Chapter 220: Inspector Klaus

Inspector Klaus was a man who genuinely enjoyed his life. He was well-fed, handsome, and carried a pouch entirely full of jingling silver coins.

In the streets of Salzburg, being the Archbishop’s appointed tax collector meant you were basically untouchable.

Klaus spent his mornings shaking down local merchants, and his evenings drinking the finest stout surrounded by beautiful, scantily clad women.

Today was supposed to be just another easy morning.

"Break the cursed door down, Captain," Klaus ordered, adjusting his collar with a smirk. "If the owner complains, tell him the Archbishop charges an extra ten pieces of silver for making me stand in the cold."

The Austrian guard captain swallowed hard. He did not like this at all.

The rumors surrounding this specific riverside tavern were incredibly grim, but he could not disobey a royal inspector. He signaled his two burly guards.

The boots of the guards slammed into the double doors.

The lock snapped in half, and the doors swung inward.

"Rise and shine, you cheap bastards!" Klaus cheered, stepping into the quiet tavern with a wide, arrogant smile.

However, the arrogant smile instantly melted off his face the very second he crossed the threshold.

It was not the dim lighting that stopped him in his tracks. It was the smell.

It was unimaginably foul.

It smelled like rotting eggs mixed with boiling urine and burning rocks. It was so intense that it actually burned the inside of Klaus’s nose.

"Curse it..." Klaus coughed, waving his hand rapidly in front of his face. "Did a whole herd of pigs die in here? Captain, bring a lantern inside!"

Captain Tomas stepped cautiously into the room, holding up a burning oil lantern.

The bar counter had been smashed to pieces. The dining tables had been pushed together into long, crude workbenches.

And standing around those tables were dozens of dirty, shirtless mercenaries with linen rags tied over their mouths and noses.

They were crushing strange yellow stones into powder. In the corner, huge iron pots were boiling disgusting white sludge over open fires.

And covering every single surface in the room was a fine layer of pitch-black dirt.

Though Klaus had no idea what he was looking at, his survival instincts screamed that he had just walked into something incredibly dangerous.

It looked like pure, grim alchemy.

"Taxes, you say?" a raspy, amused voice echoed from the cool shadows.

Klaus jumped, his head snapping toward the back of the room.

Sitting entirely relaxed on a stack of empty wooden crates was a scarred man.

The man was casually flipping a steel throwing knife into the air and catching it by the sharp blade.

"I am... I am Inspector Klaus!" he stammered. He puffed out his chest. "By the decree of the Archbishop of Salzburg, this establishment owes fifty pieces of silver in unpaid taxes. Pay up, or I will have my guards arrest every single one of you!"

*Thwack!*

Vargas flicked his wrist. The throwing knife flew across the shadowy room with blinding speed, slicing a few hairs entirely off the side of Klaus’s head before burying itself firmly into the doorframe right next to his ear.

Klaus let out a pathetic squeak, freezing entirely in place.

"I think we are a little short on silver today, Inspector," Vargas chuckled, slowly standing up from the crates.

"Who the hell is yelling in my kitchen?!" a booming voice roared from the back hallway.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the tavern. A frightening, broad-shouldered mountain of a man stepped into the lantern light.

It was Diego.

Captain Tomas took one look at the Imperial Vanguard commander and wholly lost his mind.

"...D-Diego of Alba!" Tomas gasped. Without a single word of apology to the Inspector, the guard captain dropped the lantern onto the floor, turned around, and sprinted out the broken doors as fast as his legs could carry him.

The other two guards did not even hesitate; they immediately ran right behind him, abandoning Klaus entirely.

"Wait..! Come back here, you cowards!" Klaus yelled, his voice cracking with pure panic.

Even so, Klaus did not dare turn his back on the huge warrior.

He slowly backed up toward the broken doors, holding his hands up. "I... I made a mistake! The Archbishop does not need your taxes. In fact, you do not have to pay taxes ever again! Just let me walk out of here!"

"Oh, you are not going anywhere, little pig," Diego grinned.

He lunged forward, grabbing Klaus by the collar of his expensive wool coat.

With a single heave, the huge warrior lifted the wealthy inspector entirely off the ground. Klaus kicked his legs in the air, gasping for breath as the stiff collar choked him.

"Put him down, Diego," a calm voice called out from the corner. "We do not want to break our new guest before we can properly entertain him."

Diego grunted, opening his heavy hand and letting Klaus drop to the floor.

From the shadowy hallway, two guards slowly pushed a crippled man forward into the dim lantern light.

Klaus recognized the pale, sharp face instantly. Every single noble in Austria knew the face of the most cunning general in the Emperor’s army.

"Fernando... the Duke of Alba..." Klaus whispered.

"Welcome to my new kitchen, Inspector Klaus," Fernando smiled. "I apologize for the mess and the terrible smell. As you can see, we are trying out a few new... recipes."

After hearing such words, Klaus swallowed hard, looking around at the shirtless men grinding the yellow stones and boiling the white sludge.

"What... what are you doing in here? This is grim alchemy... If the Archbishop finds out you are practicing heresy in his city, he will send the guard to burn this place down."

Fernando let out a laugh, leaning forward on his wooden crutches.

"Heresy? Oh, no, my friend," Fernando said. "This is not alchemy... This is science. I stole it directly from the Swabian King himself."

"You...?" Klaus stammered, looking down at the black dirt covering his own leather boots. "You are making King Konrad’s thunder?"

"We are making something much better," Diego laughed loudly, walking over to a long workbench. He picked up a perfectly round clay pot. The top was sealed entirely with thick wax, and a short, crude rope fuse was sticking out of the center.

Diego walked back over and shoved the clay pot directly into Klaus’s hands.

"Hold it," Diego ordered.

Klaus grabbed the pot. It was packed incredibly tight.

He looked down at it, having no idea what a bomb was, but knowing instinctively that it was something that could kill him.

"What is this?" Klaus asked.

"That, my dear Inspector, is the future," Fernando smiled, slowly swinging himself forward on his crutches until he was standing right over the kneeling tax collector.

He reached into his fur coat and pulled out a small piece of flint and steel. "You just need a little bit of this magic black dirt, a cheap clay pot, and a single spark."

Fernando struck the flint against the steel right in front of Klaus’s face.

A bright orange spark flew through the air, landing directly on the thick rope fuse sticking out of the clay pot.

The fuse instantly ignited. It began to burn rapidly, spitting out tiny, angry white sparks and a thin trail of thick smoke as the fire raced down the rope toward the packed black powder inside the pot.

"No... No! Please!" Klaus screamed. He tried to drop the pot, but Diego’s heavy hands clamped down hard on Klaus’s shoulders, forcing him to hold it against his chest.

"Look at it burn, Inspector!" Vargas laughed wildly from the crates, highly amused by the man’s pathetic panic.

The fuse burned shorter and shorter. Two inches. One inch. Half an inch.

Klaus squeezed his eyes tightly shut, bracing himself for the thunderous explosion that was going to tear his body to bloody shreds.

But the explosion never came. Instead, two thick fingers pinched the very end of the burning fuse, entirely snuffing out the flame just a fraction of a second before it reached the wax seal.

Klaus slowly opened his eyes.

Fernando was standing right in front of him, his face inches away, a grim smirk playing on his lips.

His fingers were entirely blackened with ash from pinching the fuse.

"You see, Inspector Klaus?" Fernando whispered. "You did not even know what this clay pot was a minute ago, and now, you are crying on your knees, begging for your life."

Fernando reached down and plucked the clay bomb out of Klaus’s shaking hands. He tossed it casually to Diego, who caught it with a grin.

"I am not going to kill you today, Inspector. I need you to be a good little tax collector and deliver a message for me," Fernando said, turning around and walking back toward the hallway.

Klaus knew with genuine certainty that whatever message he was being forced to carry back to the Imperial authorities would inevitably drown the entire Holy Roman Empire in an ocean of blood and fire.

The arrogant tax collector who had strutted in that morning was gone, replaced only by a shaking messenger. After all, what defense could mere men possibly mount against commanders who now commanded the power of thunder?