Deus Necros

Chapter 420: Birthday Surprise Chapter (Will name it later) Not a filler

The two rode in near silence, the hooves of their warhorses thudding rhythmically against the packed dirt of the old trade road, echoing in the valleys between the craggy slopes and golden seas of wheat. The air was thinner here, high in the mountain passes, but not unpleasant, crisp and touched with the earthy scent of pine and wind-scattered pollen. The sky overhead was a faded canvas of late afternoon, clouds drifting lazily like half-formed thoughts.

Neither Ludwig nor Celine spoke much as the terrain gradually shifted, what had been jagged ridgelines softened into sloping hills, the dense patches of fir trees giving way to sprawling farmland and broken stone fences. The road widened, ruts carved deep by the weight of merchant wagons, though none passed them this day. As the first outline of Rasta came into view, its gray stone walls faint on the horizon like a memory surfacing, Ludwig tugged gently on the reins, his mount slowing to a halt with a heavy exhale.

Celine turned in her saddle, a lock of black hair brushing her cheek. “Why are we stopping?” she asked, her voice mildly curious but not impatient.

“We gotta ditch the horses,” Ludwig said, already dismounting with practiced ease, the creak of leather straps and steel buckles underscoring his words.

She arched a brow. “They’re war-trained. And they’re fast. It’s still a pretty lengthy walk from here.”

“Yeah, but they’re imperial,” Ludwig replied, his tone edged with caution. “And I don’t want the headache that might follow us into the city. We’re already playing it close with the mess back at the dungeon. No point in giving the empire another thread to pull.”

He ran a hand along the horse’s neck, the beast snorting softly beneath his palm. “It’s enough they know I raided the dungeon. Best not to arrive parading their property, alive.”

Celine gave a small hum of agreement, then swung herself off her mare in one smooth motion. Without ceremony, she patted the horse’s side once, then gave it a sharp smack across the rear. The mare let out a brief neigh, flicked her tail, and took off across the fields, vanishing into the tall wheat as if swallowed by the golden sea. Ludwig did the same to his own mount, and the animal bolted with a grunt, its hooves leaving deep prints in the dirt before it disappeared into the distance.

The two of them walked side by side up the slope toward Rasta, their boots brushing against stalks of grain and scattering clouds of dust. The wind tugged at their cloaks and carried the faint, distant sounds of city life, smithing hammers ringing faintly, the calls of merchants, and the ever-present chatter of birds nesting in the broken eaves of the outer wall.

By the time they reached the city gate, the sun had begun to dip lower, casting long shadows across the stonework and painting the world in hues of bronze and blood-orange. A pair of guards stood on duty beneath the gatehouse arch, halberds in hand and expressions already wearied by the day. One of them stepped forward as they approached.

“Names and identification,” the guard said, eyeing them with that habitual mixture of suspicion and disinterest.

Without missing a beat, Ludwig reached into his cloak and retrieved a small medallion, the insignia of Lady Titania. The moment the gleam of that emblem caught the fading sunlight, the guards straightened as if struck by lightning. Their eyes widened, then dropped in reverent acknowledgment. Neither asked another question.

“Of course, my lord. Apologies,” the senior one said hastily, signaling the gatekeeper above. The massive wooden doors creaked open on oiled hinges, revealing the clean and noble inner ring of Rasta. The guards offered shallow bows as they passed, their posture a far cry from the informal tone they had begun with.

Celine shot him a glance, one brow raised. “You’re abusing that,” she said with faint amusement as they entered the city proper.

“There’s no use for a tool if it isn’t used,” Ludwig replied with a shrug, his tone as dry as the cobbled streets beneath them.

They began making their way up the winding road toward the teleportation gate nestled higher in the city tiers. Market stalls flanked the streets, this was the only Part of Rasta that didn’t stink of nobility or the high air of those living above. This was the place for the common people the beggar and the thief. There were vendors crying out prices and wares, the scent of roasted nuts and drying herbs mixing with the earthy reek of livestock and the metallic tang of the forge quarter.

As they passed a stone bench near the edge of the road, an old man sat with a pipe between his lips, puffing contentedly. His eyes wandered lazily across the crowd, until they landed on Ludwig and Celine.

He stiffened.

The pipe clattered from his mouth, the packed tobacco spilling onto his lap. “Holy Pantheon!” he blurted. “You guys are still alive?!”

Ludwig turned at the voice, a smirk curling on his lips. “You didn’t keep your part of the deal, old man. No one was waiting for us.”

The man spluttered, waving his hands. “Like hell I didn’t! I came back two days later, and I stayed there a whole week! Wasn’t exactly outta generosity, mind you. My wife kicked me out after she found out I spent half your gold at the brothels…”

“Too much info,” Ludwig muttered, lifting a hand in mock surrender. “Regardless, you said a week. So how long’s it been since you came back to Rasta?”

The man scratched his head, counting on his fingers. “Three days now…”

Ludwig frowned, doing the math in his head. “Twelve days… We’ve been stuck in there for twelve days.”

He exhaled, long and slow, running a hand through his hair.

“Time and space distortion,” Celine said, arms crossed, her voice thoughtful. “Powerful stuff.”

“Yeah. Very powerful,” Ludwig echoed, a shadow flickering behind his eyes. He didn’t say it, but he was already thinking of her, the Witch of the Mare. The one who nudged him toward Peltora. The one who always had a hand in turning tides unseen.

He shook the thought aside. “Thanks, old man. And don’t worry about the money,” he said, giving the man a casual wave as they resumed their walk.

The road to the teleportation gate was short, and soon they stood before the carved stone arch pulsing faintly with blue runes. Ludwig presented the same token they had used before, and the attendants activated the gate with a brief chant and flicker of light. A familiar pull, like the jerk of a hook behind the navel, followed and then they were gone.

The sensation of arrival was always the same: a ripple through the gut, a shimmer at the edges of the world like heat haze, then a solid thump as boots landed on ancient stone. The two emerged within the central teleportation circle of Peltora’s upper quarter, the air here notably warmer than the mountain breeze of Rasta, scented with brick dust, horse dung, and fresh-spilled ale. The sun, higher here than where they had come from, shone down on the broad square where adventurers gathered, and the familiar bustle of the city returned at once to Ludwig’s senses, gritty, vibrant, and unmistakably alive.

Without speaking, the two moved toward the Adventurer’s Guild, its weathered façade looming like an old fortress in the middle of the square. The familiar creak of the oak doors, reinforced with iron bands, greeted them as they pushed inside. The interior was no less chaotic than before, paperwork flying, scribes yelling orders, adventurers jeering over cards or arguing over contracts.

Ludwig’s eyes settled on the instructor from before, the same man who had tested him and handed him the quest. The instructor was now leaning on the counter, shuffling parchments into order and speaking to a scribe with one hand gesturing wide in exasperation. Something about him was off, he looked a bit miffed. Or angry.

The man looked up, and froze.

“Oh, Davon, you’re back already?” he said, blinking once, then again. “Wait, did you give up on the quest? You know the rules. There’s a penalty fee.”

Ludwig stepped forward and set his hand on the desk, voice calm. “No. Quest completed. I need a word with you.”

The instructor gave him a sharp look, then nodded slowly, already sensing the shift in tone. “Sure. Follow me to my office. And bring your lady friend too.”

They passed through a side door and down a narrow corridor into a room lined with ledgers and maps. The instructor gestured to a seat, but Ludwig remained standing. He reached into his cloak, retrieved a folded parchment, and laid it face-down on the desk.

“What’s this?” the instructor asked, lifting the corner slightly.

“Report on the dungeon. With a twist,” Ludwig replied.

The instructor furrowed his brow. “I’d like to hear it from you directly.”

“Alright.” Ludwig exhaled, folding his arms. “The dungeon was more than just a ruin. It was cursed, maybe even something older. It actively wiped memories, anyone who entered lost track of time. my companion and I… we were down there for twelve days. Didn’t feel like it. Could’ve sworn it was two at most.”

The instructor looked incredulous, but said nothing.

“There was a fortress deeper in,” Ludwig continued. “No maps. Just old magic circles. We found the cause of the distortions… and something worse. The Umbrites weren’t just mindless beasts. They mimic forms, dead and living. They blend in, crawl under your skin, whisper in your ear.”

The word Umbrite caught his attention but he didn’t comment, he continued listening.

Ludwig paused, eyes flicking to Celine, who nodded subtly. “We found the body of a Fallen Angel.”

The instructor blinked hard. “Wait. For real? A fallen…”

“Everything’s in the report,” Ludwig cut him off. “But for what it’s worth…” He pulled a small leather pouch from his inventory, opened it carefully, and tipped its contents onto the desk: a fine, silvery-gray dust, like powdered marble mixed with ash.

“This is all that was left,” he said. “The body was held together by time for centuries, maybe more. When we disturbed it, it disintegrated…”

The instructor leaned forward, eyes wide as he touched the edge of the pile with the back of his knuckle. “We’ll need to send this to the capital… the Holy Order might want a look.”

He sat back, rubbing his forehead. “Well, you’ve done more than just complete a quest. Coming back with your mind intact from that place alone is enough to raise you to A class… but I’m thinking A+. Still, we can’t formalize that here in Peltora.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Ludwig asked.

The instructor reached for his quill. “Let me write you a letter of recommendation. You’ll need to go to the capital, main guild headquarters. Once they verify this, you’ll be promoted without delay. Might even get bumped further if the Holy Order confirms that’s really a Fallen Angel’s remains.”

Ludwig gave a small nod. “I don’t mind. As long as I can keep moving.”

A short while later, after some scribbling and a flurry of stamping wax, the instructor handed him a thick, folded letter sealed with the guild’s crest. “Give this to any clerk in the capital. You’ll be brought straight to the Guild Master. He’s a bit rough, but fair. They’ll treat you right.”

Before Ludwig turned to leave, he hesitated. “There’s one more thing I wanted to ask you.”

The instructor met his gaze squarely. “The Imperials.”

“You knew?”

“I did,” the man replied, his tone now low, quiet. “I handled the paperwork of one of our clerks recently. Found out he was giving info to the empire.”

Ludwig narrowed his eyes. “They killed him after getting the information? Odd…”

The instructor shook his head. “No. I did. I posted the report about it myself. There’s even a notice on the board outside: ’No betrayal of adventurers will be tolerated.’ We don’t sell out our own. The guild survives on trust, and if that breaks, we’re nothing.”

He paused, then added, “They were sniffing around because of that sword your companion has. Palios, isn’t it? A blade of Imperial make. It’s famous. Dangerous. I suggest you hide it, or enchant it for a different look, this one’s too catchy. You won’t be able to move through the capital without attracting trouble.”

Ludwig turned to Celine, then pulled a ring from his inventory and offered it to her. “Here.”

She raised a brow and took it with two fingers. “Bit sudden, don’t you think? We’re not even dating. Not really the place for a proposal.”

Ludwig paused for a second then snorted. “it’s a storage ring. And I wouldn’t be asking for your hand with something this cheap.”

Celine smiled at that, softly, almost involuntarily. For the first time in seven centuries, she was smiling for something other than bloodlust or contempt. She glanced down at the ring, then slid it onto her finger.

Whatever undead he might be, Ludwig Heart was proving to be… strangely pleasant company.