All the Dust that Falls: A Roomba Isekai Adventure

Harold resisted the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his jacket. It was a nervous tic he was developing, one that he could ill afford.

He spared a discreet glance over his shoulder. The street was crowded, but he could still pick out a few distinct faces that he recognized from a couple of minutes ago. They trailed behind him, inconspicuous except for their unshakeable presence. He turned off into a random alleyway that had few people in it and walked quickly. As he moved he hunched his shoulders, pulling his coat up and taking his hat off to change the shape of his silhouette in an attempt to lose his pursuers.

He wanted to reach up and scratch the itchy beard on his face but stopped himself again. To an observer, it would look strange to see him scratching the supposedly clean-shaven face that his Glamor was displaying.

Right before he reached the end of the alleyway, he stepped to the side. He ducked behind a young couple to break the line of sight. Instead of stepping out to the street beyond, he slid sideways through the brick wall. He ended up in what appeared to be a store room with no windows and a shut door.

Breathing in deeply, he relaxed, releasing several of his skills. His appearance returned to normal, albeit still hidden by his clothing. Harold shook out his hands, trying to get feeling back in them from how clenched his arms were.

These last several years have been hard. In fact, they had sucked. Sure, he had gotten almost as many levels during them as the rest of his life combined. His class evolution to The Void Wraith was harrowing. However, after talking with the Warden, he decided to go for it. Harold still wasn't convinced by this so-called god, but he could at least recognize its power.

Now, a decent part of that power was Harold's, and it worked perfectly into his spying capabilities. But even having incredible new skills like Glamour and the ability to walk through walls wasn't worth all the risks and danger he had been in.

Harold pressed his ear to the brick wall and heard a couple of pairs of feet run past. The faint splashing of a puddle on the other side let him know that he had, in fact, been followed.

Harold touched his collar, feeling the small tube containing the paper he needed to deliver still there. He felt a little bit of tension leave his shoulders. He waited for a count of 300 before slipping back out through the solid wall and heading back to the street. Hopefully, he had lost them, but he'd have to do a few more laps to make sure. His dead drop was too important to mess up.

Walking past the fountain, Harold avoided placing the small cylinder he had tucked in his hand under the statue's sandal strap because he thought he saw a flash of motion from above. He was probably just a crow, but maybe not. He couldn't risk it. Pulling out a mirrored piece of glass, he checked over his shoulder and saw that the bird watching the fountain from the rooftop across the square was no bird at all. The enchantments laid on the mirror exposed it as the leathery-faced skull with flapping wings that it really was.

Harold stifled a curse and kept walking, stopping briefly to buy a loaf of bread and staring at one of the large cathedrals being built. This information needed to get out, and it couldn't wait for another day. It had already been delayed two days because of the near-constant surveillance he was under. He was pretty sure that they didn't know who he actually was. Still, his position as an outsider made them suspicious enough, especially in a totalitarian place like this.

He'd been sent to Barleona to investigate the level of demonic influence. However, they had all underestimated the task. The country's ties with demons went back for centuries.

The relationship didn't mean the country was evil, necessarily. Harold himself had been a big proponent of using demons for his kingdom, as well. These practices were just an extension of that in many ways. But at this point, it was difficult to tell whether the city was just employing demon slaves to do some of their menial work or whether those demons were actually puppeteering the humans in the background. Harold found, in most cases, that the truth held a little bit of both.

But it wasn't just the presence of demons that worried them. Susan and the Warden were concerned that this city was harboring enough demon cultists, those who actually worshiped the demons that they employed, that some of the Lieutenants might have connections here. Harold felt a shiver go down his spine at the very thought of it.

Why had he agreed to this? Well, he honestly couldn't say. But at least his cover had been good here, and despite the suspicion he was under, no one had made a move against him. He could simply wait for a week before his extraction and deliver the message then. But that wasn't good enough, and any bird or flying construct he sent would likely be intercepted and read. That was a certain path to getting himself killed.

No, the only way this information was getting out quickly was through one of the various deaddrops. Which meant he just had to be a bit more clever going to his tertiary spot.

Ducking out of sight for a moment, Harold activated several more skills, and the world turned misty around him. His disembodied consciousness watched as his body continued walking forward on autopilot. Leaving it be, Harold's soul doubled back toward the fountain. He could only stay like this for a handful of seconds, but it would suffice. Sure enough, he saw that someone was checking the strap of the sandal he'd almost placed the message in. Harold cursed to himself. The counter-spies in this city were too competent.

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As his formless consciousness floated forward, he was able to see the true form of the supposed child that checked Harold's drop location. His skills allowed him to see that it was no child. Unless the children here now had forked tongues and slitted pupils set into their otherwise disturbingly human faces.

Harold felt the tether connecting him to his body pull taut. A moment later, his vision snapped back to his body, which was now a little bit further down the road.

He took a moment to reorient himself before changing directions and considering his contingencies. At this point, it looked like he'd have to abandon the third drop. Maybe the others, too. It seemed like they knew the locations too well for him to be confident in them. He started to pick up his pace and went through a few buildings instead of alleyways. Once he was more thoroughly convinced that he had lost his pursuers, he tried to think of another way of getting the news out.

Harold scanned the signs of all the shops, looking for the mark of his order before opening the door to a cobbler shop. A few quick passphrases got him in the back and climbing down a trapdoor to the safe house below. If this place was compromised too, he would likely be abducted in an hour. Harold was pretty sure that he would be able to escape before that, but this was more of a test to see how much the enemy knew. So he would stay.

Sitting in the dark, safe house, Harold thought through a variety of plans as the hour ticked by. Eventually, he finally felt it was safe to assume this location was secure. Probably. It was good to know. After he got the information out, he would likely have to make himself scarce as his cover was almost certainly blown by now. He used too many suspicious skills to try to lose them before the dead drop, so they had to know that he was up to something. And the thin veneer of a visiting well-connected merchant wouldn't stand up to him being tossed in a cell. But the information needed to get back home faster than he could.

He supposed he could try to ride to the nearest city, but the odds of that city being watched too carefully were very high. No, it had to go through the right channels, channels that he knew would be secure.

There were still several more backup plans, but assuming that this safe house was trustworthy enough, it'd be best to use it. Harold popped open the message's container and unrolled the sheet of paper. With quick strokes of a quill, he copied down the information and tucked it away. Well, it would be best if the enemy couldn't learn what information he had sent.

Harold, while he was at it, whipped up several false reports. He'd be able to plant them in various locations that would hopefully throw counterintelligence off the trail.

Coming back out of the safe room, he talked with the man behind the counter in a couple more quick exchanges of code words and handed him a piece of paper. It would fly out with the pigeons tonight, delivering regular news correspondence. Hopefully, the man should be able to slip it in if he wasn't being watched. It was risky, but less so than the alternatives. It had to be enough.

Harold then left with a stack of papers. He was able to make several drops at various spots, with information flagged as false, before his tails caught up with him again. How they had found him, he wasn't sure, but he didn't have the magical energy to check on his previous messages to see if they'd been picked up and by whom.

So he kept going, leaving false drops in sometimes even completely random places. Hopefully, this would throw them off the trail. In fact, he was surprised he hadn't been scooped up by force yet or even accosted. Perhaps they were still hoping to follow him to some other part of their organization that they could uncover. If so, then that was also worrisome. The demons were acting too crafty. Something wasn't right.

Once Harold was completely out of decoys, he changed directions and picked up speed until he was running. Now, he had to get out of the city quickly enough. If they'd caught onto him again this quickly, then waiting until extraction wouldn't work. Even worse, the extraction itself might expose their operation further. He had to get out. Maybe it would also serve as a distraction away from the true message.

As he approached a city gate, Harold took a shortcut. Dashing through alleyways, he narrowly avoided running into the two large thugs blocking his way. Skidding to a halt, he started to back up with his hands up.

"I don't have any money," he said, hoping that they were just muggers who would try to take his purse and allow him to leave. But, of course, he had no such luck. The wicked blades they were suddenly holding said so, at least. He half expected their faces to split open and reveal red scales or shadowy maws of the demons that had been chasing him so far. But no, they looked to be just normal human cultists. This time.

They didn't say anything as they walked forward. Harold backed up for a little before suddenly stepping forward himself. He swung his hand in a chop, smashing one's wrist aside. At the same time he grabbed the man's shoulder and threw him into his companion before dashing past, yelling about a mugging as loud as he could.

The people in the area looked shocked. This was a fairly affluent neighborhood, after all, and there was a patrol of guards nearby. He pointed them down the alley, and they ran after the two burly men running away. As he continued his own escape, Harold glanced at the necklace he'd ripped from one of the men. A quick glance revealed the same strange crisscrossing sigils of the most recent cult he'd unearthed. It told him all he needed to know.

He tucked it back in his pocket and sprinted for the gate. Panting, he ducked and dodged between people and carts, and soon, he was at the city wall, using the last bit of his energy to phase all the way through it. A moment later, he was out running through the forest. It would be a long way home, but at least he'd gotten the information out. He'd send another copy in a day from a safe location, and hopefully, that would be enough.

Hopefully, it would be unnecessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The Theocracy needed to know and act, or the long-lasting peace would soon come crashing down.

Alternate chapter titles were: Mission Improbable, Herald of Ill Omens, Sin City