Chapter 150: Into the Dark Room
"When did you first come into contact with Corve? Have you had any close dealings with him?"
Seeing the Ambassador regain his reason, Arthur wasted no time with his interrogation. He raised a palm, using his still-unrefined technique to sketch a shimmering illusion of Corve's features.
Borch gave a soft tsk, reaching out to tap the projection with a single finger. Instantly, the image became startlingly lifelike.
"This is the man. He likely used a different name when you met him."
"Corve?" The Ambassador knitted his brows in concentration for a long moment, then shook his head. "I have never heard that name, nor have I seen this face."
Arthur wasn't discouraged. "To plant magic within a mind, the caster usually requires the subject to remain still or incapacitated. Have you experienced any blackouts? Any periods of restricted movement? Perhaps... a tryst with a sorceress?"
The Ambassador shook his head again. "I remember every absurd thing I've done, but I've never lost consciousness or been restrained. As for sorceresses—heh, I've dreamed of it, certainly. But Verden is a small kingdom; a nobleman of my standing is beneath their notice."
Arthur opened his mouth to press further, but the Ambassador was growing impatient.
"Listen, I am just as eager as you to root out the scoundrel who did this to me, but nothing you've described ever happened. Now, I must leave. An ambassador being snatched off the street could brew into a severe diplomatic crisis. If you gentlemen were to be blamed for such a thing, I would feel terribly responsible."
He moved toward the door, but suddenly felt his body grow light. His feet left the floor as Arthur hauled him back by the scruff of his neck.
"Did I say you could leave?"
Arthur slammed him back into the armchair, pinning him there with a hand like an iron vise on his shoulder. "Don't be in such a hurry. There are quite a few people eager to see you tonight!"
"You—what are you doing? The misunderstanding has been cleared! It was all the sorcerer's doing! I was being controlled!" The Ambassador's face paled with panic. He thrashed in the armchair like an overturned turtle, limbs flailing.
Borch leaned in, looking puzzled. "The magic Corve left behind has been purged. Why keep him?"
Arthur let out a cold snort. "So what if the mind control is gone? Am I supposed to just let him run off and blab to everyone?"
The man had tried to seize property and launch an armed assault; the idea that he could walk away scot-free just by saying 'I was controlled' was a plot twist even a hack novelist would find too thin.
According to Jaimie's description, the magic Corve planted didn't dictate thoughts directly; it simply eroded logic and common sense. Essentially, the victim became a high-functioning drunkard. And as everyone knows, those who start trouble while drunk usually aren't saints when they're sober.
"Then what do you plan to do? Keep him locked up here forever?" As Borch spoke, he suddenly grew agitated. He stood up abruptly, waving his arms. "No! I absolutely forbid it!"
The Ambassador looked at Borch with newfound hope, thinking he'd finally found an ally.
But Borch continued his rant: "If you lock him up in here, how am I supposed to sleep?!"
In the Great Lazy Dragon's worldview, sleep was the supreme priority—more important even than vengeance.
"Of course not. I don't have the patience to play jailer either." Arthur looked up at the ceiling, his fingers drumming a rhythmic beat on the Ambassador's shoulder. "If I've timed this correctly, the person coming to collect him should be on their way already."
"Who? Who's kind enough to clean up your mess?"
Borch pushed the window open with curiosity and peered down at the street. "What is the Lord Mayor doing here?"
"Hahahaha! My men must have reached the City Hall and reported your blatant kidnapping of an ambassador!"
The Verden Ambassador suddenly relaxed, laughing so hard that tears welled in his eyes. After a few fits of laughter, he lurched forward, glaring at Arthur through gritted teeth. "You little mongrel... you'd better kill me now. Otherwise, once I'm out, I'll make sure you learn the meaning of a fate worse than death—AAARGH!"
The Ambassador clutched his face, blood streaming through his fingers like a mountain brook. He screamed hysterically, but the agony reduced his speech to raw, repetitive jagged edges. "Arrgh! I'll kill you! I'll kill you for this!"
"Where do you get the confidence to think I wouldn't dare kill you?"
Arthur tossed aside the fragment of the ear he had just shorn off, leaning close to the Ambassador with a darkened expression.
"Even if you've been living under a rock, you should have heard the whispers since arriving in Cintra. The survivor of the Rombach massacre, the man who wiped out thirty of the Night Raven's finest soldiers—that was me. Do you really think, after taking thirty of your 'black gloves' to the grave, I'm afraid of adding one more Verden life to the tally?"
The Ambassador's screams died in his throat, sounding like a duck being stepped on by the neck. His face turned as white as the saltpeter on a cellar wall. He thrashed his body, trying to burrow into the very wood of the armchair's back.
"I didn't know... No, Rombach wasn't Verden's doing! It was a frame-up! Let me go—tomorrow, in front of the Queen and the Brugge ministers, I'll testify for you, I'll clear your name..."
Arthur let out a low, dry chuckle. He reached out and lightly patted the side of the Ambassador's face that hadn't yet been stained with blood. "Keep that drivel for the kings. Don't insult my intelligence with it. Besides, if you hadn't intended to throw filth at me in the first place, why would I need you to 'clear' anything?"
Earlier that day, Arthur had received intel from Jackbal via their mental link: a massive group of Verdeners had appeared at the border of Brokilon. Carrying fire-starters and shouting slogans of 'vengeance' and 'reclamation,' they had tried to put the forest to the torch—until Jackbal's tree-spears had skewered a few of them, sending the rest fleeing in terror.
One didn't need a genius to figure it out: the families of those dead Night Ravens were stirring up trouble.
Knock, knock, knock.
The door had barely sounded three times before it swung open under the influence of magic, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette—Haxor, the Lord Mayor of Cintra.
"Why is it you?" Arthur's brow furrowed. It wasn't that he had a grievance against Haxor; he simply didn't want to drag this pragmatic administrator into the mire of a political conspiracy.
"Sigh. They came to the City Hall. Regardless of the circumstances, I had to make an appearance and ask what was going on." Haxor looked equally beleaguered. As was his habit, he left his guards in the hallway, entering the room with only two clerks.
Seeing the Ambassador's face half-drenched in gore, Haxor recoiled in shock. "How did it end up like this?"
Arthur gestured helplessly toward Borch. "He heard you were coming and thought he'd found a patron."
Suddenly, Arthur leaned in and whispered, "Does Cintra have one of those... security departments? The kind that handles 'delicate' matters that shouldn't see the light of day? Like Temeria's Blue Stripes?"
Haxor pulled back warily. "Why do you care about that?"
Arthur pointed a finger at the Ambassador. "To send this fellow where he belongs, of course. It's best if he doesn't show his face again for a long, long time."
.............
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