Perhaps the cloaked man sensed the head of House Sarenza’s anticipation, because he slowly moved the golden relic closer. “Please, take it,” he quietly insisted. “Take it to the Dungeon of Oblivion, and offer it to the dungeon’s core. Then, all the power of Sarenza shall be yours.”
At first, Zaid was too wary to accept, but each word that passed Lude’s lips sounded sweeter than the last. Zaid felt betrayed—by others, his own family, and the world at large. If he could seize their power as his own...
As he vacillated over his decision, bathing in the strangely comforting light of the golden relic, Zaid realized that it didn’t matter whether Lude was telling him the truth. No, it didn’t matter at all.
“I see,” Zaid muttered. “The treasure of your people. A fine thing indeed.”
In the golden light of the relic, his expression gradually morphed from unease into a rapturous smile. If a third party had been present to witness it, they would surely have noticed that the transformation had not come naturally but was thrust upon him. Zaid, however, remained none the wiser.
“Very well,” he said, brimming with confidence, beaming from ear to ear. “If this proves to be of use, I will deem you to have successfully dealt with those you invited into my lands, thus carrying out your end of our contract. I must say, though, your people are usually more miserly when it comes to our dealings. Is that musty black slab really worth so much to you?”
“For generations, the Sarenza bloodline—of which you are a part—has graced us with its favor. This is but a small token of our gratitude. We urge you to accept it.”
Zaid responded with a noise of appreciation. “Indeed? How generous...”
Lude, his face hidden beneath the hood of his cloak, extended a pale hand, transferring the golden relic to hover above Zaid’s outstretched palm. Its glow intensified—and so did the large man’s rapturous expression.
“With this, I shall take my leave.” The cloaked man turned, then paused and glanced back. “No—on second thought, there is one final matter to address.”
“What, there’s more? If you’re looking for further compensation, don’t bother. I only ended up in this mess because you elves failed to—” Zaid was rendered speechless as slender fingers caught his face in a viselike hold, and the cloaked man suddenly lifted him into the air. “Wha— Lude?! What do you think you’re doing?!”
“Do be silent. Your words reek of stupidity, and I’ve no patience left to endure them.”
Zaid’s cries turned into groans of agony before—crack—the sound of shattering bone cut through the air. His corpulent body went limp, arms dangling at his sides.
“Of course, you cannot be blamed for everything,” the cloaked man continued. “Retaining the memory of our people is simply too great a burden for someone like you to bear. In hindsight, choosing your family two centuries ago was a mistake—idiocy runs strong in your blood. Still, it is a refreshing thought that, after today, it will all be over.”
Lude examined the blood streaming from the breaks in Zaid’s skull and grimaced. His pale hand began to emanate red light.
“I command you to forget all that you know about my people.”
The light cast shadows across the dim room, writhing as though it had a mind of its own. It gathered in Zaid’s body, which barely clung to life, before disappearing in a blinding flash.
With the cool demeanor of someone going through the motions, the cloaked man tossed Zaid aside. The head of House Sarenza struck the cold floor with a dull thump. Lude watched as what remained of his victim’s life ebbed away, wearing a look of complete indifference, until a sudden thought made him exhale.
“How thoughtless of me. I almost let you slip into death when you still have a task to complete for me. Your worthless life must continue...for now.”
Lude heaved a frustrated sigh, then extended a hand toward the man—soon to be a corpse—lying motionless before him.
“Don’t die yet.”
The crimson pool that had slowly been spreading across the pure-white floor went still as blood stopped seeping from the body’s crushed skull. Zaid was being brought back from the brink of death. To any other observer, the phenomenon would have seemed to defy all the natural laws of the world, but Lude merely sighed again, watching the process with a cold stare.
“Must I revive this thing again?” he muttered. “The very thought is wearying. I would rather get this over with, but it would be most vexing if he started kicking up a fuss. Hmm... Why don’t you take your time healing?”
No sooner had the languid command been vocalized than the corpulent body’s shattered face began to piece itself back together. The blood that had trickled into the creases of the beautifully polished floor rose into the air and flowed back toward its source, moving as elegantly as tea poured from a teapot. Chunks of torn flesh, scattered across the dimly lit room by the elf’s powerful grip, inched together with agonizing slowness, knitting themselves back into a recognizable shape.
The black-cloaked man behind the spectacular feat watched with disinterest, as if completely detached from the whole affair. Then, he turned his attention to the screen mirror on the wall.
“Finally...” he muttered. “We are so close.”
On the screen was the blurry image of a man, but Lude’s eyes were focused elsewhere—on the Black Blade, the gargantuan slab in the man’s grasp. Retrieved from the Dungeon of the Lost by human hands mere decades ago—a very recent development for the long-lived elves—it was a relic of an extremely troublesome nature.
Unconsciously, Lude balled his hands into tight fists. “Once we have it, our wearisome work in these lands will come to an end. A mere five centuries, but ah, how staggeringly long it felt. Soon we will possess the relic, though, and twenty thousand years of accrued debt—of accursed history—shall be paid in full. Just a little longer. I need only to be patient.”
As the black-cloaked man turned to leave, he accidentally kicked the golden object now lying on the floor. It sailed into one of the white walls, then rebounded with a loud clatter that echoed through the room.
“Ah, I almost forgot. I should ensure the fool is clinging to this worthless trinket when he comes to.”
Lude retrieved the golden object, which had begun to wriggle like a living creature after the impact, and turned his attention to the fat man prone on the floor, still in the process of recovering.
“This trifle—the treasure of my people? Merely speaking the words makes me want to retch. I should have said something more fitting, but really—how else does one present an activation key for a reusable trap? Then again, perhaps it is a treasure...for one such as you.”
Lude placed the golden object in the man’s open palm. Fleshy fingers wrapped around it reflexively.
“Yes, I suppose that will do. Remain ignorant. Clutch what you perceive to be treasure. Fill your heart with false glory, as you are wont to do. Entrust your navigation to greed and tread the path to ruin. In the end, history will forget you. Your worthless achievements and meaningless deeds will be consigned to oblivion—a fate befitting humanity itself.”
Lude watched until the reconstruction of the corpulent man’s face was complete—not a scrap of skin or drop of blood out of place—before finally departing the palace. He erased any trace of his presence as he went, vanishing as surely as the memories of the man who would never remember him.