Section Fifteen: The Bait (Part One)

Cecily lifted her skirt with both hands and dashed out of the forest, running desperately along the coach road. Though she called it a dash, her speed was meager; she didn’t even notice when one of her shoes slipped off. The ordeal she had just experienced was too terrifying—a sudden attack by a gang of goblin bandits, their grotesque faces and lecherous stares enough to make anyone shudder. Then, it seemed that people from Cominnason clashed with the bandits, and the forest was set ablaze.

Everyone had scattered in panic. At first, the Hegel family fled together, but as the bear goblins charged closer with reckless speed, the three of them were separated.

Cecily remembered only the coach road, and, terrified by the unfamiliar wilderness, she could do nothing but flee along it.

She had no idea how long she had been running. Her arms, clutching her skirt, were numb and weak. She tripped over her long hem and fell heavily to the ground, unable to rise. Overwhelmed by the fear and exhaustion of her ordeal, she lay there, trembling and weeping quietly.

Behind her, heavy, ragged breaths approached. The terrified girl looked up and saw a massive bear goblin rushing toward her, a warped spiked hammer clutched in his fist.

It was the cunning Rukovsky, the leader of the bear goblins. Even in the chaos, he had not forgotten the beautiful girl he had glimpsed earlier—such prey was the best: frail, defenseless, and of high value. If no one ransomed her, so much the better; Rukovsky would not mind having her bear a few little bear goblins for him.

Though Cecily was terrified, she feared capture even more. She did not know precisely what Rukovsky intended, but his vicious, obscene expression filled her with new strength, and she staggered back to her feet, fleeing once more for her life.

In the bright moonlight, a pitiful girl fled with all her might, pursued relentlessly by a savage bear goblin.

At last, exhausted, Cecily stumbled and fell again. Rukovsky, elated, charged at her. As Cecily struggled to rise, his large, hairy hand reached for her shoulder.

Desperate, Cecily rolled aside, putting a few meters between them. Rukovsky was not angry, but rather delighted; this proved his quarry was a clever female, and if she bore him cubs, they would inherit their parents’ intelligence—sure to make the cleverest bear goblins.

Cecily bit down hard on the hand that tried to seize her again. Roaring in pain, the bear goblin withdrew, now enraged, and abandoned all thought of mercy. He raised his curved-handled hammer, intending to shatter her leg.

Cecily closed her eyes in despair, powerless to resist.

But it was Rukovsky who cried out in pain. Cecily opened her eyes in astonishment to see a handsome, elegant knight standing before her, shielding her. His features were delicate as a woman’s, his fingers long and graceful, but his expression was grave. He leveled a long spear at Rukovsky’s throat.

Rukovsky was furious—but more afraid. His hammer had not struck Cecily’s leg; the knight’s spear had found his vital spot first.

“I am truly sorry, but I cannot stand by and watch you harm this lovely lady,” the knight declared sternly.

“Thank you for saving me. I have become separated from my parents—we were attacked by these goblins. My name is Cecily,” she said, steadying herself as she stood.

“You may call me Smythe. I am a knight,” her savior replied, sparing her a glance.

Seizing the moment, Rukovsky shamelessly rolled backward out of reach of the spear. Smythe snorted, preparing to give chase, but the goblin chief hurled his spiked hammer at Cecily. Fortunately, the knight was quick, retrieving his spear to deflect the weapon. Rukovsky darted into the nearby woods, escaping with his life.

Smythe might have caught and killed him, but he was unwilling to leave Cecily here alone. After a brief hesitation, he let the goblin flee.

“Oh, Sir Smythe, you suddenly left the carriage to rescue someone? You frightened me—I thought you had vanished!” an out-of-breath voice called from behind Cecily. She turned to see a man dressed as a servant hurrying over.

“This is a friend’s servant,” Smythe explained. “You said you were separated from your parents?”

Meanwhile, Gamio and Layard lay concealed among the trees. In a clearing dozens of meters away, the surviving bear goblins gathered. Though only remnants, there were still two to three hundred of them, along with three ogres—though their leader, Rukovsky, was nowhere to be seen. Worse, Mr. and Mrs. Hegel had been captured and were surrounded. If the two agents acted rashly and could not quickly defeat all the bandits, the Hegels would surely be killed. Thus, they dared not risk a rescue yet.

“This is all your fault, setting such a huge fire,” Gamio muttered.

Layard bristled. “Enough. If it weren’t for me, we’d all be dead by now. At least things aren’t at their worst.”

“Not the worst?” Gamio was irate. “If Mr. Hegel dies at the hands of these bandits, how will we answer to our leader?”

“So what do you suggest? The two of us might not fear these enemies, but we can’t guarantee the Hegels’ safety. If we attack and fail to rescue them before the bandits retaliate… Perhaps we should find the reinforcements the base sent. With a few more allies, we might succeed,” Layard calculated.

“Or perhaps, by the time we find help, the Hegels will be dead. Can’t you hear the arguing?” Gamio listened closely.

Below, the bear goblins were indeed quarreling. They had suffered a major setback and lost their leader (unable to find Rukovsky). Some called for killing the Hegel couple in vengeance, while others still wanted a ransom. Hegel and Sierra sat in the middle, listening anxiously as the goblins argued, sometimes in their own tongue, sometimes in the common language. As they understood more of the conversation, their faces grew pale—for those seeking revenge insisted that vengeance need not be wasteful; the couple could be eaten, with the woman reserved for last.

The two Cominnason agents were at an impasse. They could not guarantee the Hegels’ rescue and hesitated to act. Layard, though unable to hear the goblins’ debate, guessed from his sharp mind as a shadow mage that they were arguing over the couple’s fate. To the goblins, Hegel was just a hostage or a meal; but to those who knew his true value—especially southern nations or the northern Loth Empire and Cardia Kingdom, both undergoing military reforms—he was nothing short of a priceless treasure.

Hegel had not only improved the musket and invented the flintlock, but also refined the cannon. The cannon was by far the most destructive firearm, far surpassing the musket and approaching the might of high-level magic. Yet, unlike advanced magic, cannons could be mass-produced and used by ordinary soldiers. Still, artillery development lagged behind that of muskets, which had undergone myriad improvements until the advent of the flintlock made their progress smooth and predictable. Cannons, however, had faced many obstacles since their invention: wrought iron barrels were cheap but, lacking the hardness and resilience of bronze, could not withstand large gunpowder charges and were prone to explosion. Bronze was superior but too costly for widespread use. Cannons were also being cast larger and larger, challenging the ingenuity of their makers. The quality of gunpowder remained a persistent problem for engineers and reformers alike.

In summary, everyone knew the core challenges of artillery were surprisingly simple: achieving both high mobility and improved range and stability had yet to be solved.

In the past decade, the economic growth of the southern nations had led merchants to invest heavily for profit. Visionary leaders such as Chancellor Andre of Broom and Prime Minister Wallenheit of Randia guided these efforts, advancing both seafaring and military technology. In Randia and Broom, the government encouraged merchants to invest in the iron industry, while also sparing no expense to cast bronze cannons for their key locations and military forces. The last time the Fishmen had not attacked Victoria Harbor was partly due to insufficient aquatic guards, but also because dozens of bronze cannons stood ready, aimed at the sea day and night, replacing magicians as a formidable deterrent. The technology for casting large cannons drew inspiration from bell-making: molten metal was poured into clay molds, which were broken to release the cooled castings. Every cannon was as unique as a sculpture, its quality dependent on the craftsman’s skill, and mass production remained elusive. Nevertheless, artisans had not given up and continued to seek methods for continuous casting.