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Admiral Bryce’s Autobiography, 20 P.C.
Francis half expected Saint Agnes to haunt his early morning dreams, but to his surprise, there was no theatrical pyromaniac to be seen. He quickly cursed how free his thoughts were as he remembered her divination that bordered on telepathy.
By the time he woke, it was nearly dusk, confirming her absence.
If he was honest with himself, that worked just fine. The growing sense of agency he’d acquired became more comfortable by the minute, and he didn’t want such a force of nature to interrupt the transformation.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, a knock came.
Looks like I’m not the only one growing comfortable.
“Yves! You there?” Leonie shouted from behind the door.
“Coming!” he shouted back as he struggled to get up. Submerged or not, the body still demanded its due.
“Greetings, neighbor,” he said as he opened the door to the woman playing burglar.
“I have something to discuss with you,” she exclaimed in a serious tone, catching him by surprise. This was the first time Leonie hadn’t acted like a jester under the influence.
“Sure,” he replied reluctantly, making way for her to get in.
“It appears that someone beat you to the Dirty Fang bounty,” she said as she sat on his chair with a thud.
“Your brother told you, I take it?” he asked as he closed the door. A part of him felt bothered by the negligence, but Leonie was no blabbermouth—mostly.
“Intel is my specialty, Yves. Of course I knew,” she said, pride filling her tone.
“Any idea who might have done it?” Francis asked, trying his hardest not to look at where the head was situated.
“Hard to say,” Leonie replied thoughtfully. “But whoever it was, they’re no ordinary person. They burnt the entire ship to a crisp.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t you?” Francis teased, drawing an indignant reaction from her.
“My flames could barely torch a room, much less an entire ship.”
Francis nearly mentioned his forest fire adventure, but keeping it a secret was for the best.
The conversation reminded him of a more pressing secret. With Bertrand being her brother, the culprit would surface eventually—and if it happened beyond his control, trust could fracture.
Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.
“Perhaps the perpetrator is standing before you after all,” Francis exclaimed, which quickly fell on deaf ears.
“Nice joke, Yves.”
“I’m serious,” Francis replied, trying to sound defensive. “It was my own doing.”
Leonie took a moment to respond, seemingly sizing him up.
“Right. You have two Acolyte-level artifacts,” she said flatly. “What’s next? Friendship with a famous pirate? A Saint patroning you?”
Two truths, one lie.
The calm look on his face must have spoken louder than words, as her dismissal quickly waned.
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“Even if you were involved, you must have borrowed the artifact,” she said, now pacing around. “Yes! That’s it. A strong Submerged is in town. And you are their proxy.”
The human mind was nothing short of extraordinary. One could offer the truth on a silver platter, yet it would still be turned into the lie they wished to propagate.
“No wonder you essentially appeared out of thin air!” she added, reveling in her epiphany, not realizing how false—yet true—that was.
I’ve got to be careful around this one.
“Is that all?” Francis asked.
“Right. The thing I came here to discuss,” Leonie answered abruptly. “Would you like to form a partnership?”
“Elaborate.”
Leonie began moving like the famed merchants on the other side of the Atlantic. “I provide the intel while you complete the job.”
Francis doubted the woman was considered the best, but such a deal was bound to offer other benefits.
“What kind of intel do you provide?”
“Same as everyone else,” she said with a shrug. “Small town, after all.”
“And your rates?” he asked, still feigning reluctance.
“A fifth of what you make.”
A fifth was indeed agreeable, but it wouldn’t leave a lasting impression, nor give her an incentive to work harder.
“Make it a third for your trouble,” Francis replied, hoping to earn her approval.
Leonie’s eyes widened. “Deal!”
In truth, his other sources would be maintained, but it was still nice to have her around more often—at least when she wasn’t trying to pry his soul out of his body.
“You shall be offered the most agreeable of songs, esteemed partner.”
With little else to add, she mock-saluted, then left his room.
Francis remained standing for a long while before eventually sitting on his bed. He then pulled the sack containing the severed head from beneath it and stared at it in contemplation.
“Now, how can I turn you into a bag of silver?” he whispered to the head. It would’ve been dehumanizing under any other circumstance—assuming the head didn’t belong to a ruthless pirate who’d ruined countless lives.
It wasn’t until then that it hit Francis. He’d killed someone for the first time yesterday.
Not snakes. Not wolves. Not a forest.
An actual person.
A dozen, as a matter of fact.
The thought should’ve been unsettling. Yet he felt… nothing. He genuinely had no pity for these people.
A part of him was scared of how cruel that was, but the more rational part dismissed it as na?ve. Did they pity the villages they burned to the ground? Did they pity the women and children they ruined for sport? Pitying them was akin to endorsing the rot, and the Lord knew this world had enough of that already.
Got distracted again. Delightful.
It didn’t take long to find a solution once he set his mind to it. The head would be put in a larger bag, then taken to the garrison immediately. The longer he waited, the less recognizable the face would be—even if his flames had robbed it of most of its moisture.
***
The moment Francis approached the garrison, the sentries at the front shifted uncomfortably before letting him enter unhindered. He was confused for a moment before recalling they were the same sentries who’d seen him with Robert days ago.
A knight indeed.
Francis was then approached by a soldier who appeared no older than seventeen. “What can we help with, Young Master?”
Francis nearly burst out laughing at the title. The drunks back home probably didn’t even know what it meant. Still, it indicated that he’d grown, and he took a small comfort in that.
“Just Yves will do,” Francis replied. “I’m here to collect a bounty.”
The soldier seemed confused by the lack of a last name, but didn’t voice it.
“This way, Master Yves,” he said, leading him toward a room at the heart of the building.
The number of personnel inside was smaller than Francis expected, but it made sense. Garrisons in small towns seldom guarded anything worth protecting—assuming pirates were foolish enough to lose so much for so little.
His pondering was interrupted when they reached an office at the far end.
“Good work, Master Yves,” the young man said, before leaving him with the clerk inside.
The middle-aged woman didn’t look adept at combat in the slightest, making her the sole guardian of a treasure hoard—counterproductive. Or at least, that’s what he would’ve thought a month ago.
“Name and target name,” she said indifferently.
“Yves,” Francis replied, placing the sack on her desk. “Here to claim Dirty Fang’s bounty.”
She raised a brow as curiosity replaced apathy. “Quite a fire show that was.”
“Yeah. Who would’ve expected wood to be so flammable?” Francis replied dryly.
“Flammable is an understatement,” she said with a chuckle. “It almost seems… unnatural.”
She opened the sack, retrieved the head, and studied it in silence.
Just how many heads has she examined?
It didn’t take long for her to render a verdict. “That’s him, alright. You’re eligible for the bounty.”
Francis exhaled inwardly, relieved she didn’t linger on the pyre he’d created.
She filled out an elaborate parchment, signed it, and pressed a red wax seal into place. “You can retrieve the amount at any of our banks, free of charge.”
The man who’d never paid taxes in his life nodded approvingly and headed out.
The soldiers must have been eavesdropping. Several tensed as he passed, some whispering in disbelief.
As he stepped outside, the irony of what he’d said to Leonie didn’t escape him. He’d chided her for recklessly using her flames—only to do the same.
Alas, sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. It was either that, or the pirates finishing him off in the dead of night.
“Besides, I got something that more than makes up for it,” he muttered, fiddling with an emerald ring.
An emerald ring he’d imbued with Rejuvenation.