Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 652: Animal and Hunter

Traugott assessed the situation objectively, plugging in a new variable to the equation to adjust its answer. From the outset, he’d thought a few dozen S-rank spellcasters to eliminate him was a dire miscalculation on Argrave’s side. It made more sense upon the reveal that there was a relatively high-ranking Shadowlander here—moreover, a Shadowlander still linked to the hierarchy imposed by the Hopeful. Its presence meant the Hopeful was aware of this fight.

With that alone, he saw victory in the gnashing teeth of these overwhelming odds.

The Hopeful’s design made no accommodations for any outside of his direct control. He could suffer no interlopers or allies in his realm—it was antithetical to his long-term goal. Argrave and company were, at best, mercenaries brought to dispose of Traugott with their betrayal planned long in advance. At worst, they were slaves doing his bidding. Given Argrave’s tenacity, Traugott suspected their best-case scenario was what he was dealing with.

With that in mind, they were likely seeking one of two things from him—perhaps both, come to think of it. They wanted a way to escape from the Shadowlands after Traugott’s death, or they wanted to co-opt his liberation force to fight back against the Hopeful. Given Argrave’s predisposition to sticking his nose in where he didn’t belong, Traugott bet it was the latter.

Whichever it was, it didn’t matter—they were one in the same, fundamentally. Shadowlanders were freed from the hierarchy when they were exposed to the mortal realm.

To escape with Traugott’s aid, Argrave’s company would need an opening to the mortal realm. To replenish the numbers of the liberating force, they’d need the same. Traugott’s own action was the bottleneck to all their plans, he was certain. As ever, his ability to shift between the realms would be the deciding factor in his life and death. To that end, he had spent much of his time in perfecting it. He could slip through perfectly enough that nothing besides himself passed.

Anneliese and Argrave were clever—they likely already guessed that Traugott needed to be able to touch the Shadowlander in question to free them. Upon seeing how he fought, what he did and didn’t do, Anneliese would likely be able to guess that his ability to bridge the two realms was the key to breaking the hierarchy.

It hardly mattered. Traugott’s success had never rested in outrageous victories. Instead, he merely avoided mistakes.

This was to be a battle in perfection. Traugott would slowly learn more and more about the ability Anneliese employed. He would learn the weakest links in their group, and exploit what mistakes they made. Whoever made fewer would be the victor. Even if he lost—if Anneliese discovered how to free the Shadowlanders, created an opportunity to do so, and killed him—Traugott still won.

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Anneliese felt rather like a starving hunter.

That wasn’t to say that she was overeager, but rather, she’d been tracking this quarry for a long while. Finally, she had it cornered—caught in a trap. The last thing that remained was dealing the finishing blow. Things were well at hand right now, but one small slip, and this crafty prey could slip free and avoid them all as it had countless times before. She would act slowly, act deliberately, and make no mistakes. Elsewise, she and the whole tribe would go hungry.

“Bhaltair, have your undead get distance. Send two to guard me,” she commanded. Hers was the only voice echoing in this place, as had been agreed long in advance. “Rider, advance. Suppress him. Do not overcommit.”

With her commands, the battlefield reshaped. The rider took the frontline, carefully holding the blade Argrave had created out in quiet standoff with the Manumitter. The undead formed what was effectively a ring around Traugott—not enough to attack, but enough to lash out at him if he was forced into a disadvantageous position.

Traugott played the part of cornered rat well enough, shuffling around carefully in consideration of all enemies around. He was no rat, though—in his red eyes she saw the growling tiger, waiting for opportunity to lunge forth. He fell into the mortal realm, and when he reappeared, had moved to the area his back had been facing. He probed at the undead with lunging attacks, retreating when their blades were ready to receive him. He changed targets back to the Shadowlander just as quickly, conjuring an S-rank spell of wind that slammed forth a mighty fist.

The rider swatted away the spell with the back of his hand in an unimaginable display of power, then thrust his blade at Traugott. The man had already dipped back into the mortal realm, and reappeared right beside the horse’s backside. Anneliese observed carefully as he thrust his stump of a left arm out, placing it against the horse’s haunches. When he pulled free his arm, he tore with it a new hand, pristine. The horse folded inward, much of its substance lost, and the rider fell to the ground.

Not only had Traugott gained a new body, he could restore it by mere contact with one of the Shadowlanders.

She stayed calm at this revelation, commanding, “Spellfire.”

The battlefield was immediately filled with blinding white light from lighting and flame both. She kept her eyes wide open despite the terrible brightness so as not to miss a single detail. When the chaos faded, Traugott had bypassed the undead, seeking some of the casters. Ghislain, though, had never once been idle since the battle began—every second, he created a weaving maze of illusions, hiding things and people in quiet recesses. Traugott sought to dispense with one aspect of this ambush, yet instead he found himself in another.

Felipe I, founder of Vasquer, had an A-rank ascension uniquely suited for powerful attacks. He could compress magic to smaller sizes. The might of an S-rank wind spell contained in a knuckle-size ball—the penetrative power was amazing. He thrust his arm forth into Traugott’s shoulder blade, and it appeared almost like a martial attack when Traugott was sent tumbling forth, blackness leaking from his tattered back.

“Reform the previous position surrounding him,” Anneliese declared, not allowing herself to be swept up in what seemed an advantage.

She trusted the hyper-competent group she’d been assigned to follow her words to the letter, keeping her eye only on her prey. Traugott’s red eyes darted around not in panic, but in revelation. He held both arms to the ground, then Anneliese saw the mana ripple of higher ranking magic only a few seconds before quakes split the ground. Ghislain’s illusions required a physical medium to function, which was the ground in this case—to that end, with the ground disturbed they all shattered at once. Everyone was exposed.

“Beautiful,” she heard cut across the battlefield in that monotonous, bland tone all possessed.

After that, the tiger, which had previously been obediently shepherded by the prodding spears, came alive. Traugott fell back into the mortal world, yet she could tell at once this time was different. He wasn’t dodging an attack—instead, he was preparing his counterattack.

“Rider! To me!” She shouted urgently. “All casters, spread out! Group into pairs and watch the other’s back!”

As the Shadowlander horseman obeyed, conjuring a steed from his own blood, Traugott began to show the terrifying might of his A-rank ascension. By now, he had learned full well that retreat was the only condition Veid’s heart barred. Now that all were exposed, he didn’t need to dodge, wait, and observe. Instead, he became the vengeful specter in the heart of the enemy.

As the grouped pairs spread out on the uneven terrain, Traugott appeared silently in the heart of their formation with no warning or indication and rained attacks upon them. His first few attacks were clumsy, imprecise strikes—the pairs could respond in time to block, even counterattack. Even in his imprecision, his power was such only S-rank wards stood a chance of blocking them.

To sustain their magic, Anneliese was forced to divert some of the flood of vitality steadily coming from Argrave’s battle to replenish their magic supply, praying that it wouldn’t hinder Argrave’s fight if he was temporarily deprived. If she knew him, by now he was having a pleasant conversation with that lieutenant.

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“Be ready,” she told the rider as he came to her side. “Any sound, any movement—react.”

Traugott’s clumsy attack soon became a whirlwind of a dance as the man learned how to fight in this style. Appearing above, behind, besides, and between them all, punching, kicking, casting spells… he was a menace. He was a sea creature biting at those floating on the surface. To their credit, the resurrected heroes could be likened to snapping turtles each and all, delivering sharp bites from within their impenetrable shell.

But Anneliese knew Traugott was not one to be sidetracked.

Whether intuition or a simple deduction from her intense scrutiny, when Traugott vanished to the other side one time, she whispered, “He comes here.”

The rider beside her tensed… and when she heard a faint stirring behind her back, he leapt forth like lightning, swinging that blade of his. She heard nothing, but assumed the rider had missed. She prepared a spell in her left hand, and Traugott leapt out directly in front of her. She cast the spell. The blast of lightning hit nothing but air as Traugott vanished again. Despite the double-feint, Anneliese confidently clenched the blade of Veid’s heart, swinging it horizontally toward the right with all her might.

Traugott’s face appeared inches before the white blade of Veid’s heart. Her weapon struck right beside those gleaming red eyes of his. The blade was a divine artifact, forged from the heart of a powerful god, and tempered by the Fruit of Being—even a Shadowlander’s flesh couldn’t resist it. The force of Traugott’s charge railed against her arm, but so too did her blade. It sunk through skin and bone, cutting through his left eye, his nose, and then exiting his right eye.

When Traugott slammed into her, she was cast a great distance away, unable to keep her grip on her blade—but then, the weapon was a fundamental part of her. She slowed her roll and landed on her knees, then called her weapon back. It disappeared in one moment, then the next sprung forth from her hand. She watched where Traugott had ended up.

Traugott clutched his eyes, totally blinded—more than that, even. A great deal of his face had been destroyed. Even now, he made no signs that pain truly bothered him. He crammed his hand against his face, and Anneliese realized he was using his own flesh to reconstitute his eyes. Seeing how that power so similar to Sophia’s flowed through his body, a theory Anneliese had been developing felt completed.

As Traugott healed himself, without order from her, the rider leapt forth from his horse swinging his blade at Traugott’s skull. She had been expecting from the beginning the rider would, given the opportunity, act on his own initiative. His loyalty was to the Hopeful, first and foremost—the Hopeful wanted only the Manumitter’s death.

Traugott—without sight, but possessed of his other senses—stepped into the mortal realm. The rider tried to hunt him, thrusting his arm in the smallest crack. His act of recklessness finally confirmed something Anneliese had already been suspecting, given Traugott’s abundance of caution regarding his ability. Upon exposure to the light of the mortal realm, the Hopeful’s power faded, evaporating into nothingness. The rider was free of the hierarchy.

The Manumitter reappeared. He had a new wound in his chest from the Shadowlander’s desperate attack, yet his eyes had returned to him. The rider struggled to pull free his arm from the rapidly-closing portal, and while he did, Traugott walked up and slammed his foot upon his back. He pulled flesh free of the Shadowlander like a vulture might tear strips of meat free from a carcass, healing his wounds in seconds while the rider screamed. Anneliese thought the Shadowlander’s pain was more than physical—leaving the hierarchy had wounded him mentally, and he laid there helplessly as Traugott gorged himself to regenerate.

Once all his wounds were healed, Traugott turned his red-eyed gaze toward Anneliese. She rose calmly, holding the sword toward him. They both gave the other a silent appraisal of the other’s chance of victory, in that moment. Anneliese stood alone, her most physically powerful ally defeated. Even the undead were too far away to help her. The others couldn’t reach her in time.

Traugott stepped toward Anneliese, fading into the mortal realm, and she felt her heart pump quickly. She knew the shark was circling about, ready to take a bite. She called for no help, gave no command… instead, she merely went outside herself. She quietly sent her consciousness into an ally Traugott hadn’t seen—her Starsparrow.

The bird, its golden colors muted in this gloomy realm, flew above. She watched from above, scrutinizing the terrain with the utmost care for any movement. Traugott began to appear to her left, to her right, like the shark’s fin poking above the water. She could tell from his body language they were feints, one and all, and waited patiently for the true attack. To her, nothing existed in the battlefield beside the two of them.

Traugott appeared in front, casting two slow-moving S-rank fire spells. Anneliese stayed totally still as the inferno raged toward her. Even as it melted the ground and burnt her skin, she stayed in place. From above, she saw him appear slightly behind and to the left. He charged, intending to tackle her. In this moment of crisis, her next moves felt so intensely natural it felt like she’d done it a thousand times before.

She turned swiftly, tossing her blade and empowering her throw with a powerful wind spell. It rocketed forth faster than Traugott could react to, stabbing into his shoulder. He staggered, but kept charging. He’d not seen that Anneliese could call the blade back to her at a whim. Anneliese stepped to meet Traugott, then with one thought, had Veid’s heart back in her hand. Traugott, in a panic, abandoned his attack, fading away to the other side to dodge.

At the last moment Anneliese turned to confront the raging infernos, conjuring two S-rank wards. The firebombs exploded as a volcano might, concealing the whole area beneath flame and smoke. Amidst all of that, Anneliese’s eye was as steady as ever, watching from on high inside her Starsparrow. The next moments were a blur. A flash of movement, an instinctual duck and swing, and pain.

When next Anneliese could think clearly, she realized she was blind in one eye, and face-down on the ground. She rose to her feet, feeling a dull ache on the left side of her body. Her vision swam, but through the fading smoke, she saw Traugott desperately struggling to reattach his leg. With a primal yell, she again called her blade and sliced down into his shoulder.

Traugott, with only one leg and one arm, laid there unmoving. Anneliese called upon the flowing vitality coming from Argrave to heal her wounds and realized how close she’d come to death as her left eye and most of the left side of her face regained sensation. Once she was whole again, she walked up, pushing Traugott over with her sword. He grasped at it with his hand, but she merely called it back inside her body and his grip failed.

Just then, all of her allies caught back up to her. The undead placed their blades at his body, but did not kill him. The casters stood ready to attack at a moment’s notice, diligently hauling away body parts. In but a few seconds, Traugott was completely subdued. She raised her blade at his neck… yet even amidst this, he smiled.

“I think you know my secret,” Traugott said. “But you should also know that no amount of torture will make me cooperate. Just kill me. It would spare us both time, and the possibility of my escape.”

“All the genius in the world can’t help you if you’re arrogant,” she said. “You thought that no others were like you. That no one would be able to retrace your steps.”

“Yes. You came here, and you have me beaten. But every second you talk, you risk me getting away,” Traugott pushed. “My allies could return any moment. Will you take that risk? Come on. End me.”

“I’m not talking about following you here. I’m talking about all of it. Those husks you created?” Anneliese continued. “Those shells of Norman? Do you remember all of the people you killed? Likely not. But I remember. Despite the tragedy, knowledge is knowledge. I studied them. I studied the shell of Norman you imbued with the soul of a dog. I studied the Norman you sent to that actor’s troupe. I asked Argrave to tell me all he could of that workshop of yours, miles beneath the sea, working with Fellhorn.”

For once, Traugott couldn’t manage that calm in the face of her words.

“And you, so brazenly healing yourself using the Shadowlanders… exploiting that small fragment of Sophia’s power existing within Norman… it was like the final piece of the puzzle I was missing.” She dispelled the blade, then crouched down. “I thought this might be possible. But I didn’t dare dream you’d give me the final bit of inspiration I needed to enact it.”

Traugott began to struggle again, raging against the blades held close to his skin. He tried to fade into the mortal realm, but he was soon fixed into place by the spectators.

“You’re going to die, Traugott, but not in the way you want. I’m going to erase you. Everything you’ve learned… forgotten. I’m going to turn you into a blank shell, just like that message you sent us at the opera house. It’ll have all your powers, while all you’ve learned… I’ll erase it.”

“No. No, you won’t,” he said, gaining confidence. “You won’t know how to exploit Sophia’s power as I do. It took me weeks, months, to learn.”

“I know. I saw it all, your months of work,” she continued. “And lest you forget… I have [Truesight]. I’ve seen it all.”

“You’ll make a mistake,” he insisted, struggling fiercely. “Then I’ll die. I’ll pass away. You won’t get what you need from me.”

“Perhaps,” Anneliese admitted. “But that was the end result either way. You’ll die, one way or another.”

Anneliese reached out toward Traugott’s face, prepared to call upon the fragment of Sophia’s power within him to create something anew. Something with all of Traugott’s power, yet none of his essence. He raged against her touch as an animal against the butcher.

But the animal was already in the slaughterhouse, and there was no escape.