71 – Interrogation

Rafael watched Vivisari rip apart a Cataclysm-level threat like it was some insect she found crawling around on the ground.

Nineteen hundred and fifty. He could read the creature’s level; they all could. The Grand System was freely handing out approximations to even those who should have failed a regular [Inspection].

Seeing a person so casually end an extinction-level monster was sobering in its own right, even for a man as aware of what the pinnacles of power looked like as he. The expression on Vivisari’s face, though? The fascination shining in her eyes, the gruesome satisfaction she took in tearing open her opponent?

Despite having total confidence in the moral character of this woman who could erase Meridian with a spell, Rafael felt a shiver go down his spine, and a clenching in his guts. Fear for what Vivisari could be, if she chose to be.

Or, more importantly, if the world shaped her that way.

She had definitely grown stronger in her time away. Much stronger. Could even the Dragon King or other mythical immortals face her, now? Had she somehow reached the very top of that seemingly infinite mountain, like the greatest of Cataclysm Monarchs that had died to her own hand? Or had she gone further? Surpassed the limit he, and all others, thought a summit? It seemed almost obvious that she must have, considering the ease with which she’d bested the [Greater Voidbeast].

In a way, this overwhelming display of power simplified whatever events would follow. At least regarding Vanguard and Vivisari’s return. Because people would not assume the Sorceress for the events transpiring. They would assume a god. That the heavens themselves had descended to aid in this battle of otherworldly origin. Vivisari was a legend, yes, but even she couldn’t rip a Cataclysm in half with such casual disrespect.

The brief excitement touching her face faded into that look of perpetual boredom. She glanced at Rafael, nodded at him, then [Blinked] away.

Rafael stared at the empty spot she’d been occupying, then shook himself and, putting the harrowing display out of mind, focused on his own mission.

He frowned down at one of the wealthiest and most influential humans in the world. A man he had worked with on many occasions. Duke Caldimore had captained the most collectively powerful guild in the Human Kingdoms, and Rafael the Adventurer’s Guild. So of course they had spoken often. He’d always had a mildly positive view of Duke Caldimore, if he set aside the man’s pride. How shameful a lapse of judgment, in retrospect.

Had he recognized latent trauma in the Duke, no doubt borne of those many tragedies he’d faced? Of course. All men had been burned by the Cataclysms and carried scars from those days. Archmage Aeris, with whom Rafael also met on occasion, displayed those concerning indicators far more clearly. Between the two—the Duke and the Archmage—Rafael would honestly have expected the latter to break in this particular way. To turn on humanity, by accident or not, in desperation.

Though was that what had happened? Or was it greed? Ambition? Something else entirely? Rafael was unsure. The Duke’s motives remained unclear. Rafael hoped he had not read the man that poorly. His blindness to this plot had already failed Lady Vivisari. But for him to so fundamentally misunderstand the Duke’s nature would triple his already substantial shame.

Though Duke Caldimore’s views were no doubt misguided, Rafael didn’t believe, even with the man’s folly playing out around them, that his goal had been indiscriminate ruin. That he was some monster like Lucorius, seeking power at the uncaring expense of all others. This man had had a greater purpose in mind, and probably one that could be presented as a net positive to the world.

Likely, it was related to that dagger Vivisari had mentioned. A weapon that had pressed even his Lady. Considering her newfound strength, the magic-negating material must be fearsome beyond imagination.

Simple logic told him that the blade had been forged from the carapace of those creatures below. Perhaps Damon had intended to harvest them and create similar weapons in great numbers? Rafael had to admit, equipping mere foot soldiers with blades that could slice through a Titled-rank monster would do unimaginable good for the world.

But why not take his findings to a qualified council? Instead, he’d gone to Morningstar. Worked in secret. No, his motives had been nefarious or selfish in some way. Rafael needed to accept his failure; the Duke was not the man he had assumed.

The human was stirring awake, Vivisari’s healing spell finally prompting him to consciousness. Winston stepped to the man’s side, rapier sheathed, but hand on the hilt. Rafael would admit that the butler’s presence relaxed him. The Duke was only orichalcum, but the difference between that and Titled meant little to Rafael. He had artifacts, scrolls, and potions to defend himself, but in a struggle of life or death, he would not bet on himself against even a man of Duke Caldimore’s strength with total certainty. Power came foremost from levels, and Rafael had few of those. He had never been an adventurer.

The Duke jerked up, and neither Rafael nor Winston flinched at the abrupt motion. Winston, acting in direct service of his mistress, could challenge nearly all Titled across the mortal lands; Rafael had little to fear.

Besides that there would be little useful to mine from the man. Except where his daughter had gone, and the general shape of his schemes, which might not be much help at all. He doubted Damon knew how to seal the dimensional breach. Only the Fell Apostate would, if even he, and he was either gone or consumed with the ritual.

The man oriented himself to his surroundings, head snapping side to side as he took everything in, eyes slowly gaining lucidity. He looked at them in turn. Rafael. Winston. A glaring red-haired beastkin. Then down at the abyssal pit beneath the magical platform.

At armageddon itself. An endless stream of monsters pouring out and into Meridian’s streets, monsters which couldn’t even be [Inspected] properly, but which the Grand System provided a vague appraisal of nonetheless, each of the beasts ranging from Orichalcum to high–Titled.

‘High-Titled’? A comical understatement, for a few of the monstrosities emerging.

It was a lot for the man to digest, reasonably.

“Rafael…Headmaster…?” the Duke said, slurring his words. “What is…the meaning of this?”

Rafael could forgive the confusion, the automatic response that bordered on nonsensical. The situation was rather extreme, and the Duke had just been the victim of a ritual that had run wild. That he lived at all, without so much as mutating into some cursed, apocalyptic beast, was rather incredible. The heavens had smiled on him; many worse fates could have awaited him.

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for pleasantries, Damon,” Rafael said smoothly. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, your plans, whatever they may have been, have not quite lived up to your expectations. I hold out hope that you are not a total madman, and that before the entire capital is overrun with this insanity you’ve brought to us, you explain what you’ve done, what your plans were, and how we might mitigate this disaster.”

“Isabella,” Saffra demanded. “What did you do to her, you—you bastard?”

Rafael’s attention flicked to the Sorceress’s apprentice. An imperceptible frown tugged on his lips. It was hardly unreasonable that a thirteen-year-old girl would respond in such a way, especially one who was, apparently, friends with the Duke’s daughter herself. But Rafael was trying to navigate this conversation as quickly and efficiently as possible, and the outburst didn’t help.

The Duke’s attention jerked to the girl, and his eyes narrowed, the man’s pride never one to suffer an insult. He took a second to find a response, still struggling to understand everything that was happening, but a sneer pulled onto his face.

“Know your place, commoner brat. I could have you strung up for those words.” He made to rise, but a gloved white hand fell on his shoulder, pushing him down like an anvil. He hit the ground with jarring force.

“I would prefer that you stay as you are, Duke Caldimore,” the ever-polite butler suggested.

“Please let me handle this, young mistress,” Rafael told the girl. “I assure you that I will find out what I can, as quickly as I can.”

Saffra almost flinched at the words, and she pulled back—though kept glaring at the Duke.

The Duke’s attention had slid away from them, despite Winston’s manhandling, which should have prompted outrage. He gazed into the distance. This time to where the world’s most powerful mage—having draped herself in invisibility, appearing simply as an empty spot in the sky—was chaining eighteenth-tier or higher magics faster than Rafael could process, tearing apart high-Titled threats by the dozen and lighting the sky for miles around.

“Nysari,” the Duke murmured, his brow furrowed. He looked at Rafael, Vanguard’s steward. Then at Winston, Vivisari’s personal manservant. The more telling of the two individuals present, certainly. Though Winston had been more active in the years following the Turning, he was a private man, concerned predominantly with his Academy. “Vivisari.”

Rafael snorted. There was hardly a point in denying it. “Indeed. An identity I arranged for my lady’s personal use, with the permission of the Keresi family. I cannot say I am surprised it lasted a mere two days before falling apart. This is unimportant. You are an intelligent man, despite everything, Damon. I assume that you have grasped the implications of your failure. Your only hope for mercy stems from complete cooperation.”

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“Mercy?” Saffra erupted, looking like she’d been slapped. “What mercy?”

A glance at the girl had her going quiet again, but this time she met his gaze angrily, fists clenched to her side.

Damon frowned at Rafael, ignoring Saffra’s outburst, and Rafael was pleased to see calculation churning behind his eyes. What Rafael absolutely didn’t need, right now, was a raving lunatic.

“This is the fault of Vivisari, not me,” the Duke spat. “The ritual was rushed. If not for her interference, this chaos never would have manifested.” He glanced over the ledge of the magical platform, face whitening at what he saw below, before turning defiantly back to Rafael.

“It is a rather unimportant hypothetical,” Rafael said mildly, finding the man’s words ridiculous, but understanding his desperate need for delusion, “considering where we find ourselves.”

The man fumed, deliberating over his next words. Again, Rafael found relief in that. He could shepherd the man to a desired location, could extract information, but only if Damon remained rational enough to engage on an intellectual level.

There was torture, but that was startlingly inefficient, and he doubted Vivisari would approve, even in this drastic a scenario. He disapproved of those interrogation techniques on principle too, of course, but if it were a city of lives or breaking a few fingers on a man who deserved it—well, suffice it to say, his morals were less unyielding than his Lady’s.