The blame game

"Good morning, innkeeper." Claud nodded at the old man, who had an amused look on his face. "Where's my breakfast?"

"Coming right up, laddie. Did the Duke's emissary" —the innkeeper smirked at that word— "keep you up late and drinking all night? He was quite drunk when he left my humble business last night."

"I assure you he was quite sober when he left my room," Claud replied gaily. "Maybe he was just tired and sleepy. He is a hardworking subject of Duke Istrel, after all. He was exerting his full might to help in the search of a despicable thief for the whole of yesterday."

"Was that the reason behind yesterday's commotion?" the innkeeper asked. "The newsboy hasn't run over yet, so I cannot be sure."

"I am almost certain it is. A master thief apparently broke into Duke Istrel's treasure house and stole something of immense value," replied the thief in question. "His Grace was so worried about the future of his subjects that he was forced to activate every single man he had."

"The stolen item's value must beggar our comprehension then," the innkeeper replied. "I wonder what divine treasure it was."

"So do I. Let's hope today's news brings succour to our curiosity."

The two men laughed and nodded at each other. Of course, both of then knew that the other wasn't actually an admirer of the Duke; this display was an impromptu show put up for the breakfast diners here. Claud wasn't sure if there were any of his informants here, but if there were, those informants were far more skilled than the peacocks yesterday.

After exchanging a few more niceties, Claud went over to an empty table, a tray of poached eggs and bacon in his hands. Setting it down nicely, he adjusted his cloak and slipped on a small ring. It was a ring of Poison Resistance, which had regained a charge just a few minutes ago. The odds of it being activated now due to poisoned food was literally zero, but it was better to be safe than to be sorry.

Claud was nibbling on a nice long strip of bacon when a tall man wearing the Dukedom of Istrel's colours — blue and yellow — walked into the inn. Nodding politely at the innkeeper, the tall man ordered a drink and gulped it down. Exhaling with a contented expression, the tall man flipped a silver coin at the innkeeper and left the place.

The whole process hadn't taken more than a minute or two, but it was enough for Claud to be interested. For one, a silver coin for a drink would drive most of the people in this town insane. Second, the sheer familiarity with the innkeeper, and the practiced moments the innkeeper had when making the tall man's drink, implied that the latter was a frequent visitor.

That guy was probably the town crier.

"Residents of Pletsville, valued citizens of the Dukedom of Istrel, hearken to the Duke's words. A despicable thief has broken into His Grace's treasury. The knave has absconded with a divine treasure: a small box smaller than a baby's fist. News leading to the rogue's capture will be richly rewarded with a knight's fief."

The words continued to echo out into the town. Claud couldn't help but feel surprised, however. For the box to be the treasure was...unexpected, to put it mildly.

Resisting his urge to take it out immediately, Claud returned his attention to the town crier, who hadn't spoken the customary closing phrase yet. The second piece of news, however, made him choke on his bacon strip.

"Ruler Umbra, father of our reigning Duke Istrel, passed away last night, surrounded by his grieving, filial children," the town crier continued. "As such, commoners within the Dukedom of Istrel is to wear a white armband on their left forearm for the next year. Non-compliance will be treated as high treason, punishable by execution on the spot. A white armband will be distributed at every town centre. Do collect them before the day is over."

"Wow," Claud muttered. "Well, I'll be damned. A Ruler passing away?"

He wasn't alone in saying this, either. Virtually everyone else in the inn was reacting with similar levels of shock, and for good reason. Rulers were people of valour directly appointed by Emperor Grandis, who ruled over the namesake continent, to govern smaller — relatively speaking, anyway — areas. Every single one of them were monsters of wit, de facto immortals who had all lived more than a thousand years.

For one to die was…shocking news. Which was an understatement, but Claud didn't have any suitable words in his lexicon right now.

That, however, wasn't even enough to describe the shock that followed with the third announcement.

"The culprit behind his death is the despicable thief who stole away the Umbra Sovereignty's only Pure Life Gem, the knave who broke into Duke Istrel's treasury. As such…"

'Huh? What do you mean, 'only'? Since when did pure-ranked lifestones become a super rare commodity?' Claud stared at the half-eaten bacon strip in his hands, which seemed to be mocking him, and then forced it into his mouth. Chewing on the meaty strip, the thief couldn't help but think that he had been turned into a scapegoat for Ruler Umbra's death.

There was no way on the Moons that Ruler Umbra passed away 'peacefully'. Even ten pure-ranked lifestones, when fully formed, could extend one's life by ten years unconditionally. Lower ranked ones had diminishing effects, true, but that wasn't the same for their pure-ranked counterparts. Ruler Umbra, who was second to all but the ruler of Grandis, wouldn't be lacking in pure-ranked lifestones. At all. The perp probably swam in them every day.

Foul play was definitely at work here.

Claud trembled as he listened to the reward listed for his capture. The Emperor of Grandis had issued it personally; anyone who capture him, the 'culprit', would be made a hereditary duke with all the attendant rewards and privileges. Such a reward would be enough to move even the legendary five-fold mana-users...and if such a reward was offered, Claud couldn't even begin to imagine the punishment that Emperor Grandis was going to inflict on him.

Restraining his fear, Claud began to reflect on the events so far. The greatest threat that he would face was from the mana-users that were flocking over to Duke Istrel's treasury, which wasn't that far from Pletsville. Some of the more enterprising ones were probably at the town gates already, waiting to follow anyone who was leaving in a rush.

What made them so problematic was that mana-users, even if one discounted their six skills, had incredible combat capability. Once both sides ran out of skills…well, nothing short of a miracle would be needed.

Clearing up his plate with as much naturalness as he could muster, Claud headed over to the counter and booked the same room for three days. There was no other choice; leaving right now was far too dangerous. It would be infinitely better to hide for a while until the storm brewed over, but a new problem had appeared — he needed a reason to stay.

His mind spinning quickly, Claud feigned a few coughs and then groaned. Supporting himself on the counter, he asked, "Is there a healer in Pletsville?"

"No," the innkeeper replied. "Why?"

"I seem to have caught a cold or something," Claud replied, before coughing twice. "Can you send food up to my room? I don't think I want to move around that much."

"Of course. Three meals for three days…that'll be four silver and eighty-one bronze."

Claud nodded, and took out five silver. "Help me get some cold medicine with the spare."

"With that little, the village apothecary's not going to give you the best quality herbs at hand, though," said the innkeeper. "Are you sure?"

"Can't be helped," Claud replied, rubbing his head. "I still need to save more money for the return trip home. I came out here to sightsee, but who knew I'd come down with sickness?"

"Just plain unlucky, laddie." The innkeeper threw the same key over to him. "Remember not to lose it, or you'll have to pay an extra two silver."

"Got it," Claud replied, reaching out to catch it. The key, however, slipped through a gap in his fingers and fell onto the ground. Shaking his head twice, Claud bent over to pick it up, before ambling back up the stairs.

Stopping at the hallway to catch his breath — which was feigned — Claud ran through his actions earlier, and found no issue with them.

It was a good performance, as far as Claud was concerned. Within three minutes, he had come up with a convincing excuse as to why he would stay in town, while not leaving his room at all. Furthermore, by giving a reasonable amount of time for convalescence, as well as a date of departure, few would assume that he was hiding in his room to avoid suspicion.

Walking back to his room slowly, Claud breathed out slowly. By now, everyone in Pletsville was going to start investigating newcomers; if he played his cards right, this whole thing should blow over without too much of a fuss.

Probably.

Claud tilted his head as he entered his room. He had a feeling that the overwhelming shock he felt earlier had affected his mind somewhat. 'Odd. Did I forget about someone?'