Tytania:Volume 2 Chapter 4

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Chapter 4 – The Second Time Is Not the Last

I

Duke Zarlisch Tytania was staying at the Hotel Alhambra in the East Sant Joan district of planet Bargash. Naturally, he was no ordinary guest; indeed, the hotel itself was owned by Tytania, and the entire building had been placed at his exclusive disposal. However imposing his stature was, it was impossible for him to occupy every floor. Apart from the top-floor suite, which was reserved for him and his four mistresses, the rest of the hotel was used to accommodate his entourage and soldiers.

On Zarlisch’s orders, the club in the basement was opened to the soldiers free of charge, and they stepped into a garden of luxury with fine wine and women that they would normally never have been able to approach. Praising their lord’s generosity to the skies, they drank vintage wine straight from the bottle, sang and danced, and demanded kisses and embraces from the female companions. Indeed, even the very lowest ranks of Tytania had their own modest privileges.

Meanwhile, Mr Fan Hyulick, a guest of Zarlisch, was leading a life of confinement in a cramped single room. Although he had been granted the honour of sharing accommodation with the mighty Duke Zarlisch Tytania, he could not bring himself to feel the slightest sense of excitement. There were three surveillance cameras inside the room, half a dozen armed guards outside the door, and soldiers stationed in the lift lobby and at the stairwell entrances; from the guest room directly opposite, separated by the courtyard, a tear-gas launcher glared sullenly at Mr Fan Hyulick by the window.

Surveying the room, which could only be described as bleak, Hyulick has thoughts that had a touch of sarcasm in them. It seemed Zarlisch believed his prisoner possessed the brute strength of a Gargantua-class giant. Had Zarlisch been keeping watch on his own, Hyulick would have been utterly powerless to resist.

Hyulick’s thoughts, of course, did not reach the ears of the Tytanian great noble. It was Zarlisch’s mother, not Zarlisch himself, who harboured an obsession with Hyulick’s life and limb. Had ten thousand armed Hyulick gathered, it might have been another matter, but as things stood, for Zarlisch this was nothing more than a rather personal obligation.

Fulfilling such an obligation inevitably entailed various troublesome trivialities. For example, the Tytanian man who had directly subdued Hyulick came to see Zarlisch and asked him the following:

“No doubt, you will be paying the bounty, right?”

Zarlisch’s powerful eyebrows twitched in displeasure, possibly because he took offence at such a petty question. And that alone was enough to strike fear into the person he was talking with. The man turned pale, his gaze dimming with subservience. He bowed profusely and withdrew. To be regarded as a coward was the greatest insult to Zarlisch, but to be called stingy was no less unpleasant. He summoned his aide-de-camp, Commander Granite, and ordered him to pay the man his bounty. The fact that he specified, “In cash, mind you,” revealed Zarlisch’s true feelings.

As Granite was about to leave to make the arrangements, Zarlisch called him back and asked whether preparations were in place for a fleet battle in space. Satisfied with the reply that they were ready at a moment’s notice, Zarlisch pictured in his mind’s eye the scene of the near future, in which he would return in triumph after crushing the swarm of Blaze Flag Army forces closing in on him. A ferocious, triumphant laugh shook his magnificent beard.

That day, Mikhail Walenkov and Louis Edmond Pagès set out for the East Sant Joan district to conduct a visual reconnaissance of the security situation at the Hotel Alhambra. Zarlisch made no attempt to conceal his whereabouts, and it was clear that he was holding a prisoner in his custody. In that sense, the target of the assault was clear from the outset, but it was also certain that security would be extremely tight. To begin with, Zarlisch Tytania himself was an impregnable walking fortress.

In terms of both physique and physical strength, Walenkov wasn’t vastly inferior to Zarlisch. However, should it come to a fight, would he not be outmatched in sheer presence? That was Pagès’ observation. Walenkov was never a particularly belligerent sort to begin with. Like Pagès, he had become a soldier solely to earn a living.

“Doctor Lee suggested that we should feign an attack on Duke Zarlisch in space, while in reality we would rescue Admiral Hyulick on the ground, but…”

Pagès stroked his slightly pointed chin, furrowing his thin brows. He looked somewhat like a fox devising a strategy against a hunter and his hounds.

“At this rate, it looks as though the plan is going to fall apart. There isn’t the slightest opening we can exploit.”

At that, Walenkov nudged his comrade’s arm with his sturdy elbow. His thick fingers drew Pagès’ gaze. A poster was pinned to the wall beside them, announcing a gathering and listing the names of the guests of honour. Pagès read it and, as a sign of understanding, gave Walenkov a wink.

II

At the central spaceport of planet Bargash, some five dozen armed ships, their outer hulls bearing Tytania’s crest, were lined up bow to bow. Furthermore, warships were deployed in groups of one hundred in satellite orbit and in groups of one thousand at a point five hundred thousand kilometres from the planet. Zarlisch was serious. To anyone’s eyes, he was determined to crush his enemies.

“What on earth is going on? Is a war about to break out?”

The voice expressing this suspicion belonged to a middle-aged man who had alighted at the spaceport and settled into the back seat of a ground vehicle. He was dressed in a suit that, while lacking in individuality, was of refined quality.

“Milord Count, I’ve heard that Lord Zarlisch has mustered his forces in this sector,” replied the man in the front passenger seat.

“Lord Zarlisch, is it? That hothead certainly likes to make a big fuss of things.”

The man in the back seat let a hint of sarcasm play around his eyes and mouth. The ground vehicle began to move. The lights of the spaceport streaked past the windows in a band of light.

“Milord Count, you are speaking rather loudly.”

The man in the front passenger seat furrowed his brow and lowered his voice. He was a slender, somewhat nervous-looking young man in his early thirties, presumably a secretary of some sort.

“If anyone under Lord Zarlisch were to hear you, your position would be compromised. Please be careful.”

“Good heavens, am I not even allowed to speak my mind? Even though we both bear the name Tytania, there’s a world of difference between us.”

The man’s name was Elman Tytania; naturally, he was a nobleman holding the title of count. At the age of forty-two, he possessed some three dozen titles, including court adviser and royal counsellor to several countries, as well as honorary ambassador, foundation trustee and university councillor. Neither his appearance nor his talents or achievements had ever been particularly noteworthy. He was regarded as a harmless, unremarkable figure. This was not merely a matter of prejudice.

Count Elman Tytania could well be described as a man of an enviable and carefree status. Within the Tytania clan, he was neither of the main line nor a distant branch; having secured a moderate position and wealth, he lived a leisurely and self-sufficient life.

If one aspired to great power and high office, members of the Tytania clan were required to possess superior intellect, diligence and achievements compared to ordinary people; however, once removed from such competition, they needed not worry about going hungry and could lead a comfortable life while holding a number of honorary posts. Even Count Arses could have been considered thoroughly ordinary, and he would likely have avoided an untimely death had he not possessed that strangely distorted sense of aesthetics.

Among members of the Tytania clan who have stepped away from power, there were often those who achieved distinction in academic or artistic pursuits. A major factor in this was that, free from financial worries, they could devote themselves entirely to their favourite pastimes. Although Count Elman lacked creative talent himself, he ran several schools and foundations, and there were expectations that a number of talented individuals would emerge from them. This was not necessarily limited to artists or creators: there were also those who rise through the ranks of Tytanian organisations as technocrats skilled in practical affairs.

The following day, a seminar organised by the Locator Association was scheduled to take place, and it was Count Elman’s duty to deliver a congratulatory address at the opening ceremony. Tytania’s nobility was considered ideally suited to attending ceremonies and festivals to deliver congratulatory addresses. Even if these were merely formalities or empty rituals, as long as multiple groups and organisations coexisted within society, it was necessary to issue invitations and accept them; and since the formalities must be observed anyway, just as a vase requires flowers, it was deemed fitting for Tytania’s nobility to occupy the guests’ seats.

Among those holding the title of baron and managing to occupy a place at the very bottom of the aristocratic hierarchy, there were some who travelled the frontier, making an appearance even at minor ceremonies, and eked out a living on the fees and lodging they were offered. Tytania was a mighty and opulent world, but it was an inescapable reality that the blessings of the starlight grew fainter the further one strayed from the centre of power.

Count Elman Tytania spent his time in the ground vehicle in silence, but this did not last long. An incident occurred immediately after the ground vehicle had passed the halfway point between the spaceport and the city centre. Four ground vehicles, emerging from the depths of the night, surrounded the Count’s vehicle from all sides, pressing their bodies tightly against it.

The driver panicked and attempted to escape, but after a desperate struggle lasting about five minutes, he gave up resistance. The vehicle was forced to stop in a coniferous forest off the main road. When several figures armed with guns appeared, the secretary, his voice trembling, belatedly demanded to know who they were:

“Who are you, you knaves?!”

“Are you committing this act of insolence in full knowledge that I am Count Elman Tytania?”

Having been calmly pre-empted, the secretary was at a loss for words. Looking flustered, he cast a glance at his master in the back seat.

The count stood with his arms folded, observing the situation in silence. As one of the attackers, Doctor Lee, was about to speak, looking him straight in the face, the count calmly cut him off:

“I do not care for being ordered about or threatened. From the looks of it, you are younger than I am. Show due respect to your elders. If you do, I shall respond in kind.”

Upon hearing this, Doctor Lee scrutinised the count closely. The count’s demeanour was unhurried, his voice composed; he did not appear to be putting on a show of strength. As there was no time to spare for observation, Doctor Lee had to decide on his course of action within the space of a couple of moments. He holstered his incapacitating gas pistol, instructed his comrades to sheathe their weapons, and then respectfully asked the count to step out of the carriage.

Doctor Lee, Miranda, Pagès, Walenkov, Amzekar and four others made up the group that had ambushed the count. Their objective wasn’t to kill him. As part of Doctor Lee’s multifaceted parallel operations, they intended to kidnap Count Elman and hold him hostage, so hey could demand to exchange him for Fan Hyulick.

Upon hearing this, Count Elman gave a gentle chuckle.

“I’m afraid I hold no value as a hostage. I am indeed a count of Tytania, but there are like… nearly a hundred of my rank, I think? Do you really think Tytania would yield to blackmail over a mere one percent?”

“You are quite right.”

Doctor Lee could not help but be taken aback. Was Count Elman not a harmless and unremarkable man, one who never came anywhere near the centre of power in Tytania, and who, for that very reason, had never had his talents put to the test, content to remain a mere ordinary man in what was commonly termed a “dead-end” position? Yet the middle-aged man standing before Doctor Lee possessed a profound intellect beneath an air of natural dignity, and seemed to be a figure whose true nature was far from easy to fathom.

“Never mind that, there is a far more effective strategy. Why not make me your negotiator and let me have a word with Tytania’s leadership?”

This proposal took the attackers so completely by surprise that their only response was silence.

“Here’s the reason, and I realise it might seem abrupt, but…”

Count Elman’s explanation was as follows: If Count Elman were to establish contact with the anti-Tytania faction and build up a network of contacts now, it would create scope for diplomatic negotiations in the future. While there might be no immediate results, if this channel were to remain open for generations to come, it would provide both factions with a greater range of options in their political and military strategies as the times change. Should that come to pass, it would be a fortunate outcome for both sides; moreover, it would free him from the inactivity that had characterised his life thus far, allowing him to imbue the remainder of his life with meaning. Would you not consider it for a moment…?

“I understand your point. It is quite a sound argument.”

As far as Doctor Lee was concerned, this was the highest possible praise. It was only then that he revealed his true identity, introducing himself as “Doctor Lee of the Blaze Flag Army”. As a precaution, the others did not reveal their names.

“But, Count Elman, even if these are your intentions, what might the others in Tytania think? Duke Zarlisch, for instance, might brand you a traitor to your clan, an unforgivable betrayer. Are you making this proposal while taking that risk into account?’

“Lord Zarlisch isn’t the Clanner of Tytania. At least, not at the moment.”

It was a reply laden with implications. Doctor Lee ordered his thoughts, coursing through his neural circuits, to accelerate. Was Count Elman, by saying “at the moment” was in fact speaking of the future? This Tytania noble might intend to use the “channel of dialogue with the anti-Tytania faction” as a weapon to increase his personal power and establish a firm position for himself as a diplomat at the very heart of Tytania’s power structure.

“A ruling party without an opposition becomes corrupt and diminished. An enemy incapable of overthrowing Tytania is necessary to keep Tytania in check. That, in the end, will ensure Tytania’s longevity.”

“Is that your view, Count?”

“I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

At this point, Miranda interjected.

“So, in the end, everything exists for the sake of Tytania? How arrogant.”

“Indeed, it is arrogant,” nodded gravely the Count, “But that arrogance is underpinned by facts and truth. The truth goes without saying. As for the facts, lo and behold: Tytania is alive and well, and invincible.”

Count Elman laughed maliciously, and neither Doctor Lee nor Miranda could refute him.

It was true that Tytania had not asserted its dominance over the cosmos by military force alone. While the icy whip flashed several times, sweet nectar was scattered. Even towards the Interstellar City League, its greatest public enemy to date, it had never severed the channels of diplomacy and dialogue. Whether in peace or war, Tytania had continued to hold the reins of human society, increasing its allies and creating enemies as necessary. Did this mean it was now time to create enemies?

Amzekar gathered a bitter glob of saliva at the corner of his mouth.

“So we’re merely performing a sword dance on Tytania’s palm, are we? How pathetic.”

“The sword might well pierce that palm, though. When that happens, Tytania will fall. Count Elman, surely you are aware of that.”

Under Doctor Lee’s gaze, Count Elman showed no sign of being unsettled.

“Let me make this clear: I am a member of the Tytania clan. I will not plot against Tytania’s interests. I have neither the intention nor the obligation to do so. I believe this goes without saying.”

“Indeed.”

Responding briefly, Doctor Lee set his thoughts racing once more. Although the decision had already been made, there was something he wished to confirm, if possible.

“If I may be so bold as to speculate, it would appear, Count Elman, that you have certain ideas regarding the next Landless Clanner.”

Count Elman gave no reply, nor did Doctor Lee expect one. At that moment, they might well have been gazing into a mental mirror. Doctor Lee bowed silently, signalling his intention to accept Count Elman’s proposal. Thus, a most unexpected agreement was reached.

III

About an hour later than scheduled, Count Elman Tytania arrived at the hotel. This was a different establishment from the one where Duke Zarlisch Tytania was staying. Had they been lodging together, Count Elman would undoubtedly have found the situation rather cramped.

Once settled in his room, Count Elman instructed his secretary, whose face was still flushed, to send a message of greeting to Duke Zarlisch. He had chosen to avoid a direct call of his own accord, but also out of consideration for Duke Zarlisch’s convenience. Duke Zarlisch was a man of passionate temperament and would surely have been displeased to have a formal call brought into his bedchamber.

“Count Elman? Ah, I do recall there was such a gentleman.”

Just as the Count had anticipated, Duke Zarlisch, who received the message in his bedchamber, had no greater awareness of him than that. Although the difference in rank between a duke and a count is merely the insertion of a marquis, a duke bearing the surname of Tytania was, in essence, a ruler of the universe, standing above all kings and emperors. In contrast, a count, taken to the extreme, existed solely to preserve the bloodline; the gulf between the two was as vast and deep as the distance between the Milky Way and other nebulae.

Zarlisch sent a formal letter of thanks to Count Elman, and with that, he forgot all about his kinsman on the same planet. He was preoccupied with another member of his clan: Idris Tytania. He was no mere count, but a Celestial being of equal standing to Zarlisch. A message of congratulations and advice arrived from Lord Jouslain; at the same time, information of unknown origin was also received, suggesting that Lord Idris was envious of Lord Zarlisch’s achievements.

“What can a mere child like Idris possibly do? Even Lord Jouslain surely isn’t at an age where he would concern himself with withered grass,” spat out Zarlisch.

Although he was only two years older than Idris, his appearance suggested an age difference of some ten years. Zarlisch, too, had consistently emphasised his seniority in his words and deeds. Although Zarlisch was one year younger than both Dukes Ariabert and Jouslain, he had grown a beard to bridge that gap and crafted his appearance so that, at first glance, he would appear older than them.

Observing these details, it became abundantly clear that Zarlisch had taken meticulous care to turn the delicate factor of age to his own advantage. It was likely that Zarlisch was a far more politically astute figure than either Ariabert or Jouslain realised. That said, he was fundamentally classified as a military leader, and the matter of growing a beard, for instance, was probably a tactic designed to intimidate rather than a matter of political strategy.

In any case, Zarlisch did not attach much importance to Jouslain’s communication. He was determined to become the most powerful being in Tytania, which meant becoming the greatest entity in the universe.

Although Zarlisch held Jouslain in some regard, it could not be said that he fully understood his elder blood relative’s true worth. However, the same was likely true of Jouslain. History was replete with countless examples showing that even those who share blood and genes did not necessarily share a spiritual bond.

Zarlisch was displeased, but his captive’s displeasure was also quite pronounced. Not only had his physical freedom been taken away, but his freedom of taste had been stripped from him as well. He had demanded to be fed a herb omelette, yet his request had never once been granted. Even now, all that lay before him was a cutlet made from gluten, a portion of frozen mixed vegetables, and a mysterious stew, the only certainty being that it was not made from stewed human flesh.

It was quite possible that tranquillisers had been slipped into his food. There was a very real possibility of it. Fan Hyulick was not, or at least should not have been the sort to give up so easily, yet even when devising an escape plan, his thoughts lacked any kind of cohesion. Whatever one might call intellectual stamina had clearly deserted him.

“I’m in a bit of a slump. Perhaps I’m lacking calcium,” he muttered, plunging a synthetic resin knife into the gluten cutlet.

He did so, then pretended to be deep in thought for about two and a half seconds. Then he tried moving the knife again, before finally flinging it aside and resorting to his fingertips like a caveman.

Just as he was about to continue, muttering under his breath about the cutlet’s heat, he suddenly stopped and stood up. “How can anyone eat this!” he roared, hurling the other plates and cups at the surveillance camera. “I’ll chuck this rubbish down the toilet,” he declared before grabbing the cutlet and dashing into the restroom. Three minutes later, when he emerged from the toilet, his face was deathly pale.

Fan Hyulick was vomiting violently. He tried to support himself by placing his hands on the table, but failed and knocked the tray over. The crockery and food still on the tray played a loud, discordant symphony. The surveillance camera captured the image of the prisoner sprawled on the floor, transmitting the footage to the optic nerves of the guard who had been sipping his coffee.

The guard was flustered. If this important prisoner were to die, he would be held accountable. He flung his coffee cup aside, but as he had already swallowed its entire contents, a minor flood was avoided.

“Fan Hyulick was poisoned.”

The four words “falling into a panic” swept through the hotel like a gale, and even His Grace the noble Duke Zarlisch Tytania, leapt to his feet, pushing aside the beautiful black-haired princess with whom he had been sharing his bed. A report had just come in suggesting that, while it had initially appeared Fan Hyulick had attempted suicide, he had in fact been poisoned by someone.

Hastily changing into his military uniform, he revealed his imposing figure before his terrified subordinates.

“Who ordered such a thing? Find the criminal who has committed this unnecessary act at once!”

In response to the Duke’s roar, the hotel’s resident physician stepped forward. This came as a surprise to everyone present.

“With all due respect, Your Grace, it was an order from your mother.”

As this was both a confession and an accusation, even the resolute Zarlisch fell silent for a moment, glaring at the medium-stature, frail-looking doctor.

“Don’t lie to me!”

“No, it is no lie. Your mother’s orders were to make a man named Fan Hyulick suffer without killing him. Therefore, it was not a lethal dose of poison, and there is no danger to Fan Hyulick’s life.”

Zarlisch’s thick eyebrows twitched. Just as he thought, “That’s exactly the sort of thing mother would do,” he found himself compelled to accept the man’s explanation. Calming his breathing, he finally gave voice to his suppressed anger and spat out the words:

“Very well, I understand. If you let Fan Hyulick die, you will have disobeyed my mother’s orders. At that time, as her son, I shall hold you accountable for your crime!”

Zarlisch struck out at the air with his massive fist. It was such a powerful blow that one might have thought the wind pressure alone would make people stagger.

Nothing about the situation pleased this imposing young nobleman. Turning his broad back on the cowering assembly, he stomped back to his bedchamber, his footsteps echoing across the marble floor.

IV

The gastric lavage had been carried out while he was unconscious; it was the sound of a voice calling his name that dragged Fan Hyulick back up from the depths of unconsciousness.

“Admiral Hyulick, Admiral Fan Hyulick!”

“I’m not an admiral, I’m a colonel. I’m only paid a colonel’s wage. And yet they just keep piling all the responsibility on me…”

He vented his grievances with the petty grumbling of a commoner, hardly befitting a public enemy of Tytania.

“I’ve come to save you.”

The meaning of those words seeped into his subconscious and exploded there; at last, the ill-fated hero opened both eyes. He was lying on a stretcher used for transporting corpses, with a white cloth draped down to his chin. His vision was hazy, and the face of his saviour lay beyond a white, ethereal veil.

“Was it you who put the note in my meal?”

“Yes. It seems you followed our instructions to the letter.”

The low, subdued voice stripped away any trace of individuality.

“Yeah, but honestly, it was agonising.”

“It was merely an emetic. Please consider it far better than being brutally murdered by Duchess Zarlisch.”

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll take your word for it. But I haven’t asked yet, who are you?”

“An enemy of Tytania.”

“I see. That’s all I need to know.”

Although he was not entirely free of unease, Fan Hyulick forbade himself from asking any further questions or harbouring any further suspicions. Whatever the doctor’s true identity might be, one thing was certain: he was not on the side of Zarlisch Tytania.

As the hotel lacked the necessary facilities, Fan Hyulick was transferred to a hospital. It was, of course, a Tytania-affiliated hospital, but no one had anticipated that a half-dead man might attempt to escape, and security had been relaxed.

Everything had gone exactly according to plan. As far as this incident was concerned, the mastermind had accurately read Zarlisch’s mind. They had predicted that the very person who had “poisoned” Fan Hyulick would be held responsible for his treatment. The probability was not necessarily high, but the outcome proved favourable.

“Shall we then raise the curtain on the second half?”

“I do have one concern, though.”

“What is it?”

“What if I start hiccuping?”

In response to this question, which lacked any sense of urgency, the doctor’s reply was cold.

“It simply means you’ll stop pretending to be dead. Don’t worry, I’ll make a swift getaway if that happens.”

And so Mr Fan Hyulick was covered from head to toe in a white sheet and wheeled away in a trolley towards the mortuary. For the living, it was an experience hard to describe; specifically, it was the sensation of the dead people’s bodies against his skin, and it was by no means a pleasant one. Just as he had counted about 140 sheep, the doctor whispered:

“It’s the guard. Go limp!”

He’d meant what he’d said to the doctor earlier as a joke, but it seemed his prank had angered some deity or other. A strange sense of unease welled up from Fan Hyulick’s chest to his throat.

Before he could even think “this is bad”, a sensation exploded within him as if a dwarf had kicked him deep in the throat, and a sound like “Hic!” escaped him, as if his name had been compressed too much. The soldier in grey standing in the corridor stirred and cast a suspicious glance over the white cloth. Just as the masked doctor, without slowing his pace, was about to pass in front of the soldier, the soldier’s suspicion overcame his hesitation, and he let out a threatening growl.

“Show me that corpse…”

The soldier’s words trailed off as a wave of sound, louder than his own voice, flooded his ears. It was the sound of an explosion. The doctor had pressed the detonator switch in his clenched fist.

The explosion occurred in the unoccupied linen room, sending a spectacular burst of fire, smoke and sound into the air. It was a type of explosive designed to intimidate rioting crowds; while it caused no real harm, it was more than enough to throw people into a panic.

The soldier’s suspicions were blown away on the edge of the blast, and he grabbed his holster and ran off in the direction of the explosion. At the same time, the doctor also began running, pushing the trolley, and just as he was about to break through the maelstrom of chaos and disorder and emerge from the hospital, he was spotted by another soldier.

“Hey, wait, stop!”

Stringing together three very short syllables, the soldier aimed the muzzle of his incapacitating gas pistol at the doctor. However, the muzzle failed to fulfil its intended purpose. With his finger still on the trigger, the soldier’s expression went blank; without uttering a sound, the intruder slumped to the floor and was forced into an unwanted kiss with the marble.

Shaking off his momentary bewilderment, the doctor pushed the trolley, flung the hem of his white coat behind him, and dashed off. Left behind was the unconscious body of the hapless soldier. It was then that Louis Edmond Pagès appeared.

“I’m not quite sure what’s going on, but it seems a rival in our line of work has beaten us to it,” muttered Louis Edmond Pagès, tucking his short-barrelled pistol into the inside pocket of his work coat.

Out of every hundred shots he fired, he could demonstrate the skill of a master on about seventy-seven occasions. Relieved that this time he had avoided becoming another example from the seventy-eighth onwards, Pagès crouched low and began to run down the street.

The streets were teeming with ground vehicles, half of which bore Tytania’s crest. Around the hospital, grey military uniforms formed a living wall, radiating hostility and a sense of duty, much like white blood cells that had detected the presence of pathogens within the body. As he ran, Pagès shrugged inwardly. Tytania was not incompetent. On this occasion, a matter of seconds and a matter of milligrams of luck had not been on her side. That was all. That was all there was to it, yet someone would surely be held accountable for this situation. It would be quite a spectacle if that someone were Zarlisch Tytania himself, though…

And so, the wandering hero, Mr Fan Hyulick, was freed from the jaws of the God of Death which had closed in upon him. It was the second time this had happened, but there was no guarantee that this would be the last.

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