Last Born Of The Desdemona Chapter 56: Lady Olympias

Chapter 56 – Lady Olympias

With Aissatou at her side, Isolde walked through the alleys of the Outskirts of Desde City, her face hidden behind a mask that gave nothing away, unseen and unheard.

It was in monts like these, when she had a task to complete, that she truly appreciated the benefits of her power.

But even while appreciating it, she couldn’t ignore the weight of its inconvenience pressing down on her shoulder without rcy.

It was different now, though.

Now that she had Cassius’s unconditional love, she had even begun to love her power more, because she didn’t need anyone else’s attention when she already had the undivided attention of her husband.

She was already beginning to smile under the darkness of her hooded cloak, until she rembered where she was.

The stench hit her all over again. A pure, unfettered assault on her nose. Not only from the n who hadn’t washed themselves in months — so of them, quite possibly, years — but from the environnt itself.

It was poorly maintained, never cleaned, and used freely as a dumping ground by the Main City.

It was no wonder the sll was what it was.

One might have expected the people of the Outskirts to hate the citizens of the Main City for drowning them in their refuse. But Isolde had been surprised, more than once, by how eagerly they waited for the trash to arrive each day.

’A young boy — innocent and scarred, his eyes a permanent house of dried tears yet unwilling to die — once told that the trash was their main way of finding food, clothes, and sotis sothing essential.’

What others discarded as worthless was the sa thing keeping more than half the people here alive, with no prospect for any kind of future.

Isolde shook her head internally. She had no particular pity for them. But she couldn’t help wondering what it felt like to live in a place where every single instant was a fight just to survive one more second.

Not a year. Not a month. Not a day. Not even an hour.

One more second.

That was the life of the Outskirts. No future to speak of. Only one question screaming inside the mind on a loop:

Will I survive the next second?

And it was surprising how many of them failed.

She shook her head again and pushed the thoughts aside.

They moved through a crowd of people going about their lives; though it was plain that most of them, if not all, were going on not because they wished to live, but because they refused to die like the worthless things others believed them to be.

People pushed carts loaded with trash, shouting to others what they were willing to trade. Others sat with their backs against the squalid walls, staring mindlessly at a sky that seed sohow darker and more miserable than the one above the Main City.

"I hate coming here, my Lady." Aissatou whispered, pressing her lips tightly together.

Isolde didn’t bother to answer. She couldn’t care less what Aissatou hated.

Besides, she was beginning to catch fragnts of interesting conversation drifting through the crowd around her.

"Hey, did you feel that earthquake a few hours ago? I almost pissed ice cubes, man. I thought so Fractured Land had opened up in this dump."

"Pissed? I literally shat myself at that explosion. And Vorn take , it happened right when I finally had old Veronica under and was about to give her a good ti."

"You lucky bastard! How did you manage that?"

"How else?" The man’s tone turned gloating. "You know how won like to look good. Even here. I just traded so useful trash with her. I told you to co with , you useless—!"

Isolde stopped listening, finding more useless information than useful.

’Sothing happened.’ She thought. ’Is this connected to the S-rank risk?’

She didn’t have to wonder long.

They had arrived.

Isolde and Aissatou stood in front of a small, weary bakery selling bread that looked more likely to kill you than nourish you. Yet a few people sat at tired chairs inside, eating like ravenous animals.

At the counter was a lean man, his skin like used leather — rough and twisted — with a full, dirty yellow moustache.

Isolde approached, pressing her elbows on the filthy counter, her eyes locking onto his black ones. The man was mildly surprised to see her, as if she just spawned out of nowhere.

His eyes narrowed.

"Good sir, do you happen to know where I can find useful trash?"

"What kind?" The man asked slowly, his voice like the snarl of a tired cat.

"Sothing long," Isolde said, her tone drawling, "and sharp."

A flash of understanding crossed his eyes. He smiled like a well-worn trader, his teeth blackened by sothing Isolde chose not to identify.

"Oh!" He exclaid with false enthusiasm. "If it’s only that, I have sothing in the baking area. Co then, young lady. And your friend too. I will give it to you for a reasonable trade!"

"What do you want for it?"

"Ah, nothing but at from a fanged beast."

Isolde nodded.

Just like that, she and Aissatou slipped past the other custors, followed the man deep into the bakery and through to the baking area.

Once there, the man resud his calm expression, standing before a huge, worn-out machine.

"He’s already inside, waiting." He said, scratching his jaw and gesturing to a small door just behind the machine. "You may enter, my Lady."

A single nod in response and Isolde and Aissatou slipped through the door and into a winding staircase that descended downward. Torches with yellow fla lined the walls every nine steps, illuminating the way.

They walked down in complete silence, their steps making not a single sound.

At the base, a large empty space opened before them — bare except for a few chairs, chains, and instrunts of torture.

Their eyes imdiately found the man leaning restlessly against a support pillar, who straightened the mont he saw them.

"I greet Lady Olympias and her companion!" Maxim bowed imdiately. "Thank you for—!"

"I have no ti for pleasantries." Isolde cut in, her mask altering her voice into sothing unrecognisable. "Speak. What happened?"

She stopped a few paces from him, watching him fidget, clearly struggling with how to present his blunder.

He knew better than to make his superiors wait, though. None of them were patient.

"It concerns Base Operation Three of the Third Fang, my Lady." Maxim sighed, resigned to his fate. "The base was discovered. I had no choice but to destroy it along with all evidence of our work there."

Isolde frowned imdiately. ’We lost a base operation? Vorn’s breath.’

"How?" She said, her voice cold and edged with anger. "How was the location found? What did you do?"

"I did nothing, my Lady!" Maxim shook his head frantically. "I never left the building except with permission from you or Lord Constantine."

"That makes no sense." Isolde hissed, stepping forward. "You know what happens to those who lie to their superiors."

"I know, I know." He nodded hard. "But I am not lying, Lady Olympias. The only unusual thing was a crippled old man who refused to leave, wanted a potion to treat so tumour between his legs. That was all. Nothing else."

"Was it the old man who found the location?"

"No, my Lady." He paused, swallowed. "This is where things beco strange. The person who found the location is the reason this is S-rank."

"Stop wasting my ti and say it." Isolde grated.

Maxim didn’t answer imdiately. He gathered what courage he had and parted his dry lips.

"My Lady, the one who found it was a heir of a Tier One Family."

Isolde and Aissatou’s eyes went wide. "W-What?" Isolde said, her face a shade paler.

"Yes." Maxim nodded, scratching his neck with visible stress, then pressed on. "The one who found it was..."

Isolde’s breath caught in her throat.

"...the Last Born of the Desdemona, my Lady."

Her heart dropped.

—End of Chapter 56—