The Runesmith

Chapter 517: The Marshal’s Dilemma.

A man wearing silvery armor stood in the muted glow of a flickering lantern inside his field tent, surrounded by maps, tactical scrolls, and half-empty water goblets. Outside, dawn was breaking, casting an ashen light across the misty, dew-soaked landscape. The faint, rhythmic clinking of armor and murmurs of the camp beginning to stir reached his ears, but the atmosphere was hushed inside his tent.

A rustle at the entrance caught his attention. He turned, eyebrows raised, as one of his knights entered, bowing slightly. It was one of his knight commanders, still in full armor, bearing the signs of urgency. His helmet was tucked under one arm, and beads of sweat glistened on his brow despite the cool morning.

"Lord Marshal."

The knight said, his voice low and grim.

"Urgent news. Count Graham De Vere seeks to speak with you through the crystal. He was... insistent."

Wentworth Arden’s gaze hardened. The Count’s sudden attempt to contact him could only mean one thing: De Vere had heard of his son’s absence. He’d anticipated it might happen, but not so quickly.

"Did he say anything further?"

Wentworth asked, his voice as cold as iron.

“No, my lord. Only that he demanded your presence at once and that the matter concerned Lady Lucille.”

“Lady Lucille?”

“Yes, Lord Marshal.”

Wentworth made a single, silent nod, digesting the information. He was aware that his son had vanished during his return home. His knights were unhurt, beaten by an unidentified foe that managed to pierce through a magically reinforced carriage. Count Graham was on the list of suspects as he clearly despised his son for what he did but they had made a pact of non-aggression.

The contract was designed to prevent him from ever harming his son, either directly or indirectly. However, there was always a possibility of finding ways around it. Some nobles had groups willing to do their bidding without requiring explicit orders. A contract only bound those who signed it, not others.

Certain loopholes made evasion feasible. A clause in the contract required Graham to disclose or eliminate any groups he knew of that might act on his behalf. To circumvent this, he could have one of his loyal men form a group independently, without an explicit order. If Graham genuinely didn’t know whether such a group existed, he couldn’t be held accountable. However, establishing a structure like this was exceptionally difficult, and most nobles were reluctant to create covert organizations they couldn’t fully control. There was always the risk that the vassal managing such a group might instigate a revolt, leaving them unable to foresee it coming.

“Very well. Have the mage prepare the crystal and see that we are not interrupted.”

The knight bowed, his expression showing understanding. He exited the tent swiftly, a few moments later, a mage returned, carrying a small, intricate wooden box engraved with runes. He placed it carefully on the low table in front of Wentworth, bowing his head respectfully before stepping back. Wentworth’s fingers brushed over the box that held the crystal inside before opening it.

“Is it ready?”

“Yes, Lord Marshal.”

“Begin the spell then.”

After the mage was ordered he proceeded with the spell. He murmured an incantation, his hands moving gracefully as faint, silvery trails of mana sparked and gathered around the crystal inside the box. The orb pulsed with a faint, icy-blue glow as the spell activated, and the shape of Count Graham De Vere materialized within, his face immediately contorted with anger.

"Wentworth Arden! There you are!"

Graham's voice seethed through the magical connection, his piercing gaze locking onto Wentworth’s steady expression.

"I demand an explanation. I received a message from my daughter, stating she has eloped with your son and fled the kingdom! I should have known you’d be involved in this deception!"

Wentworth’s expression remained impassive but inside he was calculating his thoughts. If what Graham was saying was true, then not only did his son vanish but so did his lover. To make things even more peculiar, the Count was claiming that the two had eloped and fled the kingdom together, a thing that perhaps only happened in romance novels and not something that he didn’t believe.

“Count De Vere.”

He began speaking, his voice stoic as ever.

“I assure you, I have had no part in Robert’s recent... actions. In fact, my son disappeared from our own ranks, and I’ve since been unable to locate him.”

Wentworth tilted his head slightly as if annoyed at the accusations.

“This is as much a surprise to me as it is to you.”

Graham’s face twisted, his suspicion persisting.

“So you say, Lord Arden, but the fact remains that your son is nowhere to be found and my daughter - my daughter, Wentworth - is gone without a trace. What do you intend to do about this? Surely you’re not planning to ignore it?”

Wentworth’s jaw clenched at the veiled threat in Graham’s words. While the Count was two ranks above him as a noble, he was still a Marshal, someone very involved in the kingdom’s military.

“Count De Vere, I would advise you to tread carefully with your accusations. My son’s disappearance is no less a blow to my family than your daughter’s departure is to yours. And yet, I have not thrown unfounded accusations your way.”

Wentworth’s voice, cold and restrained, carried a warning that made the Count’s face harden. The magical projection wavered slightly, but Graham leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he delivered his response.

Wentworth stood in the silence of his tent, feeling the weight of both anger and frustration settle over him like a heavy cloak. He remained motionless for a moment, his fingers resting on the now-dim crystal. Then he turned to his mage, who had been standing silently in the shadows.

"Find out all you can about this... individual in green."

Wentworth commanded in a quiet but steady tone.

"No detail is too small, track him down.”

The mage nodded.

"I’ll call the information networks immediately, Lord Marshal. There are few with the skill and resources to pull off a feat like this unnoticed. We will find him!"

"Few indeed..."

Wentworth muttered, his gaze darkening as he glanced at the crystal ball.

"And even fewer with motives to do so..."

The mage withdrew quietly, leaving Wentworth to grapple with his thoughts. He took a few minutes to gather them but couldn’t shake the feeling that his old acquaintance had something to do with it. Eventually, he reached into his chest to retrieve a mirror he had not used in ages. It was a beautiful, intricate piece with patterns of leaves and vines curling across its surface. With a sigh, he touched the mirror and channeled a bit of his mana to activate it.

The mirror’s surface rippled, then stilled, revealing the face of Headmistress, Yavenna Arvandus. Her large violet eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement at the unexpected call.

"Well, well, what’s this? After all these years, the great Marshal finally remembers his old friends."

Wentworth’s forehead bulged as a large vein appeared on it. He was easily able to keep calm when talking to someone like Graham, but this old archmage always managed to get under his skin.

"To what do I owe the honor, Wentworth? Or do you prefer My Lord or Lord Marshal? Though, I always liked ‘brat’ , why don’t I just go with that?"

Yavenna teased, her long ears wiggling with glee at the sight of Wentworth's annoyed expression. Wentworth clenched his jaw, forcing himself to maintain control over his frustration. He wasn’t in the mood for Yavenna’s usual teasing, especially not after the chaotic conversation with Count Graham. His fingers tightened around the ornate mirror, which tensed around the pressure.

"Enough, Yavenna, I’m not here to exchange pleasantries."

Yavenna’s smile faded slightly, sensing the gravity in his tone but she still remained relaxed.

"Alright, you’ve got my attention. What’s troubling you, old friend?"

His expression remained neutral as he tried to decipher hers. He could never tell what this woman was thinking, and even now, she seemed unaware of the reason he had cantacted her.

"I need information. A man named Wayland... He helped my son during the duel against De Vere’s knight. And then... there’s more. I believe he might be involved in something far more disastrous. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about him, would you?"

“You mean my deputy professor? Sure, I know him. I sent him off with your daughter; he seemed to have done a great job protecting her. But he returned after that little duel - was there more to it?”

This was not what he was expecting to hear, as it implied that this Wayland had nothing to do with Robert’s escape.

“So, you ordered this man to aid my daughter?”

“I did, so, shouldn’t you be thanking me, instead of accusing me of something I haven’t done?”

Wentworth’s grip tightened on the mirror, his frustration mounting. He had to resolve a dispute with the Castellane family, apparently stirred up by Yavenna’s meddling, with this Wayland serving as nothing more than her pawn. Although it didn’t seem like Yavenna was directly involved, he still planned to ask her about Graham’s account of the events and inform her, in case she knew anything about his son and the count’s daughter eloping.

“Oh? Something like that happened? That’s quite the tale, they have eloped you say? I hope you aren’t expecting any wedding gifts.”

The vein on his forehead continued to increase in size as the archmage continued to make snarky comments.

“Yavenna, I came to you for information, not jokes. You may find this entertaining, but for my house - and the kingdom - this is a matter of security.”

“Security, you say? Very well. You’ve piqued my interest, Wentworth. Let’s set aside our charming history. I will help if I can but I’m afraid, my Professor had nothing to do with your son’s business and him choosing love. But, if I find something, I’ll be sure to inform you about it. How about you visit me for some tea? Oh, that reminds me!”

Wentworth fought the urge to roll his eyes as Yavenna prattled on, her amusement painfully clear. But despite her teasing, he knew that if anyone could help him make sense of this mess, it was her. After all, Yavenna was one of the few mages with contacts that ran deep into both magical and noble circles.

“Yavenna, I appreciate the invitation, but I’m pressed for time. If you can learn anything useful about Robert’s whereabouts or this elusive figure in green, I would owe you a debt.”

“Ah, always so stoic and heroic. You know, some things never change~”

He held back from saying anything further, simply agreeing with her before offering a polite farewell and ending the call. His son was missing, yet a strange message hinted that he was still alive - and apparently married to another noble’s daughter, whose father despised him. He didn’t know who the man in green was, but if he managed to find him, he would make him pay and make it as painful as possible.