The Will to Live Is My Strongest Skill

The city pulsed under my skin, in my fingertips, in the steel joint of my prosthesis.

​I sat on an overturned box in the workshop, lapping a new valve for the cooling system of the "Boar."

​"Coffee?" Wayland asked briefly, entering the workshop.

​"If there is sugar in it, then yes," I replied, taking the mug. "Stein hasn't left?"

​"Locked himself in his wagon. Put two guardsmen at the entrance and is scribbling denunciations," Wayland leaned against the workbench, paying no attention to the oil stains. "He summoned 'specialists' from the College. Officially—to assess the 'threat to public safety.' In reality—they are coming for us soon."

​"We are ready," I took a sip of the scalding drink. "The 'Boar' is running. Perimeter defense is active."

​"Defense alone is not enough. If we just close ourselves off, they will choke us with a blockade. We need to show them that Dornheim is the new normal."

​At that moment, a sharp pain pierced my left temple. Lumon issued a series of impulses that I felt as a sharp smell of ozone.

​[WARNING: FLOW DESTABILIZATION IN SECTOR SOUTH-4. CRITICAL AMPLITUDE GROWTH. RUPTURE POINT—IN 180 SECONDS]

​I nearly dropped the mug.

​"Wayland, call Walter. The southern distribution node, hidden in the basement of the old laundry, has turned into a bomb. Someone shoved a stabilizer with reverse polarity into the resonance chamber."

​"Darwin, into the cabin! Elyria, take the roots, we are moving out!" I shouted, jumping onto the running board of the "Boar" on the move.

​Darwin, still with a sandwich clamped in his teeth, jumped into the gunner's hatch. Elyria was already there, her fingers nervously sorting through the green fibers woven into the control panel.

​I dropped into the pilot's seat and placed my hands on the contact plates.

​"Let's go."

​The machine noiselessly tore from the spot. Sparks flew from under the tracks, from static electricity that saturated the air.

​On the approach to the southern sector, I saw it. Clots of blue flame burst from the windows of the laundry. The nearest houses vibrated so much that tiles fell from the roofs.

​"They've gone mad!" Darwin shouted, looking into the viewing slit. "If this node blows, half the block will simply evaporate!"

​"Calm down," I clenched my teeth. My head was splitting. "Elyria, get ready. We need to ground this flow."

​I directed the "Boar" straight toward the wall of the laundry. The machine crashed into the masonry, crushing bricks. Inside the basement, blue flame roared. In the center, inside the steel casing of the distributor, shone a black crystal that absorbed light.

​"Darwin, grab!"

​The manipulator of the "Boar"—a huge steel paw—extended forward. But barely had it touched the casing, an arc of discharge passed through the metal. The control systems went out for a moment.

​[CRITICAL OVERLOAD. ATTEMPTING AUTOMATIC SHUTDOWN...]

​No. Don't shut down, I commanded. Lumon responded with a sharp pain in my eyes.

​"Elyria, now!"

​She pressed her palms to the inner plating. The living roots of the Iron Oak, permeating the "Boar," extended from under the armor. They wrapped around the manipulator and reached toward the source of the flame.

​The plants absorbed the energy, becoming transparent-gold. The heat went into the ground through the tracks of the machine.

​"A little more..." I rasped.

​Darwin, controlling the grab, hooked the black crystal. The metal of the manipulator began to melt, but Elyria's roots held the structure. With one sharp movement, he ripped the sabotage module from the socket.

​The roar instantly subsided. The blue flame died down, leaving behind only melted stone.

​"Everything... clear," I said, leaning back in the chair.

​When we got out of the machine, swaying from fatigue, Noah appeared from the shadow of a neighboring house. He looked as usual—but on his pale cheek was a thin streak of soot, and in his hand he held someone's rosary beads with the coat of arms of Inspector Stein.

​"Missed one?" I asked, wiping my face with a rag.

​"No," Noah nodded toward the alleyway. There, bound by scraps of their own cloaks, lay two of Stein's "guardsmen." Those very "alchemists." Both had dislocated shoulders. "They tried to leave through the sewer."

​At that moment, Wayland rode up to the laundry on his stallion. Behind him, in an open carriage, rolled Baron von Stein.

​I approached the carriage.

​"Baron," I said, "It seems your people dropped something."

​I opened my palm, and the melted destabilizer fell onto the velvet seat of the carriage, burning a hole in it.

​He looked at the crystal, then at the bound guardsmen in the alleyway, whom Noah was silently pointing at.

​"This... is some mistake! I have nothing to do with this!" the baron squeezed out.

​"Of course you don't," Wayland rode closer, towering over the carriage. "That is precisely why you will order your men to lay down their weapons right now and leave my city. And I, in turn, will forget to mention in my report to His Majesty that the Imperial Inspector tried to blow up a residential quarter for political gain."

​"You have one hour, baron," I added.

​In the evening, we sat in the workshop.

​Darwin was finishing his sandwich, Elyria was watering the roots of the "Boar" with some kind of nutrient mixture, and Noah was sharpening his knives in the corner.

​Wayland came to us late at night. He brought a bottle of good wine and five glasses.

​"Stein has left," he informed, pouring the drink.

​"Finally," Darwin said. "And why do only we have such problems?"

​"Not only us," Wayland replied, "right now across the entire planet there are tens if not a hundred million people like us. Aristocracy, magic, power—it is precisely this vicious circle that dooms the world to endless suffering," he added. "Even our King Olgerd will go to any lengths for his own goals, spitting on the townspeople."

​"And how to fix all this?" I asked.

​"There are two options," Wayland said. "The first—to cut out all the aristocracy by the roots and bury magic along with it. And the second, to arrange peace negotiations between them."

​"If it comes down to these two options after all..."

​"Then it will be the first," Wayland cut in. "But... still there is one person who can implement the second option."

​"And who is it?" Noah asked.

​"Yan," Wayland said hollowly. "But even his strength will not be enough to pull this off alone. My past speaks for itself, I know. But that is exactly why I was looking for those capable of standing shoulder to shoulder with him," he added, looking at us.

​"I pass," Noah said.

​"Me too," Elyria added.

"It's easier to just choose the first option."

​"Here! Here! I think so too," the spirit agreed.

​"So… I rose from the crate, looking up at the count. "You declared war on us? You slaughtered our people just to see whether we were worthy of your great goal or not?!"

Wayland calmly took a sip from his glass and looked me in the eyes.

"I will repeat: my past speaks for itself, Iron," the count said evenly. "Yes, I gave the order to start the war. I ordered these lands to be taken at any cost. But personally, I did not kill any of your people. All those deaths… happened only because of them."

Blood rushed to my head. My temples throbbed, and everything in front of me was swallowed by a dull gray-white haze. My reason simply shut off.

I don't remember how I moved. My hand tore the sword from its sheath on its own.

CLANG!

At the very last fraction of a second, the screech of metal rang out. My blade stopped just a few centimeters from the count's throat.

Noah intercepted my strike with his own sword.

"Get lost," I growled, pushing my whole weight forward. "Because of him, innocent people died! You're protecting this bastard?!"

"Calm down, Iron," Noah replied quietly, holding my weapon back. "I noticed it during the assault too. The count himself didn't shed a drop of blood. And his knights… they only truly fought me and Elyria. Most likely, Wayland simply didn't trust the village from the start."

Wayland slowly nodded, confirming his words. His absolute calm only made it worse.

"Besides," Noah looked straight into my eyes, making me flinch. "Remember that breach at the barricades. You yourself ordered two men to stay behind and cover you, knowing they wouldn't survive. And after that you're saying this to the count?"

"That… that wasn't me!" I choked out, stumbling back. The sword trembled in my hand. "Do you hear me?! That wasn't me!"

"Then who was it?" Noah asked quietly.

He stepped closer. With a gentle motion he took the sword from my weakened fingers and placed it on the oil-stained workbench. I stood there, breathing heavily, feeling a violent tremor running through my entire body, gray spots still floating in my vision.

Noah came right up to me and awkwardly pulled me into a brief embrace, his hand pressing lightly against my shoulder.

"We need you more than ever right now, Iron," he said quietly into my ear. "So please… pull yourself together."

A heavy, dense silence filled the workshop.

"In any case," the count finally broke the silence, exhaling as if nothing had happened. "I have no idea where Yan is right now…"

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