang that Yon had heard of were Platinum and Mithril, tier threes to the last.

Hence Kaius’s struggle to believe the Onyx had people stronger than even that.

It was a frustrating revelation — learning much, but so little in the same breath. When Old Yon had mentioned the man with the scar, Kaius had hoped it would be a simple thing. From the simple fact that he escaped, he knew that the direct strength of the tracker would pale before his own current might. He hoped that with a name and location he could simply hunt him down.

But for the man to be a dog of a tier three? That required delicacy, especially for one that was part of an organised network of similar strength. Especially if Old Yon was right and there were further powers beyond even the Fangs.

There was no easy route — they still had a search on their hands. Another lead pulling them in the direction of Wight’s End. Unfortunately, there was no guarantee that Morton and Wilting Rose themselves would be there, nor did it seem that Old Yon knew anything about Unterstern.

It seemed that the dukedom city of Baanswell would still be their goal in the immediate term. There lay the Grand Library of Anthrast, where one of Ianmus’ old academic contacts worked as an archivist. There, he might be able to learn more about his family — and, maybe, find out more about the Onyx Temple, and their Fangs buried in the records. The library was supposed to have some of the oldest writings on the continent, rivaling the archives in the elven conclaves; if there was anywhere that had the information they needed, it would be Baanswell.

Breathing deep, Kaius did his best to calm the frustration within him.

He knew more than he had only a few hours ago. He had names. That was a big step — something he could work with. More than that, they had eviscerated the threat against them in the region; taken down ten silver threats that had no doubt slain hundreds, if not thousands, in their decades of activity. The frontier was a safer place for their deeds today, and he knew he should take pride in that.

He struggled to.

With the heat of battle gone, all that was left were the dead bodies of men, the iron tang of blood, and a crippled old man on the verge of death.

Kaius scowled. There was no doubt in his mind that Old Yon was holding more back — names and locations of Onyx operatives, criminals that deserved death, and perhaps even more hints that he wasn’t sharing about Morton and Wilting Rose’s location.

It was meaningless to stew on it. The last hour had made it clear that they would only get what Old Yon was willing to give.

It galled him to admit, but the elderly criminal was right. He didn’t have the stomach for torture.

None of them did. He could feel it in the air: the exhaustion; the fatigue of watching someone, no matter how vile, writhe painfully in the dirt.

Nor would they be willing to turn the man over to the care of somebody who did have the stones for it. The risk was too great, and Kaius had never been one to leave an unashamedly bared knife pointed at his back.

One thing was certain: Old Yon died hours ago. The only question that remained was how much information they could get from a still-breathing corpse.

With what he had already told them, Kaius had precious little else he wanted from the man — save one thing.

“Cronte and Torrin,” Kaius started, crouching low to look Old Yon in his bloodshot brown eyes. They were wide but firm despite the encroaching doom.

“They fled. We saw them. Why? Some plot of yours? Is that perhaps why you’ve been so talkative — buying time, hoping they return with another force? We’ll crush them too, you know.”

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It had been niggling at him their entire conversation, but even if it had been a trap, the information that the crime lord had offered was too tempting a prize to ignore. That, and he hadn’t lied. Whatever those two were doing, he was confident they could deal with it.

Old Yon cackled suddenly, a wheezing, wet sound that cut through the tense silence.

The criminal’s sudden mirth made Porkchop growl. He punched his claws into the dirt next to the old man’s head. “Answer him.”

Old Yon only grinned, the dried blood on his cheeks cracking slightly. “Calm yourself. There is no plot, those two cowards simply fled as their kind is wont to do. They must have noticed that you’d reached the second tier immediately, but rather than say anything, they only waited until it was too late for me to stop them.”

Kaius grunted. It made a strange sort of sense. As soon as they had engaged, it would have been suicide for Old Yon or the rest of his men to try to hamper the two deserters. Plus, even though he and Kenva had seen their flight immediately, they’d been far more focused on the other eight active combatants to do anything themselves. As Cronte and Torrin might have likely surmised, they were far more interested in the man who now lay at their feet.

“So there is no trap?” he asked.

“No trap,” Old Yon confirmed. “Just a pair of cowards.”

Porkchop hissed, “They must have worked for you for a while. Do you think they’re a threat to us? I think they’ll try again — sell us out.”

Old Yon laughed again. “A threat? No, not with the rate that you’re growing stronger. Sell you out, though? Almost certainly — as soon as it proves more valuable than the risk. I would do so in a heartbeat.”