Headed by a Snake

Tycon unwrapped the bound leathers, revealing a darkwood crossbow.

Though it was never Victorius' preferred weapon, he couldn't deny its masterful craftsmanship. On a whim, he picked it up, holding it in his good hand... its grip was comfortable and its weight, reassuring. Its worked wood and intricate mechanisms made it far more expensive than anything he'd ever owned... even his personal longbow, the one he'd sold off, long ago.

There was one thing that bothered him, though... Sir Tycon was a generally private person. He wasn't the type of person to show things off... not without reason.

It took him entirely too long to notice that the weapon's grip was left-handed.

"Sir Tycon..." Victorius gulped hard, his throat dry and his heart pounding. Whenever he faced the golden-eyed Decanus... he could never remember what it was like to be brave... "I can't wield this... with the way my hand is... I have no hope of loading it."

Tycon brushed a strand of green away from his eyes, chuckling to himself. The man's arrogance again shook Victorius' psyche. He felt like a child being laughed at for his foolishness.

"Mister Victorius, while you have correctly surmised that I am planning on gifting this to you... Would you grant me a moment to explain?"

Victorius grimaced... The thought of him again taking up arms for House Vanzano pained him to talk about, but... he couldn't refuse the man so easily. Tycon spent so much coin on effort on both his charge... and now, on himself.

"Aye, Sir. Please do," As much as he wanted to leave, Victorius' duty bound him to at least hear what Tycon had to say...

The Decanus took back the crossbow, briefly turning it upside-down. Flicking his wrist, a carved and polished red crystal appeared in his hand... which he placed into the weapon's base.

With a light whine and steady hum, the crossbow began to emit an eerie red glow...

"This switch on the side is the safety... undo it and..." Tycon depressed the switch on the bow's side.

With an audible click, the bowstring pulled back on its own. An ethereal, red bolt materialized, nocked in the barrel. A hairline pull of that trigger could easily end a human life.

"--You have a bolt, ready to fire." Tycon hefted the crossbow up, aiming down its sights at the adjacent wall, "Its pull is rated at 140 librae... enough to punch through leather armor. More than enough to pierce an Iron-Rank's skull."

Victorius felt a sharp pain in his chest. He didn't know how he'd done it. Tycon had found an enchanted, self-reloading crossbow that even a one-handed cripple could shoot.

With that... he could be an Archer, again.

He'd... have to re-train everything to his left... He was right-eye dominant, so shooting opposite would take some getting used to... But the knowledge, the thousands of bells of practice, it was all still there, in his head... waiting for him to use it again.

But...

Victorius gulped, pointing at the weapon and its creepy, crimson glow, "What... heresy powers this weapon?"

"It's not heresy, you dunce," Tycon scowled. "It's magic."

It was a thin line they were walking. Victorius had a mind to report the Decanus to the Church... but... the Decanus worked for the Church.

Flame take it... He'd probably be the one crucified, instead...

The noble flicked the safety switch, causing the bolt to disappear and the bowstring to reset... Still... the mysterious smell of molten iron remained in the room. The weapon itself was gorgeous and its mechanisms were fascinating, a mix of human engineering and alien magic... but there was something... off about it that he couldn't identify.

"Sir Tycon... you..." Victorius shook his head, "You can't fool me, Sir. The power source is red... it's obviously evil."

"You can't be serious..." Tycon placed a palm over his eyes, "You're judging whether magic is good or... 'evil', based on its color palette?"

"Well... uh..."

It did seem a bit silly, thinking on it a bit more...

"Take the crossbow, Victorius," Clearly annoyed, Tycon loosely wrapped the weapon back up and pushed it towards him. "The Khyber Crystal burns out if you shoot more than 40 bolts within a bell, 120 max in a sun. Get some practice in."

Victorius sucked in a breath of air through his teeth, "Khyber Crystal? That... that sounds really evil."

"Take the damn bow!!" Tycon shouted, causing Victorius to flinch, guarding himself from an attack that never came.

"Alright, calm down!" Victorius frowned... "By the Flame, I was just giving my honest opinion..."

Logically, it wouldn't hurt to give it a try... He was useless, but maybe he'd be a little less useless if he took up archery again.

...

Lieutenant Shao Ran peeked his head above the waterline, observing the empty moonlit beach. With no one around, he dragged the body of Chaleb Moretti out of the waters and tossed it onto a tarp he had prepared beforehand.

He wore a cloth mask over his face and borrowed clothing. He even left behind his halberd, Ferocity, just to ensure no one could identify him. He swept his hair back with his hand, checking it after. The red dye had washed off, but that was fine. Maybe he'd get a haircut, afterward... just in case.

Time was not kind to the dead noble. The corpse's eyes and most of his face had been nibbled away by fish. He was even missing an arm. A passerby dolphin told him that a shark had nabbed it, but they'd chased it away a few suns prior.

Only the sea god knew where the hells that had gone...

Thankfully, it was Chaleb's left arm. That meant he could still wield his sword...

It was not a good sword. It was not a good sword, at all. Though Ran kept it sheathed at his waist after digging it up from a garbage heap, its very presence made it difficult for him to breathe.

It was like someone had punched him hard in the stomach.

...It was cursed. Sea god's suspenders, it was definitely cursed.

Still, he needed to keep it on him. Once he got Chaleb raised from the dead, the sword he would wield would serve as proof of his identity.

Thankfully, over the past few suns, he'd collected enough information to figure out where he could find a Necromancer. It was extra troublesome because magic was frowned upon in the Holy Country... dark magic, especially. Still, Ran very much needed the noble kid to be 'alive' again... and a Necromancer's ⌈Animate Corpse⌋ spell was the way to do it.

Ran wrapped up the corpse in the tarp, bound it tightly, and hefted it over his shoulder. Illuminated by the moonlight, he skulked into the city of Silva, proper.

He'd worry about the details, afterward.

...

"D-did you bring the... um... your friend, Sir?"

"I did," Ran placed the wrapped body onto the table in the small hut. It stank of rotting fish, but so did everything else in the city's eastern docks.

...It made him almost nostalgic for his home at Port Saint Guinefort.

The tears of recruits being trained helped him sleep at night.

The lanky 'Necromancer' youth wore a skull mask to hide his face and all-black robes to hide his other features. Still, Ran could tell how young he was by his voice and the wisp of hair on his chin.

The boy wrung his hands in nervousness, constantly glancing outside the window, "And... and you're sure you weren't followed, right?"

Followed? Who would bother following Ran? Where he was from, if you saw someone carrying what looked like a body over your shoulder, you walked the other direction. Asking questions got you killed.

"Don't worry about it, kid. Let's just get this over with," Ran smiled uneasily. He didn't know the kid's history, but it must have been colorful to be in this type of business at his age.

"Um... alright," The Necromancer began to unwrap the body. As a mark of his professionalism, he didn't recoil from the stench or the body's sea-rot.

"How's it look?" Ran asked, "Can you fix him up? I really need this. Really."

The Necromancer took off his skull mask, revealing his pale youthful face, "Y-yeah. I think I can..."

"So he can walk again, right? And be able to fight?" Ran's heart was pounding with anxiety. If he couldn't fix Chaleb, he felt like he wouldn't be able to show his face to Tycon, ever again.

The Necromancer bared his teeth, "Well... I'm only a First-Circle mage..."

"Is... is that enough?" Ran grimaced. The shapes and numbers a mage was rated made no sense to him, whatsoever.

"I um... I'll need a week... and... materials. But I should be able to make him stand and walk around a bit," He explained.

"It'll be enough," Ran gulped. "I'll... I'll make it work, somehow."

POK POK POK. An armored fist slammed on the door, "Open up!!"

Slowly, the Necromancer turned to Ran... "Oh... oh, no. S-sir, you have to get out of here."

"Not a chance!" Ran declared, "That's outrageous! Cowardly, even."

The Necromancer was his best chance at getting back into Tycon's good graces. And not getting keelhauled.

"Last warning!!" The voice beyond the door shouted.

Whoever those people were, they were obviously not welcome.

Ran would show them that no one would stop him from correcting his own mistakes!