Page 2 of The Wind Dancer
It started to get to me, but I only had one chance so I had to act. I took a small vial out of my belt pouch, uncorked it, and poured the concoction into my eyes. A burning sensation spread through my capillaries, making my eyes feel like they were on fire, but I was willing to endure it. Half an hour of being able to see in complete darkness wasn’t much, but it was more than enough for my needs.
After putting the corked bottle back into the pouch, I took a deep breath and slowly crouched down. With a grappling hook securely attached to the roof edge, I rolled down the rope and began to descend.
A balcony was only a few steps below, and the massive dark wood doors were closed. I pulled out a set of lock picks and as I started working I realized the owner had shelled out for some gorgeous doors, but skimped out on the lock. A kid who had just gotten lockpicks could’ve opened it.
Click.
I slipped inside, softly stepping onto the carpet, and immediately felt the sharp, suffocating smell of blood.
I very quickly found the source.
There was a body on the floor.
Or, more precisely, what was left of it.
It was a young servant girl. She lay on her side, her silk robe soaked in blood and sticking to her skin. Her throat was torn out, leaving a gaping hole, the edges of which were dark from coagulated blood. Her nails were torn and broken as her hands seemed to desperately try and hold onto life.
But the worst part was her face.
The skin was pulled back, as if someone had tried to skin her, but gave up halfway through. One eye was gouged out, leaving a dried smear on her cheek. Her mouth was frozen in a silent scream, as if even death couldn’t hide the horror she had endured in her last moments.
I clenched my teeth, trying to keep my nerves and stomach in check. There was a cruel, cold-blooded murderer here. And that someone could still be in the house. What did I get myself into?
Instinctively, my hand gripped the handle of my dagger, and moving slowly, I went forward, carefully listening for any sound. The further I went, the less I liked this job.
I practically floated over the floor how carefully I snuck. Every shadow, every corner could be a threat, but everything was quiet. Dead quiet.
Key worddead.
There were so many corpses I encountered as I continued going through the place. They told me what I needed to know — there would be no survivors here.
First, the guard at the stairs. His armor was ripped like paper, and his chest was just one big hole. The attacker had ripped out his insides, leaving an empty gory rib cavity. What could’ve done this? A haywire automaton? Or even worse, a haywire dragonblood?
Next was a servant lying in the hallway with his legs bent backwards. An expression of horror was frozen on his face, his mouth twisted in a plea for help that wouldn’t come. I closed his eyes. I couldn’t bear to see that horrified look.
And further along, there was a woman in lavish clothes, probably one of the estate master’s concubines. Her face was torn like cloth, the eye sockets were empty, so horridly gouged that one could hardly tell where they originally were.
My nausea grew worse with each corpse, but I kept it under control with slow breaths.
Thankfully, the owner was extremely unoriginal, and the estate was built in the exact same classic style of all the wealthy houses in the Sunset Empire. So I knew exactly where I needed to go. The dragonblood’s office should’ve been on the top floor in the western wing of the house.
I wanted to finish this as quickly as possible, and then get drunk just as quickly to get my stomach and nerves in order. And then perhaps spending the rest of the night in a warm passionate embrace of a cheerful girl or two to properly relax.
When I got to the office door, it was ajar. Two latest-generation combat automatons were lying broken nearby. Those could fight off even some of the Imperial soldiers. What happened here? To the Demons! I didn’t want to know.
Gripping the dagger handle tighter, I stepped forward.
The dim moonlight illuminated the dragonblood’s luxurious office, but now it was more like a luxurious coffin.
The walls were upholstered in dark silk which was embroidered with gold threads — images of fire dragons spiraled upward, as if guarding the room. Massive bookshelves stood against the far wall, a place for ancient treatises, scrolls, and heavy tomes adorned with metal cornerpieces. But they were a mess now. Several books were lying on the floor, and an inkwell had spilled, forming a black, blood-like puddle on the polished floors.
Demons! If I snatched even a single one of those, I’d be wining and dining at the best spots for a week straight. But I had a job to do, so I held back the urge to grab those and continued my search.
In the center back of the room stood a massive mahogany desk. It looked as if something had destroyed it in a fit of rage. The entire surface was covered with deep gouges and scratches, tattered papers and broken trinkets hung from its edge. Some of them were crushed as if someone had stomped them.
The air was heavy, filled with a mixture of incense, faded dragon frankincense, and something metallic... like fresh blood.
The dim light barely illuminated the broken vases, overturned chairs, and it formed long shadows which clung to the walls like ghosts.
