Sins of the Forefathers: A LitRPG Fantasy Isekai

“Quentin, be a dear and get started, will you?” Rhiannon said casually to the man standing on the balcony with us. She didn’t turn to face him, though.

The man, now positively identified as Duke Quentin Olsen, inclined his balding head to the disguised Vampire. “As you will, my love,” He said, surprisingly accommodating for such a powerful noble.

Well, surprisingly if he wasn’t totally under Rhiannon’s control.

He wasn’t quite what I had been suspecting for a man who had been described as an incredible schemer. I’d built him up in my mind as some kind of rat-like figure constantly rubbing his hands together and eyeing the wealth of those around him with greedy eyes. But no, instead, he was almost handsome.

Olsen had the look of a middle manager who had been handsome and charismatic once upon a time, but those looks had started to fade with age. He was tall, but not unreasonably so, with still-defined musculature that was only just starting to go to seed. Pale, and with equally pale blonde hair, his unremarkable brown eyes stared out at the world from sharp features that were starting to look a bit…drained. I couldn’t help but notice that the man seemed a bit anemic, with deep bags under his eyes.

If I had to guess, Rhiannon had been using him as a walking, talking blood-bag.

I took a deep breath, only briefly drawing his attention before being dismissed, as the Duke walked up to the railing of the high balcony we were on. Rhiannon went with him, affecting a falsely demure posture behind and to his left. Meanwhile, the Solstice guards shoved us forward until we were up against the right side of the railing. They unclipped Dusk, Thirty-Two, and I from our lead, and chained us instead to a ring on the railing.

The massive crowd of people below hadn’t noticed him, so Olsen raised his right hand. Arranged on the edges of the courtyard on either side, courtiers I hadn’t noticed raised bugles to their lips and sounded them out in a short tune. The crowd's murmur began to die at the fanfare, and they gradually noticed the Duke looking down at them in a false welcoming manner.

“Welcome!” Duke Olsen suddenly boomed, his voice much louder than I would have expected it to be. It echoed out into the courtyard, silencing all remaining conversation. “Welcome, all ye citizens of Herztal! I am Duke Quentin Olsen, rightful ruler of this fair city of Elderwyck, appointed duly by the Crown! You who have waited outside the gates of my city all these weeks need wait no more! I welcome you into the warmth and safety of my walls, each and every one of you!”

The crowd below erupted into ragged cheers and cries of relief and gratitude, as I saw more and one person slump to their knees in relief and sob.

Meanwhile, my eyes widened in realization as I took a closer look at the gathered people. I had initially thought that these were the regular people of Elderwyck, but I was wrong.

Instead, these were the people of the Stacks. That collection of hastily thrown together shanty towns and ramshackle buildings that housed all the people who had been waiting outside the gates of Elderwyck. They looked ragged, now that I had a better look at them, worn down by the life of a refugee. But…I could almost see the tension fleeing their bodies as relief claimed them. In their minds, this must be a miracle. The Duke who had been so reluctant to let them inside was instead now saying they could shelter within the walls.

But it was all a lie. I don’t know what was happening, but they weren’t being granted safety.

Rather, this was all some sick game being played by Rhiannon.

I felt sick to my stomach at the cruelty of it all.

“Just this last night!” Olsen continued grandly. “My forces conducted a raid upon the hide-out of the ne’er do wells who had been assaulting my fair city! Oh, how I have wept so to see my beautiful Elderwyck bedeviled by the horrific actions of the vile Uprising.” He shook his head in false sorrow. “But no longer! Led by the brave General Longstripe, our forces have quelled those evildoers good and rightly!”

More cheers rang our rang out from the gathered crowd, but this time I detected a bit of confusion in them. After all, the Stacks had been filling up since before the Nocturne Division had started its campaign in Elderwyck.

The Duke was engaging in a bit of historical editing, like nobles tended to do.

But I don’t think the refugees cared, even if they could see through it. They were just glad they were safe.

They weren’t, though. I was starting to suspect that none of us were.

As I was inspecting the crowd, I could see that Dusk was doing her own. I could see my Gnollish companion’s violet eyes darting all over the crowd as best as she could. Not only that, but she was scanning the nearby rooftops of the palace. Eventually, I think she found something, as she stilled ever so slightly. The reaction was so minuscule, though, that I only noticed because I was shoulder-to-shoulder with her.

Still, that must have been enough for Rhiannon. From my position near the railing, I saw a slight smile grace the disguised vampire’s demurely lowered face.

Shit.

Meanwhile, Olsen kept speaking. “And so, with the horrid war safely beyond our walls once more, I have gathered you all here this day for a special occasion!” He said, before doing something that caused my blood to run cold.

He turned, and pointed at us.

“An execution,” He said menacingly, smiling in an almost empty way. I saw the heads of the crowd turn to face us in confusion. “These miscreants are some of those villains who were terrorizing my fair city. They were captured in the wake of the military actions this past night, and I have decided to make an example out of them. Herztal, nay! The world must be made to understand that Elderwyck stands strong and proud! That we will push back against the hordes, monster or otherwise, that seek to cow us!”

I frowned slightly, barely acknowledging the puppet Duke. None of this was actually his idea. It had to be part of some scheme of Rhiannon’s.

But what? What was the point of this farce? I doubted she had gone through all the trouble of capturing Dusk, Thirty-Two, I, only to execute us in some kind of show.

Movement in the crowd drew my attention.

While there were almost too many people in that mass of starving and desperate refugees to count, they were, for the most part, behaving in similar ways. But the training that I had received during my time in the Nocturne Division, and from mentors and companions that were all the way back in Helstein, I could see some discrepancies.

Slowly, ever so slowly, there were some people maneuvering their way through the crowd. They were being as casual as they possibly could about it, but they were making their way to the front of it, passing beneath the notice of not only the refugees, but the guards on the edges of the courtyard.

They were moving towards us.

I clamped down as hard I possibly could once I realized what was happening, desperately hoping that I hadn’t given them away. Was this what Dusk had seen, before I did? Because I recognized those movement patterns.

Those were spies and assassins trying to get into a better position.

No, no, no, NO!

Run! Get out of here, I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs.

This…this was a trap.

And…

The three of us were the bait on the end of Rhiannon’s hook, weren't we?. But why?! What did she care about the Nocturne Division for?

Why…why go through all this effort, just for us.

Fuck it.

Fuck it, FUCK IT, FUCK IT!

Sylvia might be one of those Agents, walking into the jaws of Rhiannon's trap. In fact, it was likely. I know I would have been right there with them if she had been captured.

I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t take the chance to warn them when I could have.

I took a deep breath, inflating my lungs as deeply as I could, and prepared to shout my warning at the top of my lungs.

I didn’t get the chance.

Before I could speak, an impossibly fast glob of dark red liquid impacted not only my mouth, but that of Dusk’s as well. I tried to open my jaw, but whatever this was, it was like glue.

And it tasted awful, like the rotting corpse of an animal left too long out in the sun. I tried to look at it as best as I was able, but all I could see was a congealed mass of red liquid sticking my lips together.

Following the source of the ooze, I found Rhiannon wagging one finger at me discreetly, like she was a school teacher scolding a naughty student.

Oh.

Was this…blood? Suddenly, I wanted to vomit into the cavern of my sealed lips. I repressed it, though.

But not the sickness in my stomach.

There was nothing Dusk or I could now, to warn our comrades. We couldn’t yell or scream, and we couldn’t even wave our arms about to warn the Agents walking into a trap. They were still chained to the railing.

I felt tears of frustration well up in my eyes at the unfairness of it all.

Frustration, and sorrow.

With lead in my belly, I watched as the concealed Agents, either Nocturne or SED, finished getting into position just underneath the balcony. They stayed there, though, apparently waiting for something. I didn’t know what, but…

I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

The entire sequence of events that led to my silencing by Rhiannon only took a few moments, but the entire time, Olsen had been ranting and gesticulating to the increasingly confused-looking crowd.

That was cut off though when I heard a sudden squelching noise. At the same time, I felt another spray of liquid on my face.

This time, much, much hotter.

Jerking, and turning to see what had happened, my jaw would have dropped at what I saw if it could.

Because the liquid that had hit my face was blood as well. Only…it wasn’t cold and dead like Rhiannon’s had been.

No…this was Olsen’s lifeblood.

The Duke had frozen in place because two hooked daggers had pierced him straight through the throat. Before he, or anyone else by the matter could react, they pulled outwards, fully decapitating Quentin Olsen.

His head went flying, momentarily shadowed by the light of Tarus above and raining more arterial blood upon those below. Rhiannon was especially coated in it, considering how close she had been to her dominated puppet.

The corpse of Duke Olsen slumped to its knees, allowing me to see who had just assassinated the leader of Elderwyck. Even though I already suspected who had done it, I was still both relieved to see him.

And scared for him.

Hook, or rather Baldric of House Florens, was standing at the front of the railing that I was still chained to. I say Baldric, because for some reason, my leader wasn’t wearing his Nocturne mask. Instead, his craggy face and steel grey beard were bared to the world, as his equally aged long hair blew in the wind of the courtyard. He was nonchalantly wiping the blood of his target off of his hooked blades, on the surface of his grey Nocturne cloak. He spared the three of us captives a brief glance, his eyes lingering on Dusk for a moment, before fixing his gaze intently on the unbothered form of Rhiannon.

Said Vampire was idly inspecting the blood that had coated her tall, lithe frame. She lifted a hand and watched idly as Duke Olsen’s blood dripped from her fingertips. “A bit early...but not a great loss,” She finally said, breaking the silence on the balcony.

Baldric snorted, and finally finished cleaning his blades. “Is that so? I happen to agree. Greycton wanted to interrogate him, but he’s just going to have to pound sand,” His eyes hardened. “There are bigger fish to fry.”

Rhiannon finally lifted her gaze from the blood on her hands, almost reluctantly. She locked gazes with the dwarf standing above with no fear evident on her beautiful face. “Oh?” She asked leadingly, teasingly. “And what fish are those, duelist?”

The leader of the Nocturne Division lifted his hooked dagger to point at his target.

Her.

“Vampires, for one,” Baldric said grimly.

Rhiannon smiled slightly.

That seemed to be the signal that finally broke the spell that had fallen over the courtyard at the Duke’s assassination.

Screams erupted all around me, and the world fell into chaos.